In the Barrister's Bed (10 page)
Read In the Barrister's Bed Online
Authors: Tina Gabrielle
His hand outlined the circle of her breast. Her breath caught, and her nipples firmed. His fingers traced her nipples through the muslin of her gown, his touch light and painfully teasing. Ripples of wanting ran through her, pooling low in her belly. Just as it had been at the lake, all logic and reason fled and her senses reeled. They were alone in a carriage. His strong arms cradled her safely. It was pointless to resist his seductive, leisurely expertise when she had no desire to escape his embrace.
She arched into his touch, and his hand slipped inside her bodice to caress a sensitive swollen nipple. His palm was fiery hot, as hot as she felt. His other hand moved to her waist and pulled her close. Tearing his lips from hers, he kissed a path down her throat and licked the swell of her breasts above the fabric of her dress.
Sweet heaven!
His breath was warm and moist. Her heart thundered in her ears, and it felt as if her body were melting against his.
Sweet heaven!
His breath was warm and moist. Her heart thundered in her ears, and it felt as if her body were melting against his.
The sway of the carriage changed to a stop-and-go motion, but she paid no heed until James lifted his head.
“We’re home,” he said.
Home.
What an unusual choice of words for him to use. Bewildered, she glanced at his face, and was struck by his expression. His indigo eyes blazed with unmistakable lust and another emotion—something akin to fierce determination.
What an unusual choice of words for him to use. Bewildered, she glanced at his face, and was struck by his expression. His indigo eyes blazed with unmistakable lust and another emotion—something akin to fierce determination.
“My offer still stands, Bella,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll reimburse you for whatever you paid Reeves.”
His words struck her like a bucket of ice water across her heated skin. She withdrew from his arms, moving as far from him as the bench allowed, and pulled together her scattered thoughts.
What on earth had she been thinking to kiss him like that? He was battling lust, yes, but nothing more. He hadn’t forgotten their dispute, and had chosen the precise moment to fling his offer in her face. Whereas—to her complete and utter shame—she had been caught up in passion.
He is a successful barrister and practiced seducer,
she reminded herself.
Masterful persuasion is his style, no matter the methods used.
she reminded herself.
Masterful persuasion is his style, no matter the methods used.
Fury simmered in her blood. Fury at herself and the coldhearted man sitting beside her.
“Wyndmoor Manor is not for sale, Your Grace. And neither am I.”
Not waiting for assistance, she gathered her skirts, flung the carriage door open, and jumped down on her own. Head held regally high, she marched into the house.
James watched as she slammed the front door behind her.
Bella Sinclair was proud. It was why she had insisted on accompanying him to the Black Hound to face Sir Reeves tonight. It was why she refused his offer of reimbursement and insisted on fighting a duke. It was why she had purchased an isolated country property rather than travel to London.
Yet she hadn’t fought him in the carriage. She had capitulated to his expertise with a fiery passion that had surprised him. He had been in control—or so he had thought—until she had pulled his head down to deepen the kiss.
Thereafter, his prized control had been sorely strained.
He wanted to make love to Bella with a yearning that was staggering. Thoughts of property deeds had nothing to do with his lust. He recalled the tantalizing ripeness of her breast filling his hand—the weight, the perfect smooth skin, the pebble-hard nipple that made his mouth water—and he felt a hunger so fervent that it weakened his resolve. His plan to woo her, to seduce her and bend her to his will, was at risk from his own weakness. He forced himself back from the unbridled hunger, for he was all too aware of what emotional trap lay there.
A trap that, no matter how delectable the woman, he had no intention of falling into.
Chapter 11
Bella woke the following morning with newfound determination. She had planned on meeting Wyndmoor’s tenants soon after arriving at the manor, but when the Duke of Blackwood’s shadow had darkened her doorstep she had been distracted by his legal claim. She had made a mistake. There was no better way to establish her position than to present herself to the tenant farmers as the new owner.
Last night’s debacle at the Black Hound had proved that the stakes were higher than ever. She hadn’t realized what a formidable opponent James truly was. If his kiss was sufficient to raise her passion, then he held a power over her that she must never allow to be unleashed. He cared only for the property, not the country widow that accompanied it.
Donning her riding habit, Bella made a quick stop to the kitchens to seek directions to the tenant farms and to gather a basket of fresh sweet rolls before heading to the stables. The young, red-haired lad was busy polishing tack.
“Would you please saddle my mare, Bobby?”
“Aye, my lady.” He reached for a side saddle that hung on the stable wall, then went for her horse.
“Where are you headed this morning?” A deep male voice spoke behind her.
Bella jumped. She whirled to spot James in the far corner of the stables, holding the reins of an enormous black stallion. He walked forward, his gaze lazily appraising her.
Memories of last night came back to her in a rush. She recalled resting her cheek against his broad shoulder, the strength of his arms as he held her after the frightful bar brawl. Then there had been his passionate kisses and his tantalizing touch on her breast.
Heat stole into her face along with renewed humiliation. His practiced seduction had been carried out with expertise. His kiss, his caress had upset her balance, and she had eagerly responded. His thoughts, however, had never been far from seeking her gone from Wyndmoor.
Their eyes locked, and the annoyance in her voice was ill-concealed. “My whereabouts are none of your concern, but if you must know, I’m going for a ride.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes.”
His lips curled into a smile, and she had the distinct impression he knew she was recalling last night’s intimacy. His eyes lowered to the basket on her arm. “That smells like fresh baked bread.”
She spoke quickly. “I’m picnicking.”
“Alone? At nine o’ clock in the morning?”
“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ve decided to visit my tenants for the first time.”
He brightened. “We must truly have a psychic connection. I planned on doing the same this morning.” He reached out to lift the checked fabric covering the basket she carried and peeked inside. His stomach grumbled loudly. “Your rolls do smell delicious. You will certainly be greeted more enthusiastically than I will.”
She slapped his hand. “You should have eaten breakfast with the Hardings.”
“I have an idea. Since we both planned on the same destination, let us travel together,” he said, seeming very pleased with himself.
“I don’t suppose you can alter your plans and go another day?” she said.
He grinned. “Not a chance.”
She wanted to stomp her foot and scream in frustration. He’d had no intention of visiting Wyndmoor’s tenants today. By the look of his tousled hair and the fresh scent of pine emanating from him, he had missed breakfast in order to ride.
Bobby led her mare to the mounting block and held the reins. She went to the block, intent on mounting her own horse, but James was by her side in a flash.
“Allow me.”
Before she could respond, his strong hands spanned her waist, and he lifted her onto the mare’s back. He lingered moments more than necessary, and her heart hammered against her ribs at his touch. Sitting side-saddle, she adjusted the basket on her skirts and looked into his eyes.
“Last night was a mistake. Your efforts are in vain.”
He arched a brow. “Please enlighten me as to what efforts you refer to.”
“I won’t be charmed or seduced into leaving.”
His hand covered his chest. “You offend me. Here I was thinking I was being polite.” He didn’t look or sound offended, not even slightly disturbed by her comment—rather he appeared like a man who eagerly anticipated the rare opponent who would dare throw down the gauntlet in challenge.
James mounted his horse, and she couldn’t help but admire the animal. Large, with a shiny, black coat and sleek muscles, it was a perfect fit for its rider.
James ran his hand down the stallion’s velvety muzzle. “His name is Maximus, and he was a racing champion until he retired this year. I rode him from London and had him stabled at the Twin Rams. Keeping Maximus in the city seemed a waste as he needs a good run each day.”
“He’s stunning,” she said.
“He’s temperamental and can be dangerous.”
Just like his master,
she mused.
she mused.
She glanced at Blackwood’s buff riding breeches and the thick muscles on his thighs as he controlled the powerful stallion. He’d chosen not to wear a riding coat, and his tailored white shirt hugged his broad shoulders like a second skin.
They rode their horses side by side through the meadow of wildflowers they had passed days ago, and the air was fragrant with honeysuckle and gardenia. James led her east toward the tenant farms. The sun shone brightly on fruit trees, their boughs bursting with flowers that would soon bear peaches, pears, and apples. They passed grazing pastures where sheep roamed freely.
Soon the cottages of the tenant farmers came into view. In total, there were five tenant families who farmed the one-hundred-acre property. As James and Bella rode close, the families came out of their homes. A handful of children played outside, some throwing a stick for a large dog to fetch and others kicking a ball. When they spotted James, they ran forward, their faces smiling and animated.
“Blackwood! Blackwood!” the children shouted as they reached out to pet his horse.
James laughed and jumped down from his horse to embrace the youths. He placed the smallest of the children atop his shoulders, and took the stick from another and threw it for the dog to retrieve.
To Bella’s astonishment, James knew all the children’s names and personally greeted each of the tenants.
How many times has he been here?
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I spent summers here as a boy, remember?”
“But the children. How do you know their names?”
He winked, and lowered the child atop his shoulders to the ground. “I’ve come every day for the past week.”
Oh, she wanted to wipe the smug look off his face, but at the same time she was surprised he would take such a keen interest in the tenants. Roger had owned a much larger estate, and he had never bothered to know the tenants’ names or play with their children. He had only been concerned with the timeliness of the rents to support his lavish lifestyle and fondness for fine wine.
Three tenants with calloused hands and weathered faces as dark as tanned leather conversed with James about which fields would be left fallow and which crops were planned for the summer’s harvest.
They believe he is the true master of Wyndmoor!
She felt uncertain, not knowing how to broach the subject, but it was James who came to her aid. “May I introduce, Mrs. Sinclair. We both claim ownership to Wyndmoor, but hope the decision will be made soon.”
She felt uncertain, not knowing how to broach the subject, but it was James who came to her aid. “May I introduce, Mrs. Sinclair. We both claim ownership to Wyndmoor, but hope the decision will be made soon.”
The farmers looked at Bella, then to James. “Begging yer pardon, Yer Grace, but we are all grateful that Sir Reeves is no longer the owner. ’E wasnna ’ere more than days and ’e said ’e’d be raisin’ the rents. Yer father, the old duke, never much came out ’ere, but ’e was fair and never raised the rents as much as Sir Reeves ’ad planned.”
“Whoever is master here, neither of us shall raise the rents,” James said.
Rather than feel outrage that he had spoken for her, Bella nodded in agreement. “He speaks the truth.”
Just then a girl no more than six with curly gold locks came up to Bella and peered at her basket.
Bella bent down on one knee and lifted the checked fabric. “Would you like a roll?”
The child’s brown eyes widened with uncertainty. She nibbled her bottom lip before she tentatively reached out for a roll. Taking a small bite, she looked at Bella. “Yer pretty. Are ye ’is wife?”
Bella’s lips curved into a smile. “No. We are not married.”
“But yer with ’im?”
“Only for today.” Bella glanced at the group of women standing outside the doorway of one of the cottages. They watched the scene with wide-eyed interest. “Which one is your mum?” Bella asked.
The girl pointed to one of the women in the middle of the group.
Bella went over to the women and introduced herself. The wives were reserved, uncertain of Bella’s position. Bella attempted to put them at ease.
“Is there anything that you need from Wyndmoor’s master?” Bella asked.
The child’s mother looked at the others before speaking up. “Our roofs are in need of repair, but ’is lordship ’as provided the funds from ’is own pockets after ’is first visit ’ere.”
“ ’E’s buildin’ an extra cottage as well,” another woman piped up. “Two of our families live together, but with Justine givin’ birth to ’er fifth, it’s crowded, it is.”
Bella was stunned by James’s generosity. She told herself he wasn’t being generous, just overly confident that he would be victorious over the battle of ownership of the land. Yet she would have to be blind not to see the admiration and respect for the new Duke of Blackwood stamped on the faces of Wyndmoor’s hardworking tenants.
James approached, holding the reins of both Maximus and her mare. He grinned at her with a cheerful smile that made her heart flutter. “Shall we return?”
“Of course.”
Before she could mount her horse, the little girl ran forward, her blond locks bouncing. She motioned for Bella to lean down, and she whispered in her ear. “My mum says if ye marry ’im, ye can stay.”
Upon Bella’s return, Evelyn was waiting for her to go on a shopping excursion. Bella could barely contain her excitement. It felt like eons since she had shopped for her own clothing; Roger had taken perverse delight in picking gowns that he knew she disliked. Bella hurried to change from her riding habit into a mourning gown appropriate for a widow of less than a year and met Evelyn outside.
Their first destination was a reputable dress shop in St. Albans. Unlike the snobby French courtiers in London, the dressmaker, Mrs. Fisher, was a sturdy Englishwoman with a welcoming smile. Racks of dresses lined the walls of the small shop, easels held sketches of new designs, and tables were laden with an array of chemises, stockings, fans, parasols, and gloves.
Evelyn pointed to an amethyst dress on a mannequin in the corner. “You will look ravishing in this! The color will bring out the green in your eyes.”
Bella reached out to touch the fine silk, and a thrill raced down her spine. “It’s lovely.”
Evelyn eyed Bella’s gown. “I’ve noticed you do not wear black at home. ’Tis a shame you feel the need to wear it out.”
Bella hated the mourning gown and would have been overjoyed to see it burned. Even though Evelyn knew Bella’s marriage had not been a love match, members of the town believed her to be a grieving widow, and Bella had no wish to correct the misconception.
“Roger has not yet been gone a year,” Bella said.
Evelyn smiled easily. “I was never a stickler for propriety.”
Thank goodness,
Bella thought. She enjoyed Evelyn Harding’s company; her straightforward, nonjudgmental outlook on life was a refreshing change. Evelyn and her husband would soon return to London, and Bella would be sad to see Evelyn depart. Bella had not been permitted a friend for years, another way her husband had isolated her, and she hadn’t realized how much she had missed female companionship.
Bella thought. She enjoyed Evelyn Harding’s company; her straightforward, nonjudgmental outlook on life was a refreshing change. Evelyn and her husband would soon return to London, and Bella would be sad to see Evelyn depart. Bella had not been permitted a friend for years, another way her husband had isolated her, and she hadn’t realized how much she had missed female companionship.
Mrs. Fisher approached with a stack of sketches in her arms, and Bella pointed to the mannequin. “I’d like to be fitted with this one.”
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