Taken by Storm (23 page)

She pulled back, feeling drugged, feeling helpless, feeling like she wanted to drown in the fathomless depths of those beautiful purple-grey eyes.

“Colin . . .” She reached up, and with a shaky hand, smoothed the hair off his brow. “God help me, but every bone in my body goes to water when you kiss me. It’s wrong, I know it’s wrong, but I want more—”

He eased himself down on one elbow, his hand roving over the curve of her hip and down her damp breeches. She shuddered, loving the feel of that hand against the outside of her thigh, wishing there was no fabric to separate her flesh from its questing warmth. His eyes were troubled, and as she touched his muddy shirt to feel his heartbeat beneath, he looked up at her.

“I share your feelings, Ariadne,” he said. “And never have I wanted a woman as much as I want you. But you are a lady, and even if you were mine to claim, I would not have you out here in the grass for all the world to see.” He grinned then, making her want to kiss the water droplets from his lashes, his brows, his cheeks. “Especially, with you garbed as a young boy. What would people think?”

She giggled, her face growing hot. He smiled back, and plucking a blade of grass, touched it to the bottom of her chin.

“Oh, Colin, I do not care what people think—”

Shouts and hoofbeats interrupted them and they looked up to see a horse and wagon arriving at the house. Colin lunged to his feet, pulling her up with him just as a farmer, waving his arms and yelling furiously, came charging toward the paddock.

“Hey! That your horse? Get him away from my mares!”

It was obvious, however, that Shareb-er-rehh had already had his way with the ladies. Craning his head to give his attacker a smug, amused stare, he waited for the man to get close; then he wheeled on his hind legs and in a lazy, ground-eating canter, flowed across the field toward Ariadne, neighing happily.

She ran toward him, her arms open.

Ears pricked, the stallion bore down on her, tail flying behind him like a banner. Colin caught his breath, for it didn’t look as though Shareb was going to stop. But at the last moment he planted his feet, skidded in grass and mud, and nearly plowed into his mistress. She threw her arms around his neck and as the horse rubbed his head up and down against her chest, laughed happily.

“Oh, Shareb, I missed you so!”

“Ariadne, I think it best to leave before—”

“Oy, that your horse? If he bred any of my mares I’m holding you two personally responsible!” the farmer raged, puffing and panting as he reached them. “This is private property and . . .”

Suddenly the farmer’s brows snapped together, her head darted out like a chicken’s, and he stared at the horse, his eyes bugging out as he realized that the water dripping down the stallion’s brown face was washing away mud and ink and revealing a bright white blaze . . .

And that the high voice, the fine-boned face, and the obvious breasts beneath the loose coat belonged to a woman.

“My God! You’re—
you’re the fugitive the whole countryside’s looking for!
”

Everything happened at once. The farmer ran toward them; Ariadne made a desperate lunge for Shareb-er-rehh’s back, and the man’s fingers caught her coat and tried to drag her down. She kicked out, savagely, her boot connecting with his elbow—and then Colin was throwing himself at the farmer, trying to give her time to escape. As Shareb reared up and wheeled away, she saw him slip on the wet grass and lose his balance, the farmer’s fist crashing high up on the side of his cheek.

“Colin!”

“Get on the horse!” he yelled, even as the farmer swung again, that huge, ham-fisted hand arcing toward his head. She screamed—but again, she had underestimated her gentle protector. He deflected the blow with a quick, upward thrust of his arm, and bunching his fist, slammed it into the farmer’s belly hard enough to send the man, retching, to the grass.

And now a crowd of people were charging up the hill after them, waving their arms and yelling at the top of their lungs.

“Run!” Colin shouted, swatting Shareb across the rump. “Here come the reinforcements!”

Shareb reared beneath her, nearly spilling her from his bare back. “No, Colin, I’ll not leave without you!”

“Go!”

“
No
!”

Shareb hit the earth, rose again—and as he came down, Colin vaulted up behind Ariadne as the horse shot away from the oncoming crowd. Beneath him, he felt the powerful churn of mighty, hardened muscles gathering speed, the raw power that the stallion had not even begun to tap. He leaned forward, his arms embracing Ariadne on either side, and managed to grab a hunk of the stallion’s sparse mane in both fists.

“Where should we go?” Ariadne yelled.

Beneath them, Shareb found more speed, his hooves thundering over the ground, the wind beginning to scream in their ears, both dogs barking and yapping behind them as they tried in vain to keep up.

“Back to get Thunder!”

There was nothing to do but hang on for their lives. Ariadne, leaning forward, dug in with her knees, feeling the veterinarian’s hard chest against her back, his thighs embracing hers, and Shareb’s mane whipping her face as his legs pounded beneath them. The stallion was flying across the pastures at a full gallop, fast enough to pull the tears from her eyes, fast enough to leave anything or anyone who might be chasing them floundering in his hoofprints. She looked down and saw that her companion’s hands were white against the black depths of Shareb’s mane, and knew that he was terrified.

But she alone knew that the stallion was not at full speed.

Far from it.

“Easy, Shareb!” she cried, terrified that he’d hit a hole and snap a leg. “Slow it down!”

But he only stretched his neck, flattened his body, and went faster.

Down the hill they tore and up another one, racing through the gathering gloom and decidedly back in the direction from which they had come. The sensation of the stallion’s flowing muscles beneath her, coupled with the memory of the veterinarian’s burning kiss and the hot press of his body against every tingling inch of her back, arms, and thighs was enough to make Ariadne breathless and faint.

And there was Thunder, ahead in the distance.

“Pull him up!” Colin shouted, just behind her. “Pull him up or he’s going to go right through that fence!”

“Shareb, whoa!”

The stallion shook his head and blowing hard, kept running.

“
Whoa
!”

The roar of the wind in Colin’s ears lessened in pitch, and he felt the horse beginning to slow. The great muscles beneath him stiffened, and Shareb-er-rehh broke to a canter, then a plunging, hopping series of jumps until at last he came to a halting stop ten feet from where Thunder stood. Then, as though wishing to discharge an unwanted passenger, he reared high, and Colin slid off and over the stallion’s rump, his legs promptly giving out beneath him.

The little noblewoman’s laughter bubbled around him. Even the stallion swung around to regard him with amusement. Far off over the hills, Colin heard little Bow’s frantic yapping as she hurried to catch up to them.

Ariadne slid from the stallion and reached down to help him up.

Her eyes were sparkling with triumph.

“
Now
do you believe he’s the Fastest Horse in the World?”

Whether Colin believed it or not was of no consequence, because at that moment Bow and Marc came racing over the furthest hill, two horsemen a half-mile behind them.

“Time to test that claim!” he said, clipping a lead rope to Shareb’s halter, looping it around his neck and quickly fastening it on the other side of his head as makeshift reins. In one easy, fluid movement, he seized Ariadne around the waist and tossed her up on the horse’s back. Her eyes were bright with excitement, her skin glowing. “There’s a pond five miles up the Norfolk Road—I’ll meet you there as soon as it’s fully dark. Now, prove to me that this confounded nag of yours can indeed run a hole through the wind!”

Laughing, she sent the fiery steed galloping off over the darkening pastures. Colin stared after her, a little smile playing about his mouth, a dreamy look in his eye—then, his heart leapt to his throat as he saw Shareb-er-rehh heading for the tall hedgerow that separated the fields. The mighty racehorse paused only long enough to gather himself, then flowed over it like a dolphin arcing over the waves.

And then he was off, pounding over the hills with his tail streaming behind him

# # #.

The moon was high, fading in and out behind tendrils of cloud and mist by the time Ariadne finally dared to creep out of the copse of trees where she had hidden, and venture back onto the road. The night was spicy with the scent of grass and flowers, the air a gentle whisper of a breeze, but the relative quiet did nothing to calm her nerves. Now, as she guided Shareb with her knees, weight and the rope, she found herself jumping at every shadow, freezing at every sound of a distant, barking dog.

For the first time since undertaking this adventure, she was alone.

Colin is out here. Just another mile or so and you’ll come to the pond. He’ll be there, waiting. You know he will. . . .

But what if he hadn’t been able to divert the pursuers? What if he
wasn’t
waiting at the pond? What if he—like her father all those times he’d promised to spend time with her but never bothered to show up—let her down?

She didn’t know what she’d do, then.

Just as she didn’t know what she was going to do about the situation with Maxwell.

Maybe it didn’t bear thinking about . . . at least, not yet.

But like a persistent toothache the problem was there, and Ariadne knew that no matter how much she tried to ignore it, it was not going to go away.

Beneath her, Shareb-er-rehh moved like silk, his ears up and his long neck stretched before her, his shoes grinding against little stones in the road. But Ariadne was not thinking about Shareb-er-rehh, nor her pursuers, nor her brother. She reached up and touched her mouth, tracing the shape of her lips as
he
had done with his tongue in the farmer’s pasture. Oh, how warm and wonderful that kiss—the memory alone was enough to make her blood burn and little tingles race up and down her spine.

Oddly enough, she felt no regrets. Only, confusion.

Father had arranged the union between herself and Maxwell in an attempt to “rein in” her wildness, and put paid to the increasingly scandalous behavior she had employed in a futile attempt to get attention. But she also knew that the match was also, as so many were between the aristocracy, meant to further and build upon the acquisition of property, though in this case, it hadn’t been land or other holdings that would seal the betrothal, that would complete her dowry—it was the Norfolk Thoroughbred. The union had been Maxwell’s idea, and Father had embraced it. She had never had a choice in the matter, really, and had told herself it was all for the best—perhaps not for herself, but for the future of the Norfolk Thoroughbreds, whose legacy would be kept alive by Maxwell’s own passion for racehorses. The match was a brilliant one, everyone said, and the earl was older, steady, wealthy, and everything she should want in a husband.

Perhaps everything she
would
want in a husband.

If not for Colin Lord.

Now, she could barely even recall the details of Maxwell’s swarthy face, could not remember quite how tall he was, or what his lips had felt like that one time that he’d kissed her. She could only recall his eyes, one of them dark and penetrating, the other milky-blue with blindness, and how there was something about him that had made her more than just a little bit afraid.

He could be, she knew, a dangerous man.

And a dangerous enemy if ever she crossed him.

The wind blew softly through the branches overhead, and she shuddered.

Best to put Colin Lord and any romantic notions where he was concerned right out of her mind. No matter how attractive she found him, no matter how much she was beginning to fancy him, he was not for her and never would be. That fact alone effectively cut off any thoughts of marriage. And even if Ariadne w as willing to suffer being ostracized from the society in which she had been born and raised for giving up an earl in favor of a commoner, there was still Maxwell.
A dangerous enemy indeed
, she thought, and shuddered to think how he might retaliate if she were to break off their engagement. At the very least, he would probably refuse to give the beautiful Gazella back to her. And if that happened, Shareb-er-rehh and Gazella would never be paired, the heir that was so desperately needed to carry on the Norfolk Thoroughbred would never be gotten, and Father’s legacy would die with him.

She could not allow that to happen. Even with her father not yet cold in his grave, she realized she was still seeking his approval. She
had
to marry Maxwell, or the Norfolk Thoroughbred would be no more.

Tears of frustration, hopelessness, and despair welled up in her eyes, and so absorbed was she in her thoughts that Ariadne never saw the pond where she was supposed to meet the veterinarian. Now, lifting her chin and swiping away her foolish tears—
be realistic, you cannot have Colin Lord!
—she remembered passing a tiny depression in the ground that was barely more than a mudhole some distance back, but the only movement there had been caused by several mallards, some moorhens, and a pair of swans whose plumage had glowed white in the gathering gloom.

Had they come further than five miles?

The road made a gentle bend, and from out of the night came the sounds of racing water. Surely, if there was a brook it would lead into a pond? Guiding Shareb off the road, Ariadne urged him down the hill to its banks, following the stream and allowing him to pick his way through the high grass.

Sure enough, there was a pond, silver beneath the clouds and moon. Shareb dropped his head to drink while Ariadne gazed off into the night. Moonlight glinted against grass that was bent and waving in the wind, and she could just see a grove of trees hugging the eastern horizon, dark against the gently rolling hills. Only the rush of the brook and the distant sound of lowing cows broke the stillness of the night.