Tessa's Touch (14 page)

Now her hands began to move, almost without
volition. She found herself stroking the broad planes of his back through the
thick, damp fabric of his coat, wondering what it would feel like without that
barrier. He deepened the kiss until she felt he was devouring her— that they
were devouring each other —but that their hunger was only growing.

With one thumb, he traced the line of her jaw,
smoothed the curve of her cheek. His other hand moved from her back to her
side, kept moving, until he brushed against her breast through the thickness of
her cloak and habit.

Though the physical pleasure at this new
contact was intense, she suddenly felt a thread of doubt snaking through,
spreading a subtle poison. This was a practiced man of the world. What could he
possibly want with her beyond a bit of dalliance to enliven the hunting season?
A moment ago she'd thought that would be enough, but now she wavered.

He seemed to sense the change in her, for he
drew back to look down at her questioningly. "It's all right," he
said, his voice a bit ragged. "I won't press you to do anything you don't
wish to do—no matter how much I might want to."

His impish grin reassured her even more than
his words —and made her want to fling herself back into his arms.

"Th-thank you. It's not that I don't wish—
that is, it's—" she stammered, trying frantically to remember why it would
be unwise to keep kissing him. "My . . . my father—"

"I understand. I do."

But she knew he didn't, not really. How could
he possibly understand the struggle within her right now— knowing that this
would likely be the last chance she'd ever have for this sort of intimacy,
knowing that no other man would ever make her feel the way this one did.
Knowing that if she gave in to her desires, she would wound her father, perhaps
beyond healing.

"We . . . we should rest," she said
shakily after a moment, then immediately worried that he might misconstrue her
words.

His mind, however, apparently traveled a purer
plane than hers. "You're right. Here, let's get out of these wet cloaks.
You can throw yours over the bed and I'll take a spot on the floor, near the
fire." He stripped off his own coat and tossed it down. "Unless you'd
rather be closer to the fire?"

She shook her head, grateful that he couldn't
read her thoughts. "I'll be fine on the bed. This habit is of wool, so I
should be warm enough."

Suiting action to words, she forced herself to
move away from him, to untie her cloak and spread it on the cot— only to hear
something rustle underneath it. She sprang back up with a small cry.

"What is it?" he asked, coming toward
her in obvious concern.

Already, she felt foolish. "A . . . a
mouse, most likely. It startled me, that is all." Still, she had no desire
now to climb onto the bed. There were plenty of mice in the stables, of course,
but that was not quite the same as sleeping with them. Or— What if it was a
rat?

"I'm really not all that tired," she
lied. "I believe I'll just sit by the fire for a bit. You're welcome to
the bed."

One corner of his mouth quirked up, but he did
not contradict her. "If that's what you'd prefer, though I'm not
especially partial to mice myself. What say you we spread both cloaks on the
floor here, and both of us rest by the fire —and away from the vermin?"

Again she fought a battle between propriety and
desire, and this time desire won— though she would keep to propriety as much as
possible, she promised herself. "Very well. That will help to dry the
cloaks faster, and those chairs are not particularly comfortable."

He turned away, ostensibly to spread out the
cloaks, but she suspected also to hide a grin at her transparency. No doubt he
thought her completely lost to decency, but she couldn't quite make herself
care.

"There. Join me? Oh, and bring along the
rest of the wine, won't you?"

Feeling utterly wicked, she picked up the
bottle, still almost half full, and lowered herself onto the makeshift bed
beside him. Conversation was absolutely essential now.

"You were telling me before about when you
started hunting. I assume you had to give it up for a while when you joined the
Army?"

"Not entirely," he said. "I was
Cavalry, so when the action was slow, many of us were given leave during the
season, so that we could hunt. It was considered good training —or so they
said. It helped to have a commander who was also an avid sportsman."

She did recall hearing something about that
from her father. "Does your former commander still hunt?"

"He does indeed," he replied with a
grin that made her heart race. "You've met him, in fact— Lord
Rushford."

"He was your commander? Is that when you
met, during the War?" Again she felt foolish, though she wasn't sure why.

"We were acquainted before that, as we'd
ridden some of the same hunts in our younger days, but war has a way of
strengthening bonds." For a moment his eyes were shadowed, but then he
smiled. "That was the genesis of the Odd Sock Club, you see, for Stormy
and Thor were also members of Rush's regiment."

"But not Lord Killerby?" she asked,
feeling somehow privileged that he'd used the nicknames to her without even
noticing. As though she were intimate enough with him to understand without
explanation —which, of course, she did.

For someone who'd never had any close friends,
it was a heady feeling.

"No, Killer's father refused to buy him a
commission and by the time he inherited, the war was nearly over —it was during
the Hundred Days, as I recall. We knew him from the hunt. His estate is in
southern Nottinghamshire, not so far from here."

Tessa smiled. "Poor Killer. It sounds as
though he's been coddled all his life."

Anthony nodded, though his eyes were
thoughtful. "Yes, I suppose so. We've taken over, now his father is gone.
He somehow seems to bring out our protective natures, perhaps because his
enthusiasm outstrips his abilities —and stature."

"Yet you feel I do wrong to protect my own
father, who is hampered by an actual infirmity?" she couldn't help asking.

"
Touché
," he said with a rueful smile.
"Perhaps we do Killer no favors with our hovering. Indeed, it's likely
what led to his ill-advised adventure today."

But Tessa preferred not to follow that line of
reasoning. Surely her protectiveness would not spur her father into similar
foolishness? It hadn't so far. Still, it was a lesson to remember.

"It sounds as though the rain is getting
worse," she said when the silence again threatened to become awkward.

He shifted and his shoulder brushed hers,
making her acutely aware of his nearness and their isolation from the world.
"No matter. Nimbus has barely had time to rest his leg yet. I suggest we
both get some rest as well."

Suiting action to words, he pulled off his
boots, then stretched out atop his cloak, his feet toward the fire. Tessa sat
where she was for a long moment, her heart pounding. Did she dare to follow his
example?

Steeling her nerve, she unlaced her riding
boots, keeping her face averted so that he would not see her blushing. Her
stockings were wet and her feet cold, so she extended her legs to warm them by
the fire, as he was doing.

"There. Isn't that better?" he asked
as she gingerly lowered herself onto her own cloak.

"I, ah, yes," she admitted, her voice
unnaturally breathless. She could actually feel the warmth from his body, he
was so close, though she was careful not to touch him.

He shifted, making her tense, then gently —very
gently— stroked her hair. "Relax, Tessa. I promised not to press you to do
anything you don't wish to do, and I'm a man of my word— inconvenient as that
might be at a time like this."

"I trust you," she said, with perfect
honesty. It was herself she did not trust, for in truth she wished him to do
far more than was proper —far more than she could ever admit aloud.

"Then sleep." Withdrawing his hand,
he rolled onto his back again and closed his eyes.

Tessa watched as his breathing slowed and his
face relaxed, fighting a ridiculous sense of disappointment. Now she heartily
regretted stopping him when he'd been kissing her earlier, for spoiling her one
chance at pleasure, at a memory she could keep forever. It was wrong, but she
regretted it all the same.

She lay back on her cloak, forcing herself to
stare at the rough-timbered ceiling instead of at him. One thing was certain:
she would never sleep a wink with him so close beside her.

* *
*

CHAPTER 9

"Tessa? Tessa, wake up." With
sunlight filtering through the cottage's one grimy window, Anthony gently shook
her shoulder. She stretched, opened her lovely brown eyes, then sat up in
sudden alarm to glance at the window.

"What time is it?"

He consulted his pocket watch. "Nearly
seven. I've checked on the horses and they seem fine, though I didn't risk
trying to touch Nimbus. I thought you'd want to look him over yourself, now
that it's light."

"Yes. Yes, of course." Clearly
embarrassed, she pulled on her boots and fumblingly laced them. "I must
look a fright," she mumbled, trying to smooth her hair with her fingers.

"Not at all," Anthony assured her.
Indeed, he thought she looked quite adorably tousled, her cheeks still flushed
from sleep and her honey-colored hair in curly wisps around her face.
"Would you care to borrow a comb, however?" He held his out to her.

"Thank you." Taking the comb, she
undid her hair and began working on the tangles.

It was all he could do not to touch the shining
golden-brown mass that tumbled past her shoulders, but he knew where such a
caress might lead. He sternly reminded himself that he'd managed to play the
gentleman all night, so he must not disappoint her now.

"There's fresh water in the cistern now,
after last night's rain. I'll bring some in so that you can freshen up."
Snatching up the dilapidated ewer by the bed, he stepped outside, removing
himself from temptation.

He paused by the cistern at the corner of the
cottage to splash his own face with water before filling the ewer. Last night
had been as difficult as any he'd spent during the war. He hadn't slept a wink,
though he'd pretended so that she could relax enough to get some much-needed
rest. Once her breathing told him she was asleep, he'd spent the next few hours
watching the play of firelight over her face —and thinking.

Tessa had wanted him last night, nearly as much
as he'd wanted her. He hadn't missed the eagerness in her touch when he'd
kissed and caressed her, nor the disappointment in her eyes when he'd stopped.
Stopping had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he'd known
instinctively that she wasn't ready for more. Not yet. Even if she wished she
were.

Nor was he. That was even stranger, but it was
true, for he had realized during the long watches of the night that if once he
made Tessa his, he would never be able to let her go. And that thought scared
him to his very soul.

He dipped the ewer into the cistern and strode
quickly back to the cottage door. "Here. It's cold, so should wake you up
nicely."

She took the ewer with a shy smile that went
straight to his heart. "Thank you. I . . . I must have been more tired
than I realized, for I never thought to sleep so late —or at all."

"You did have rather a trying
evening," he reminded her. "I'll go saddle your mare and leave you to
wash." He would far rather stay and attempt to rekindle what they'd begun
last night, but once the words were spoken he was committed —which was just as
well.

Cinnamon was restive and doubtless hungry, but
stilled on his command so that he could tighten the girth of the sidesaddle.
Tessa had been right that there was nothing wrong with her temperament. Nimbus,
however, eyed him nervously.

He was tempted to see whether he could calm the
big bay himself, using the methods he'd watched Tessa employ, but decided not
to risk it, as she'd be out here herself in a moment. Perhaps later, once the
horse was back at Ivy Lodge.

"He hasn't tried to kick or bite, has
he?" came Tessa's voice from behind him just then.

"No, he's been a perfect gentleman —though
I've not ventured too close." He strove to subdue the surge of desire that
shot through him at her unexpected nearness.

She slipped past him, inflaming his errant body
further. "What a good boy you are, Nimbus," she said to the horse in
her lovely soft lilt. "Come, then, let's get you out into the light and
see how you're doing this morning."

She led the bay out of the lean-to, then ran
gentle hands along his body and down his legs, examining every inch of him.
Anthony found himself quite envying Nimbus.

"He seems to be walking better
today," she said at length. "Beyond his sore leg and that scratch on
his flank, I don't see anything else wrong with him. We'd best get him back so
that flank can be properly cleansed, however."

Anthony nodded. "I'm sure Killer has
notified the veterinary surgeon, who may already be waiting at Ivy Lodge."

Sudden worry flared in her eyes. "I hope
he can be trusted to hold his tongue, should he see me. I know neither you nor
Lord Killerby will say anything."

"Of course not. But there's no reason for
him to see you. I can lead Nimbus back to Ivy Lodge myself."

She shrugged, drawing Anthony's attention back
to her body. "Perhaps, but if Nimbus were to resist, he might end up worse
off than before." She pinkened slightly and added, "Nor would I have
you hurt."

Anthony grinned down at her. "I appreciate
your concern, though I must tell you that I really am quite good with horses,
despite what you saw that first night we met."

"Oh, I didn't mean—" She broke off,
perceiving that he was teasing her. "Rogue! I'm well aware of that, for
I've observed you in the hunt, you know. You're one of the best riders I've
ever seen, in fact."

He held up a hand. "Please, please, no
flattery. I have far too good an opinion of myself already, I assure you."

As he'd hoped, she burst into laughter —a
delightful sound that he'd very much wanted to hear again. "You really are
absurd, Lord Anthony," she finally said. "Here, then, why do you not
lead Nimbus, and I will lead Cinnamon."

"Ah, the lady wishes to test me. Very
well, I accept your challenge." With a mock bow, he extended his hand and
she placed Nimbus's reins in it. "Come, lad," he said soothingly to
the horse. "Help me to impress my lady, won't you?"

Tessa made a business of untangling Cinnamon's
reins so that Anthony could not see her face.
My lady
? A thrill went through her at the thought of
being his lady. But he was teasing again, of course. She mustn't let him see
how those two little words affected her.

"Shall we go?" she asked in a
tolerably disinterested voice.

To her surprise, Nimbus seemed not at all upset
by the change. She resisted the temptation to speak to the horse, to continue
to soothe him. Though Anthony had spoken teasingly, she suspected that he
really did wish to prove, to himself if not to her, that he could handle the
difficult beast.

"I hope my father will not send any
message to me at the Hilltops'," she said after a moment. "That would
be rather awkward."

"Is he likely to?"

She thought for a moment. "No, I think
not, as long as I'm home before noon. He often sleeps that late himself."
Though the past few days Sir George had been rising earlier, she remembered.

"We'll have you back well before
then," Anthony assured her. "Shall we walk a bit faster?" Nimbus
still followed him docilely, but of course that could be because she was still
nearby. He scarcely limped at all now.

"Yes, I believe Nimbus could manage a
quicker pace, if you can convince him to attempt it."

Flashing her a grin, Anthony glanced back at
the horse, then lengthened his stride so that Tessa had to trot a bit to keep
up. Nimbus quickened his gait without protest.

"You may ride, if you prefer," he
said.

For a moment she was tempted, as that would
indeed get them back sooner, but then she shook her head. "I can more
quickly get to Nimbus from the ground, should he suddenly become
difficult."

"Good point," he agreed, and slowed
his pace somewhat, so that she could more easily match it.

They had nearly an hour's walk ahead of them,
so she cast about for a suitable topic for conversation.

"You said you have always enjoyed
riding," she said. "Did you always wish to go into the Army, as
well?"

"From the time I was old enough to
understand the war," he replied. "My father wasn't keen on the idea,
mind you. But with five sons the succession was in no real danger, so I was
finally able to convince him to buy me a commission —as he did for my next
younger brother, Peter."

"Did he go into the Cavalry as well?"
She wanted to learn everything she could about Anthony, to include his family.
This might well be her only chance.

"No, he was never as horse-mad as I was.
Peter's a prudent sort. Focused, observant —incredible memory. Probably why he
rose to the rank of colonel and I but to major." His grin showed only
pride and affection for his brother, not bitterness.

She gazed at him for a moment, drinking in the
perfection of his handsome profile. "Somehow, I suspect you enjoyed your
service more than he."

He glanced and her in surprise, then chuckled.
"I won't say war was enjoyable, exactly, but you're probably right. I do
have a knack for finding the fun in most any situation, if there's any fun to
find."

"Like being caught in the rain with an
injured horse and a damsel in distress?" Why had she said that?

"I didn't have to seek far for the
enjoyment in
that
scenario," he assured her with twinkling eyes. "Or were you merely
fishing for a compliment?"

Confused, she looked away. That wasn't what she
was doing, was it? She wasn't sure. "I'm sure you'd have been far more
comfortable in your own bed than on that floor," she said, only to realize
that that, too, could be misinterpreted.

"There's more to life than comfort."
Something in his voice made her glance at him, but then his expression made her
look away just as quickly.

This is the son of a duke
, she reminded herself sternly. However much he
might enjoy bantering —flirting —with her to pass the time, it could ultimately
come to nothing. She must remember that.

"What of you, Tessa Seaton," he said
when she made no response. "Have you always had a gift with horses?"

She flashed him a startled glance at his use of
the same word she always used to herself for her ability. "Since my early
teens, anyway. My mother had the same gift, the same affinity with horses, so
was willing to let me spend more time with them than I might otherwise have
been allowed to do."

"And her father?"

"Yes, though not to the same extent. He
had enough to make him an exceptional trainer, however. It seems to run more
strongly in the female line, for my mother told me once that her grandmother
also had the gift."

He regarded her thoughtfully. "And was her
grandmother Irish, perhaps?"

Tessa stared at him. "How did you know
that?"

"I was remembering what Carter, Lord
Killerby's groom, said last night —and how you reacted. I simply put the pieces
together."

"Clearly, your brother Peter is not the
only one with remarkable powers of observation," she exclaimed. "Yes,
I wondered if the woman his grandfather remembered might not have been my
great-grandmother. Or perhaps this gift is simply more common in Ireland."

"Perhaps. But tell me more about your
abilities," he said, carefully leading Nimbus around a fallen tree branch.
"Is there any horse you can't tame?"

She shrugged. "I'm sure there must be.
I've never been tested against a truly wild one, of course. Even Nimbus here
had received some training before we bought him."

"Bad training, I'd wager, and it appears
your cousin did little to counteract it. I take it he does not possess your
gift?"

"Alas, no. In fact, Harold seems to have
quite the opposite effect on horses. I wish Papa could find some other
employment for him than trainer, for he is remarkably ill-suited to that
task." She knew she should not be telling him such things, but it was such
a relief to put her worries into words.

"Perhaps we can think of something,"
he suggested. "From what I've seen of your cousin, however, I doubt he'll
be amenable to anything he perceives as a demotion."

That was true enough, for Harold's ambitions
far exceeded his abilities. She suspected that what he really wanted was
ownership of Wheatstone itself— through her.

"We're nearly there," she commented,
pointing ahead, rather than speak her thoughts.

While part of her wanted to tell Anthony all of
her problems and allow him to solve them for her, she knew they were not his
responsibility. She mustn't come to depend on him, for he would be gone as soon
as hunting season ended.

"You stay here," he said when they
came within sight of the stables. "I'll lead Nimbus in, then return to
help you into the saddle. We don't want to risk you being seen."

She nodded, trying to ignore the sudden knot in
her throat. It's not as though she had expected him to make an offer rather
than put her reputation at risk. That would be absurd, when they could so
easily hide the truth. Nor would she accept him if he did. He must know that.