The Duke Can Go to the Devil (20 page)

Pursing his lips, he said, “I shall have to see if there are paintings somewhere that I could view.”

She sighed and shook her head. “You'd do better to see it in person. No painting can ever properly capture beauty like that.”

Deciding not to point out that there was no way he would ever see a tropical island, he said, “There are some very impressive mountains here in England. Scafell Pike in particular, which is the highest peak in the country. I'm certain they are substantially different from the ones you have seen in China, but they are still well worth the trip.”

“I'm certain they are. There is much that is worthy of a visit in this world, and I hope to see much more in my lifetime.”

Clicking his tongue, he urged their horses into a walk again. “I wonder, is one born with such wanderlust, or is it acquired along the way?” It was hard to imagine feeling such enthusiasm for travel. Most of the time, it simply seemed like a nuisance to him. Not to mention dangerous when one added in ocean travel. How strange that horses were what she feared, when she'd traversed the unfathomably deep and wide seas.

As far as he could tell, only those dissatisfied with their lives would seek to escape it.

May stayed by his side, both reins gripped tightly in her hands. “Probably born with it, I'd imagine. My mother said she always wanted to see the world, but never thought she would have the chance. Meeting my father was a dream come true for her.”

“She must have been a very brave woman. I can't imagine what her family must have thought.”

“I gather they were not supportive. I've never met them, and have no plans to do so. If my mother didn't see fit to correspond with them—and vice versa—then I'm content to follow her lead.”

Very interesting. Perhaps that had something to do with her aversion to this country. “Do they live here?”

“As far as I know, yes. Mama was from a small town near Portsmouth. But even when she was very ill, and knew she was not long for this world, she never wrote them.”

Nodding, he allowed the silence to stretch between them for a minute. What had her mother been like? From what he gathered, she was likely a lot like May. Curiosity about the woman's life brought to mind the
question of her death. “What happened to her?” It was a sensitive subject, but he wanted to understand more about what had happened in May's life to bring her to this point.

She pressed her lips together, looking up at the sky, though he doubted she actually saw it. “Malaria,” she said at last. “We thought she had beaten it, but after the third occurrence, she finally succumbed.”

He shook his head. It had to have been a horrible thing to go through for them all. “I'm terribly sorry. I can't imagine how hard that must have been on you.”

“Can't you?” she replied, sending a curious glance his way. “You lost your own mother. And so dreadfully young.”

True enough. The mood had grown somber, and he tried to think of something to lighten it. He settled on a question that had been on his mind since she'd introduced herself to Clarisse in the drawing room. “How did you come to have such an unusual name?”

That made her grin, which shifted something in his heart. It pleased him to see her smile. “Unusual here, perhaps. My mother was a great lover of Chinese culture. Mei-li means beautiful.”

“How very fitting,” he said beneath his breath.

She shot him a searching look as if attempting to determine his sincerity. Not wanting to linger over the compliment, he tapped a finger to his jaw. “I very clearly recall you telling my sister that your middle name is Britannia. So your name literally means ‘Beautiful Britain.'” The irony of the moniker made him laugh out loud.

She scowled, setting one hand to her waist. “It was a compromise between my parents. My father wanted to be sure I knew where I was from, and I think my mother wanted me to embrace where I would go in life.”

Say what she would, he still found it amusing. “And here you have been this whole time, acting as though you wanted nothing to do with this country.”

“It's part of me, I admit. It's just not where I'm going. It isn't home.”

Home.
The word echoed through him. He looked out over the vista, wishing she could see it through his eyes. But why? Whether she stayed or left this country had no bearing on him whatsoever.

Only, it didn't feel that way. As much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn't lie to himself. Somewhere along the way, he had become invested in this woman. Though he firmly reminded himself that theirs should be a platonic relationship, friendship seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

He needed to put some distance between them. The conversation had become too personal, and he wanted to reestablish the boundaries that seemed to be crumbling.

“I think it's time we got a little more adventurous. Shall we try a trot?”

Her eyes widened and she clutched the reins with renewed vigor. “You're trying to kill me, aren't you? That's the point of this whole exercise. Lure me out here with false promises of glorious countryside, only so you can perform death by horse on your old rival.”

He smiled with complete innocence. “I have no idea what you speak of. Have a little faith, Mei-li. In yourself and in me.” He hadn't intended to use her name like that. It had just slipped out, as natural as breathing. He found he liked the way it rolled off his tongue entirely too much for his own good.

Clearly the slip had not gone unnoticed. Her mouth
fell open as she blinked at him. “You've never called me that before.”

He shrugged, attempting to portray nonchalance. “If the children can call you that, I suppose I can as well. Now then, will you be adventurous, or will you be fearful?”

“I think I shall be prudent,” she replied, twisting the reins in her fingers.

“I think you are confusing the two of us.
I
am prudent. You are quite possibly the most
im
prudent person I have ever met.” In that moment, it was a lie. If he were prudent at all, he would turn around and take her back to the house. She was proving herself to be brave and interesting. She was transitioning from odd to unique in the way he thought of her. That little switch made all the difference somehow.

Laughter crinkled the corners of her eyes as she lifted her chin in challenge. “No, you're thinking of
boring
, not prudent. In which case, yes, I am the most un-boring person you have ever met. So thank you.”

“Oh? Then prove it. Just a gentle trot, so you can feel the wind on your face.”

She bit her lip, looking out over the grassy meadow in front of them. He could practically see her shoring up her resolve. Looking back at him, she drew a short breath and nodded. “All right. Promise that Blackella won't throw me?”

“You'll be fine. Ready?”

She squeezed her eyes closed and let out a nervous little noise that was somewhere between a squeak and a groan. Opening her eyes, she said, “As I'll ever be.”

William set off across the field, setting the pace to a brisk trot. The breeze felt good against his heated skin. May stayed close to his side, her gaze riveted straight
ahead with great intensity. He kept a careful watch on her and was pleased with her form. Plus, her eyes were huge, her cheeks flushed, and her grin almost comically wide. It was impossible not to smile at her exuberance, especially knowing how terrified she had been only that morning.

“Anticipate your horse's steps, so that you may move with them,” he directed, his voice loud enough to be heard over the thudding hooves. “You want to roll with the movement to help make it easier for both you and your mount.”

She nodded, never taking her eyes from the terrain before them. He could tell the moment she figured it out, when her body began to move in rhythm with the horse's stride. She was no longer bouncing along uncontrolled, at the mercy of Blackella's movements; she was part of them. He could see glimpses of the inherent gracefulness she possessed.

When they'd made it to the crest of the next hill, he called to her to stop, and they both pulled up on their mounts' reins. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on her legs as she panted for breath. “Shiver my topsails, was that exhilarating.”

He laughed aloud. “‘Shiver my topsails'? What kind of English is that?”

She gave a raspy chuckle, still trying to catch her breath. “The kind that gets the point across. Perfectly respectable among sailors, I assure you.”

He prudently chose not to question the respectability of sailors. “Am I to assume, then, that you have conquered your fear?”

“No, not quite, which is exactly why it's so exhilarating.” She flashed a smile as she breathed deep. “My father says that once a man loses his fear of the sea, that's when he makes mistakes. Maintaining a bit of the fear of God is what keeps us on our toes.”

“Sounds as though he is a wise man.”

William had wondered about her father. He must be a competent soul to have successfully maintained his career. Still, what kind of man would expose his wife and daughter to such an unorthodox and potentially dangerous life? Did he feel responsible for the way his wife had died? Perhaps that's how May ended up here, so clearly against her wishes.

“He is.
Most
of the time,” she added with a sigh. Thinking of his decision to leave her in England, no doubt. She shifted on the saddle, stretching her back. “I don't suppose there's a way to get down from this beast, is there? I'd like to feel solid land beneath my feet for a bit.”

Smiling, he jumped to the ground. He didn't bother worrying about securing Gray—he knew the horse would stay where he left him. Walking through the knee-high grass to Blackella's side, he offered May a steadying hand and said, “If you'll disengage yourself from the pommel, I'll help you down.”

She did as he directed without comment, obviously eager to get down. When she was facing him fully, he held up his arms. “Using my shoulders for support, lean forward and I'll do the rest.”

Though her hands must have been fatigued from holding the reins for all she was worth, she still clamped his shoulders tightly. As she leaned forward, he gripped her waist securely and pulled her from the saddle. All he needed to do was set her straight down and step away. It
was simple and straightforward, yet as his fingers pressed against her flesh, he found himself pulling his elbows in, so that she slid down only an inch or two from his chest.

By the time her feet touched the ground, his heart was pounding. His whole being was overly aware of her closeness, of the subtle smell of her skin and the sudden widening of her fathomless blue eyes.

He knew he should step away. It was up to him to maintain the distance between them he had demanded. But for once, his feet wouldn't obey him. Just as his hands wouldn't release her and his heart refused to slow.

Swallowing, she looked up directly into his eyes. “Radcliffe,” she said, her voice both stern and breathy. “I barely have the willpower for myself. I can't possibly bear it for the both of us.” As proof, her pulse fluttered at her neck just above the high collar of her blouse. He knew she was trying to honor her promise to him. Hadn't he been the one to lay down the rules between them?

Calling on every ounce of willpower he possessed, he stepped back and allowed his hands to slide away from the curve of her waist. “Yes, of course. Just ensuring you are stable on your feet after your ride.”

A single, knowing eyebrow arched high on her forehead. “Is that what we are saying?”

She deserved honesty. After all, she seemed to prize it above all else. “For the sake of prudence,” he said, emphasizing the word with a small curve of his lips, “yes, that's what we are saying.”

No arguments from her this time. She simply nodded and turned to look out over the land on the other side of the hill. “Another lake. Your land is certainly rich in resources.”

He murmured his agreement, preoccupied with the delicate curve of her ear and the angle of her jaw.
Shaking himself, he cleared his throat and said, “Indeed. We have several lakes and streams, and the River Wylie cuts through on the northeast quadrant.”

“Will we see it today?”

He pursed his lips. He hadn't planned on heading that far east. The mill was located on the river, and it didn't seem like a good idea to parade her in front of his workers. He didn't want for anyone to get the wrong idea about their intentions toward each other. Smiling to her, he said, “It's quite a trek from here. Perhaps we should play it by ear, given your newness to riding.”

She grinned wryly in return. “In that case, I may never see it. Shall we take a short walk before resuming our ride?”

“Whatever you wish. You were brave enough to rise to the challenge of riding, so I am happy to give you the reins, so to speak.”

Pride lifted her shoulders as she looked back over the lake. “Do you know? This land is rather growing on me.”

The words pierced through his newly erected armor. He resisted the urge to slide a finger down the gentle curve of her cheek. “Thank you, May. It gives me great pleasure to hear it.”

That, at least, was the absolute truth.

T
he man was going to be the death of her.

She hadn't been kidding when she'd told him she hadn't the willpower for the both of them. She was doing her damnedest to honor the vow she had made to him, but she'd never expected that he'd make it so hard.

The looks were bad enough. She could feel his gaze on her skin like the warmth of the sun. Each time it caressed the back of her neck or the side of her face, she flushed with the heat of it. But when he had lifted her down from the horse? That had nearly been her undoing. Feeling the possessive strength in his hands, the power of muscles that could hold her as though she weighed no more than a paper doll, was pure torture. Being that close to him was simultaneously thrilling and awful, since she knew she couldn't act on the desire thrumming in her chest.

The fact was, there was attraction between them. Pure, physical, honest attraction. She was attempting to maintain propriety for his sake, but if she was to make it the rest of the week, he needed to stop looking at her as though he wanted to pull her hard against him and kiss her until they were both breathless.

Or perhaps that was just what
she
wanted.

Regardless, she'd been relieved when, following their
walk, the duke had found a fallen tree that she could use as a mounting block. One more time having his hands around her waist might well have been her downfall.

Despite the tension that hung between them like a taut thread, the ride had been quite tolerable. She was getting used to the feeling of being perched atop the beast, and was enjoying the easy conversation they shared as they headed continually north. The sun was higher in the sky, and she estimated they'd been riding for about an hour and a half when he'd pulled back on the reins and pointed to the tree line ahead.

“My northern border,” he said, adjusting his hat to better shield his eyes.

“We made it?” Pride settled squarely in the center of her chest. She'd done it. She'd actually ridden all the way here without losing her nerve, her balance, or her breakfast.

“We made it,” he confirmed, sending her a wide grin. Lord knew why it mattered so much, but she loved that he was so proud of her, too. She had met his challenge, and come out better for it.

“Thank you,” she said, really meaning it. “I can't believe you convinced me to risk life and limb, but I'm so glad that you did.”

His gaze was liquid amber in the sunlight. “I never doubted you would rise to the challenge. I can't imagine there is anything that would get the best of you.”

“Careful,” she said, valiantly fighting against a giddy grin. “I wouldn't want to throw off my balance thanks to an inflated ego.”

“Don't worry. Were I to guess, I'd say it was already at its maximum limit.”

She scowled at him in mock outrage. “Excuse me, you barnacle-bottomed bilge swiller,” she exclaimed,
swatting at him with her long, slender crop. “I do believe that is the pot calling the kettle black.”

He shook his head, biting back a grin. “If I knew what that meant, I'm certain I'd be impressively insulted. As it is, I'll simply assume you are appreciative of my observation.”

He was actually playing with her, letting go of that stuffiness that had seemed to define him for so long. She rolled her eyes in teasing response. “Close enough. And if I am honest, I will admit that your diabolical plan may have worked.”

“Of course it did. My diabolical plans always work. But just to be clear, which plan are we referring to?” He sent her an innocent look of query, making her laugh.

“Your scheme for me to experience your lands on horseback, so that I may better appreciate the subtle beauty of it all.” She shook her head. “I'm not entirely happy about being made to enjoy a country I am determined to dislike.”

She was teasing, but there was more truth in that statement than she wanted to admit. Part of her feared her father would force her to stay here, never coming to his senses and allowing her to rejoin him. Because of that fear, she couldn't help but rebel against everything about this place. To acquiesce to its charms was to admit that this might be where she ended up, and that was a fate best not contemplated.

He nodded gravely, mimicking his own stern, dukish nature. “As I said, my plans always work. I knew you would see the beauty if you but opened your eyes.”

Glancing out over his lands, his features relaxed into what could be described only as contentment. “Should we turn back?”

“When we are this close to the border? I should think
not. Why don't we race to the tree line? And by race,” she added quickly, sending him a rueful grin, “I mean trot briskly while you very politely allow me to win.”

“Just a trot? I bet you have a cantor in you yet.”

“Just a trot,” she said firmly. “I said I liked your lands, not that I wished to be buried on them.”

He sighed. “Fine, fine. You set the pace, and I shall restrict my own speed accordingly.”

“Perfect. And no making fun of my slow start. If you do, I shall force you to trade saddles so you can experience the disadvantage of the position.”

He saluted, and she urged Blackella forward. She picked up speed until they were racing across the hillside even a smidge faster than the trot she had insisted on. William easily kept pace, watching her more than where they were going. The hill sloped gently down toward the valley, making it feel as though they were going even faster than they were.

The wind stung her eyes and pulled at her hat, but she ignored the discomfort and concentrated on maintaining her balance and savoring the ride. At this speed, it reminded her of standing at the ship's bow as they sailed into the wind. In a word, it was glorious.

“Superb riding skills, Miss Bradford,” he said, smiling broadly as he called out the encouragement. “You possess a natural talent.”

She grinned, adjusting her position as they reached the bottom of the hill. Mr. Horseman himself, complimenting her skills, such as they were. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could form a single word, his horse stumbled and came up short. One second, he was smiling at her and the next he was catapulting over the gelding's neck, flipping in midair. May gasped, horrified yet unable to do anything to help.
When he hit the ground, his momentum somersaulted him forward for another full rotation before he came to a stop flat on his back.

As fast as she could without suffering the same fate, she yanked back on Blackella's reins and wheeled around. He looked dazed but alert as he blinked up at her.

“Thunder an' turf, are you all right?” Her heart was in her throat as she raked her gaze over him, looking for signs of injury. “I'd get down to help if I bloody well knew how.”

He groaned and sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, that was unpleasant,” he said, grimacing as he pushed to his feet and brushed off his sleeves.

Her relief was so great that she sagged in the saddle, blowing out a long breath. She would have sworn such a fall would have at the very least knocked the wind from him. Amazingly, he seemed none the worse for wear. He paused to stretch his back a few times, then rolled his head once before turning to see to his horse.

May took one look at his jacket and slapped a hand over her mouth.

His entire back was coated in mud. Liberally. From the bottom hem to just below his shoulders, he was one brown sodden mess. Mirth surged up from within her, but she valiantly held it back. The man had just been launched head over heels from his horse; laughing now would be wholly inappropriate.

Struggling for composure, she swallowed, lowered her hand, and said. “Are you hurt? That was . . . spectacular.”

He glanced back at her, giving a small shrug. “I'm fine. I'm sure I'll feel it tomorrow, but I am at least in one piece.” He paused, tilting his head. “
What
is that look for?”

“Nothing,” she said, then quickly pressed her lips back together. There were several bits of debris sticking out from his hair, and his cheeks were both splattered with mud.

“If you are going to tell me you told me so, you can keep it to yourself,” he grumbled, then went to check on his horse, which was waiting patiently as though it hadn't just thrown its master clear through the air.

“I wasn't going to gloat, for God's sake.”
Yet.

He ran his hands over the horse's legs, then pulled up each foot. He let out a frustrated growl. “Threw a shoe. I should have been paying more attention. Of course the ground would be muddy at the bottom of the hill after yesterday.”

May marveled at his restraint. Any other man she knew would be liberally cursing right about then.
She
would have been cursing, were it her. “Is he all right?”

“Yes, thank God. Still, I can't ride him until I get that hoof looked at and the shoe replaced. It's hard to tell in this muck if there's injury to the hoof wall.”

He shook his head, putting both hands to his hips. “I've never had this happen before. I mean, I've been thrown before, but that was the result of going too fast on a hunt when I was younger. You must think me a complete fool, assuring you everything would be all right.”

Now that she knew everything
was
all right, the humor of the way he looked, standing there coated in mud and heaven knew what else, struck her all over again. She lifted her hand to stifle her laughter, not wanting to make a bad situation worse.

He crossed his arms, looking up at her suspiciously. “You do think me a fool. Fair enough,” he said stiffly. Stalking a few feet away, he bent to retrieve his hat, giving her an exceptional view of his muddied backside.

She couldn't help it. The laughter sprang from her lips, shaking her shoulders and startling her horse. Even as she clutched the saddle, she couldn't stop. He jerked around, regarding her with the most spectacular display of indignant displeasure she had ever seen.

“I'm sorry,” she gasped, trying to get herself under control. “It's just that, you have a little something, um, here—” She waved her hand in a huge circle, basically encompassing all of him.

He narrowed his eyes at her before looking down.

“No, not the front. The back. And your hair. And a little on your face.”

This earned her another scowl, which made her only want to laugh all over again. He craned his neck, trying to see over his shoulder. When that proved fruitless, he ran his fingers through his hair, coming up with several pieces of muddy grass.

The look on his face was priceless as he flung the offending vegetation to the ground. “I'm so glad I could provide such amusement for you.”

“Oh, for God's sake, lighten up,” she said. “You scared the living daylights out of me. Now that you are fine, there's nothing wrong with being able to see the humor in the situation. Now, hand me down so I can help you.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “No, thank you.” He rubbed a sleeve across his cheek, which only served to spread the mud farther.

“You just made it worse. And you should see your jacket. You look as though you backstroked through a puddle.”

Blowing out an exasperated breath, he unbuttoned his jacket and yanked it off. Clumps of mud fell to the ground as he did so, falling along the back of his legs on the way down. His white lawn shirt—no doubt the finest fabric money could buy—was now well-stained at the sleeves and the top of the collar.

Swallowing the fresh wave of laughter, she tried again. “Don't go cutting off that nose to spite me. At the very least, let me help you clean your face.”

“A little mud has yet to kill anyone. You may stay up there on your high horse.”

“Radcliffe,” she exclaimed. “Let me down. You're being ridiculous.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied, sounding perfectly reasonable as he tossed his jacket over the saddle and turned back to face her, “but at the moment, I have no desire to correct it.”

He looked so adorably stubborn, it made her want to wrap her arms around him, mud be damned. Not that she would—he had rules, and she had promised to abide by them. Still, she could at least wipe the smudge from his face. “Come over here and assist me, or so help me, I will attempt to dismount on my own, and if I break my neck, you will have only yourself to blame.”

Ignoring her completely, he grabbed his horse's reins and started walking. “We are much too far from the house to walk back, but we are only two miles or so from the mill.”

Obstinate man. Letting out an annoyed huff, she fussed with her legs, pulling the right one free of the pommel, and the left one clear of the stirrup. Right. It was basically like sitting on a tall platform at that point. If she could find a way to turn, she could do a controlled slide down to the ground. At that moment, Blackella
started forward, following Gray's lead, but May quickly pulled back on the reins.

“What do you think you're doing?” The duke paused, sending her an incredulous glare.

“Handing myself down. Apparently if a woman wants anything done around here, she must do it herself.” She slowly began twisting, holding on to the saddle for balance. She paused as she reached her side, clutching the edge of the saddle awkwardly as her legs dangled off to one side, and tried to determine the best way to proceed.

In hindsight, this was perhaps not the most elegant way to go about it.

As she completed the turn, she began to lower herself. She was doing just fine until a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. Startled—how the hell had he reached her so quickly?—she gave a squeak of alarm as her grip gave way.

Suddenly without purchase, she fell into his arms like a dropped anchor. He stumbled backward, and she knew in an instant there was no way he could compensate for the swing in momentum with May occupying his arms.

She was right.

With arms and legs flailing like a rogue octopus thrown back overboard, they hurtled backward toward the muddy earth. She had just enough time to tense and then . . .