Untamed (10 page)

“This is lovely,” she said for no particular reason. “I could almost fancy us in the country.”

He turned to her, and Kate found herself pinned beneath the force of that breath-stealing emerald gaze. “You’re not much for London, are you?” Not precisely a question.

She hesitated, weighing her words. “Like most places, it becomes tedious after a while. The same people, the same gossip, the same … Well, what you said earlier about stale cakes and empty conversation, I feel like that sometimes. As though the longer I’m here, surrounded by everyone gorging themselves on beautiful things and decadent pleasures, the emptier I become.” She stopped herself from saying more. Why was she telling him these things?

“But you do like horses.” Not a question this time, either.

He had the habit of framing declarative statements as questions—questions to which he apparently already knew the answers. She tried telling herself that was only a mannerism of speech, an artifact of his Scots dialect, but the gleam in his gaze and that canny, crooked half smile told her it was a great deal more. On some level, he was testing her.

“I like them well enough.”
Too much enthusiasm, Katherine. Tamp it down before you give yourself away.
“But it’s a great deal of bother to keep a horse in town.”

Stabling a horse in London was, indeed, an expensive proposition. When her mother was alive, there’d been money for such luxuries, but not now. Even if they’d had the funds, she would have declined. After Princess, she hadn’t been able to risk falling in love with another horse.

He fixed her with that unnervingly steady gaze. “The way you handle Buttercup, I would’ve wagered you were too mad about horses to find anything about them bothersome.”

“I had a pony when I was a child, a frisky little filly I named Princess. I got her for my birthday when I was ten, and for a little over a year, she was my best friend.”

She stopped herself. Once again she’d volunteered more than she should, a great deal more. Kate’s pride couldn’t risk him finding out just how poor her family was. Princess hadn’t been the last casualty of her father’s gaming. They’d only let the town house in Mayfair because Kate had calculated that to do so was less costly than keeping a grand house open year-round. Few people outside of Romney knew that the servants had been dismissed, the few unsold furnishings buried beneath Holland covers, and the house boarded up. Beyond the income from the harvest and rents—and Kate wasn’t certain what they’d do if this proved to be another bad year—they had no money to speak of, nor property to barter, sell off—or lose.

“What happened to her?” Mr. O’Rourke’s deep timbre drew her back to the present.

Throat thick, she looked away, cursing herself for having started down this path. “I … outgrew her.”

As if sensing her need for a change of topic, he reached across and patted her mare’s neck. “Buttercup has more than passed any test I might have given her. She’s shown herself to be an ideal mount for a lady. Docile and sweet as honey, aren’t you, lass?”

Kate snapped her head back around. “Is that how you fancy females—docile and sweet?” Dear Lord, whatever had possessed her to say such a thing aloud?

Heat flooded her face. Any hope she’d had that he might let the remark pass died when he looked over at her. Green eyes brushed over her face, and then drifted lower to the vee of her throat not covered by her coat’s open collar.

“That all depends on the particular female—and the manner of sport in question.”

A blast of sexual heat hit her, stoking a heavy throbbing between her thighs. Suddenly Kate needed to feel
terra firma
beneath her own feet. “I think I need to walk for a while.”

He nodded, and she led the horse over to the side of the track. Grabbing a fistful of mane, she slid her foot from the stirrup and started to dismount.

Hands, warm and strong, braced about her waist. Mr. O’Rourke eased her down to the ground, his breath striking the side of her face.

Shaky, she turned about to him. “Thank you, but you needn’t have bothered.”

“It wasna a bother.”

He kept hold of her waist a moment more before handing her the reins and stepping back. They walked in silence for a moment more, the horses following.

At length, Kate asked, “Why did you ask me here?”

It was an honest question. In her experience, men pursued a woman for one of two reasons: money or sex. Unlike her other suitors, Patrick O’Rourke couldn’t be after her supposed fortune. It was common knowledge he’d made a killing by buying up railway stock, purchasing a Scottish railway company several years before and then amalgamating smaller, vulnerable companies with his own. She was given to understand his company held the monopoly on lines traveling the northwest route from London to Waverly. Likely he was one of the wealthiest bachelors circulating about town, which went a long way in explaining why men like Dutton despised him so.

Might he be angling to make her his mistress, then? But, no, rough though his manners were, surely even he was aware that one did not approach an earl’s daughter with that sort of proposal, even if she was almost seven-and-twenty and as good as on the shelf.

If not to marry her for money or take her into keeping for sex, then what
did he
want with her?

“I wanted to get to know you. I saw the knocker was up and thought I’d take a chance. Betimes, had I paid you a proper call, would you have come out?”

“Probably not,” she admitted.

“Why did you come?” How neatly he had turned the tables on her, and yet Kate found herself considering what answer she would give if she dared.

Because my father’s house feels like a prison. Because before you came, I was lonely, lonelier than usual. Because after the other night, I desperately needed a morning off from being me
—
and a friend.

Because there’s something about you unlike any other man I’ve known before that draws me like a moth to a flame, though I know in my head, if not my heart, that I should stay away
—
far away.

Rather than admit such shameful truths aloud, she shrugged. “As you said, it’s too fine a day to spend indoors. I should be getting back, though.”

She said the latter with a true sense of regret. Until now, she’d been having such a good time, she’d all but forgotten that Mrs. Billingsby and her son, Hamilton, were to drop by after two o’clock. Since the other night’s “spot of trouble,” she had her hopes on that young man coming up to scratch. Hamilton Billingsby was pleasant and presentable. He came from money, and Kate hoped his family might be willing to overlook Bea’s paltry dowry in exchange for marrying their son into one of England’s top-drawer families. Certainly Bea could do far worse for herself. If she became engaged, there would be no need to go to the trouble and expense of financing a come-out. But it was early days yet. There was no telling whether Bea and the young man would suit. As eager as Kate was to see her sister settled and herself free of familial obligation, she wouldn’t push Bea into a union that might make her miserable.

His gaze, so rarely serious, turned so now. He scoured her face. “Have I gotten you in trouble, then, by whisking you away on your at-home day without so much as a by-your-leave?” His tone conveyed true concern. “If you’d asked me in to stay, I might have met your father and asked proper permission.”

Ask permission of her father—that was rich. Her father had been still abed when she’d left. Assuming he’d risen, he would be having his beer and raw egg about now. Afterward he would go to his study and drink steadily throughout the day. Fortunately he never became loud or foul-mouthed or violent, as she was given to understand some men did. Mostly he stayed out of their way, especially on her at-home day when callers arrived. If it wasn’t for his proclivity for entering into deep play when he was in his cups, Kate could have resigned herself to leave him be.

“Not yet, but the park will become more crowded as the day lengthens. It wouldn’t do for us to be found alone together without a chaperone. The gossips would have a field day.”

It was no less than the truth. She didn’t give a jot what people thought of her, but she wouldn’t do anything to harm Bea’s chances.

He snorted. “I hadn’t realized I was in need of a chaperone.” His eyes sparkled, though he kept a straight face. “That eager to have your wicked way with me, are you now? Mind you hold your gaze high and your thoughts pure, milady, for I’ve nay defense against your wiles.”

Kate couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. Since meeting Patrick O’Rourke, she had done more smiling and laughing than she had in the past year.

He touched his hand to her shoulder. “Ah, Katie, good it is to hear your laughter, to see your smile and know I had some part in bringing about that glow.”

Kate sobered. She glanced down at his hand on her arm. Touching in public between the sexes was verboten. “You haven’t the right to call me familiar, and even if you did, my given name is Katherine. As matters stand, we scarcely know one another.” She shifted to the side, and he let his hand fall.

His smile, however, stayed fixed in place. She couldn’t say why, but the lopsided curve of his full lips and bright flash of white teeth muddled her thoughts and sent her insides twisting with longing. “We could remedy that. Coarse though I am, you want me, Kate, you know you do.”

Kate ran her gaze over him, feeling her heart pounding in that wild way it only ever did when he was near. “I wouldn’t wager on that were I you.”

Her choice of words sent his smile slipping. “Oh, you want me a’right. Why else are your eyes bright as beads and your cheeks afire?”

“If my face is pink, it’s because of the cold. And if my eyes are dark, it’s because I’m shocked—livid, in fact.”

“Not so very shocked or livid as you might care to let on.” He reached down and cupped her cheek in the buttery kid leather of his gloved hand. “When was the last time you were kissed, milady? Really kissed?”

She backed up, bumping into the horse. “That is none of your affair.”

“And that isna an answer.” He slid his foot between hers, his leg tenting her skirt and pressing against the inside of her thigh. “I ken you’re a woman who wants for kissing. Some women don’t, mind, but you’re not one of those. Cold though you pretend to be, there’s a fire inside you that willna be banked nor denied. You don’t only want for kissing, milady. I’d say you’re fair near starved for it.”

She jerked her chin and looked up at him. “Why you arrogant, insufferable, coarse … wretch … And I suppose you’re the man for the job?”

“Mayhap I am. I fancy I know a thing or two about what a woman like you needs.”

A woman like her! Dear God, was he suggesting she was on the shelf, past her prime? She hadn’t hesitated to proclaim the same any number of times, and yet for some unfathomable, illogical reason, hearing the confirmation uttered from the lips—the sensual, kissable lips—of the very attractive, if utterly unsuitable Mr. Patrick O’Rourke had her heart turning from featherlight to cannonball leaden and dropping hard and heavy to the tops of her booted feet.

“Of course, there’s only one way to find out for sure.” He moved to cover her.

Kate backed up a step, but there was nowhere else for her to go. The tethered horse was directly behind her, the Scotsman at her front. Though he was of average height, still he eclipsed her.

“Dinna fight pleasure for pleasure’s sake, Katie. ’Tis said to be what separates us from the beasts.”

The wild pounding was worsening, her heart threatening to slam through her chest. And then there was the warm, fluttery feeling between her pressed-together thighs she couldn’t explain away as anger or fear or any emotion other than what it was—desire.

Angrier with herself than him, she lashed out, “I think you are a beast, a great coarse, common beast.”

He smiled as though she’d paid him the highest of compliments. “If I am, then only think what a challenge it would be to tame me. You fancy a challenge, don’t you, milady?”

His lips hovered a hairsbreadth from hers, his breath a balmy breeze on her cheek. The latter was cinnamon spiced. Like a fine, oak-aged Scotch, it hinted of intoxicating delights buttery rich and delicious.

Kate tried catching her breath and then lost it altogether. For once in her life, no ready response came to mind. Words clever or otherwise quite simply refused to come. She was struck dumb, mesmerized. His mouth was a mystery she longed to explore, his darkening green eyes beacons from which she could not look away.

And yet she couldn’t give up control, not yet, not entirely, not like this. “Step back, sir. You stand too close.”

Holding his ground and her gaze, he shook his head.
“Improperly
close, would you say?”

A trickle of moisture slid down her thighs. Even though it was full winter, her body beneath her riding habit felt feverish, hot. “Yes, I would.”

He slid a single gloved finger down her chin to the hollow of her throat. “Good.”

Kate gulped. “Good?”

His hands slid to her waist, the palms anchoring to her hips. “Aye, for it makes it easier to do this.” He pulled her flush against him and covered her open mouth with his.