His Wedding-Night Heir (17 page)

man to work for... Was that a way of surviving the months to

come? she wondered wryly. To regard herself somehow as

just another employee of a generous boss?

Maybe it was—if she could only keep her wayward and futile

dreams safely under control, she thought, suppressing an

unhappy sigh.

She said goodbye, and found herself turning towards the sta-

bles. She'd not planned a visit there, but it was either that or

return to the house. And she wasn't ready for that. Or not yet.

There was no one about in the yard, and she followed the

worn track down to the paddock, shading her eyes against the

sun, which was sinking towards the treetops now.

There were three horses turned out in the field. Two were

grazing quietly together, and the third stood alone in the far

corner, head down, tail swishing wearily against marauding

flies.

Cally, resting her arms on the fence rail, stared across at the

solitary horse. There was something about him, she thought

with bewilderment—his stance, maybe, or his colour—that

was strangely familiar.

As if aware of her scrutiny, he lifted his head and began to

move towards her across the paddock, his speed increasing as

he approached, whickering softly. And, she'd swear, joyfully.

Which was when she knew for certain. And the world blurred.

'Baz,' she whispered chokingly. 'Baz, my beauty—my won-

derful old boy.'

As she climbed the fence to get to him, her dress caught on a

splinter and she wrenched it free, uncaring. She stood beside

him, her wet face buried in his neck, one hand stroking his

muzzle as he lovingly nosed her shoulder and arm, waiting for

the expected treats as if it was only yesterday that they'd

parted.

'I've nothing with me.' She was laughing through her tears.

'No carrot, no apple. Because I—didn't know.'

I have a wedding present for you...

The one gift that Nick knew she could not refuse. Dear God,

but he was clever, she thought shakily.

She climbed on to the middle rung of the fence and swung

herself on to Baz's back, holding his mane as she encouraged

him to amble gently round the perimeter of the paddock.

The circuit was almost completed when Cally saw a girl

standing at the gate, watching anxiously.

'Lady Tempest?' she asked as Cally brought Baz to a halt and

slid to the ground. 'I'm Lorna Barton, the groom. I'm so sorry.

I should have been here, but I thought you weren't coming

after all, so I went up to the house for a cup of tea.'

'Well, it wasn't planned. As you see, I'm hardly dressed for

riding.' Cally indicated her torn dress with a faint grimace, it

was more of a happy reunion.'

Lorna's face relaxed. 'He's a grand old lad, isn't he? But never

exciting enough for that riding school.' She shook her head. 'A

couple of lessons and they all thought they were three-day

eventers and wanted rides to match. So poor old Baz was

surplus to requirements. I don't know what would have

happened if Sir Nicholas hadn't found him, because no one

was bothering with him.'

Cally hesitated. 'When was that, exactly?'

'About a year ago, and Sir Nicholas hired me to come with

him.' Her rosy face acquired a deeper hue.' He bought Baz for

you. Lady Tempest, or so I understood. Only...'

'Only I wasn't here,' Cally supplied calmly. 'However, I'm

back now, and I'll be exercising him regularly.' She paused, I

presume he's up to it?' she added cautiously. 'He looks so

much older.'

'He had a bad time in Yorkshire,' the other girl said sadly.

'And the vet's not totally happy about him even now. But he

likes to be ridden, as long as it's not too far or too fast.'

'I'll be careful,' Cally nodded. 'And I'll see you tomorrow.' She

ran a caressing hand down Baz's neck. 'Both of you.'

And now, she thought as she walked away, the breath catch-

ing in her throat, she would have to find Nick and thank him.

She could do nothing else.

His study was at the back of the house. Cally knocked at the

door, and waited until she was told to enter.

Nick was sitting behind a large oak desk, operating a laptop

with frowning concentration. His tie was dark and his white

shirt was open at the neck, the sleeves turned back over his

tanned forearms. He did not 1ook up and his voice held a

touch of impatience. 'Yes?'

She said, 'I just took delivery of my wedding present.'

His head lifted sharply. His grey gaze scanned her, taking in

the flushed cheeks, the brilliance of excitement in her eyes,

lingering over the ripped skirt.

He said, after a pause, 'You said you weren't interested.'

She shook her head. 'I just never dreamed...' Her voice

thickened, and she swallowed. 'It's so wonderfu1 to see Baz

again, and Lorna says you pretty much saved his life. How—

how did you find him?'

'You asked me to go through your grandfather's papers after

his death. I found the bill of sale amongst t hem.'

'And you didn't say a word?'

He shrugged. 'No, but I remembered how upset you were, and

I wanted to surprise you— make you happy.' He gave her a

level look. 'But, as you know, I was the one destined for the

surprise.'

She thought of the way he'd held her that day beside the

empty field—comforted her— and, in spite of herself—felt

her skin warm.

She bit her lip. 'Yes—well. I—

I don't know how to thank you.' Nick pushed back his chair

and stood up, walking round the des k.

His voice slowed to a drawl. 'Now, I can think of any number

of ways.' He leaned back casually against the edge of the desk

and held out a hand. 'Come here.'

She supposed she should have expected it, but, stupidly, she

hadn't.

Sudden nervousness knotted in the pit of her stomach. She

said too quickly, 'You're busy. I— I shouldn't have

interrupted.'

"There's nothing that can't wait.' He waited too, then sighed.

'Caily, don't make me fetch you.'

Reluctantly, she crossed the room and stood in front of him,

looking down at the carpet. Nick reached out and to ok the

hand she didn't offer, and then the other, drawing her towards

him between his legs until their bodies touched.

She stood, silent and motionless, helplessly trapped by the

long hard length of his thighs. Aware of the warmth o f him

through her thin dress. Still unable to meet his gaze.

Behind her ribcage she could feel the frantic flutter of her

heart like a caged bird throwing itself against its bars.

He said softly, 'Darling, look at me.'

Her lashes felt weighted over her unhappy eyes, but she made

herself obey.

'Nick—please,' she whispered. 'Not here—not like this...'

His voice roughened. 'What the hell do you think I want?'

'I—I don't know.'

'You talk about gratitude,' he said slowly, 'but you don't show

it. Is one kiss really so much to ask— from a wife to her

husband?'

He released her hands, touching her shoulders instead. Letting

his fingers slide down her back to her hips and rest there.

'At our wedding you kissed me,' he told her quietly. 'All these

months I've remembered the sweetness of your mouth. Kiss

me again, Cally, just as you did that morning. And don't

pretend you've forgotten.'

Forget? She wanted to cry aloud, as agony wrenched her.

How could she possibly forget, when every detail of It at day

had been tormenting her—scarring her mind— ever since?

Especially that moment when their lips had met to seal their

vows.

Her innocence, she thought, offered freely and gladly to his

passion. A girl anticipating with eagerness and trust the

moment when the glorious alchemy of sex would transform

her into a woman.

But only for a few brief hours—and then the dream had died.

He said harshly, 'Then I'll just have to take what little there is.'

His mouth was hard and sudden on hers, imposing a bleak

sensuality that found her totally unprepared. She died to strug-

gle, but there was no evading the ruthless mastery with which

he parted her lips, his tongue flickering like a flame against

hers.

He turned her slightly, so that she was supported by his arm

while one hand closed on the swell of her breast, his fingers

stroking her nipple with almost casual expertise and, in spite

of the barriers of cloth and her instant shocked recoil, bringing

it to aching, irresistible life.

She tried to say no, but the word was stifled in her throat—

lost against the pressure of his lips.

His kiss deepened relentlessly, exploring the inner contours of

her mouth with the intensity of a connoisseur. Drained and

dizzy, she could hardly breathe. She couldn't think any more,

or muster any kind of emotional defence against the

plundering lips, or the long, slow sweep of his hand down

every curve and plane of her body.

And realised in some drowning corner of her mind that he

would know that all too well.

That the battle was over, and he'd won...

At last he raised his head and looked down at her as she lay

slumped and panting against him. The grey eyes were almost

silver, heavy with desire, as, without haste, his fingers pene-

trated the jagged rip in her skirt, tearing it even further. As

they caressed the silken flesh of her thigh, then softly teased

their way along the lace edge of her underwear.

The breath caught painfully in her throat as Cally, tantalised

to the edge of endurance, felt the sudden unequivocal surge of

her body's response. The searing, incalculable need she had

believed she'd overcome.

Deep inside her, a fist seemed to clench painfully, releasing

the first scalding rush of passion. Demanding that the hunger

he'd awoken should be appeased. And soon.

Imploringly, her lips tried to shape his name, and her hand

went up to grip the front of his shirt, to draw him down to her

again—to her waiting, trembling mouth. And then—and then

to the molten eager heat of her first surrender.

But instead, his slow, intimate incitement was deliberately

stilled, then withdrawn. And Cally found herself being rifted

back on her feet and carefully steadied as Nick looked down

at her flushed, strained face and shook his head slowly.

'Much as it grieves me, my sweet, I have to let you go.'

He didn't sound grief-stricken, she thought suddenly. In fact,

his voice was cool and even. Almost containing a note of faint

She stared at him in confused disbelief as a small agony of

shame began to uncurl inside her, commingled with anger, the

spell which had enslaved her broken at last. And, if she was

honest, only just in time.

Oh, God, she thought in shocked horror. What have I done? I

couldn't have made it any easier for him if I'd tried.

He's totally sure of me now—and of himself...

But I should have stopped him—pushed him away, not waited

for him to do it. What was I thinking of?

Except that she hadn't been thinking at all. Her reaction had

been completely physical, born from the long months of delib-

erate starvation.

Nick, she realised, was glancing at his watch.

'In ten minutes I have an appointment with one of the ten-

ants—Ted Radstock,' he went on, almost casually. 'And I'm

sure you wouldn't want him to walk in and find us—together."

By some superhuman effort she kept her own voice level.

'Knowing that, I'm surprised you—chose to detain me.'

'I'm not sure I did choose,' he said quietly. 'Kisses can be

dangerous, Cally. With your mouth under mine, I—almost

forgot everything else.'

'In any case,' she continued, as if he hadn't spoken, 'there was

no way that I'd have allowed—things to go any further. A

moment longer and I'd have been—out of here.'

His eyes narrowed. 'I had a very different impression.'

'You think I'd have let you go on—mauling me like that—

degrading me?' She gave a small scornful laugh. 'You flatter

yourself. You—took me by surprise, that's all.'

'A marked improvement on never taking you at all.' His voice

took on a new and dangerous softness.

As Cally turned to leave his hand shot out, clasping her wrist

without gentleness. Stopping her in her tracks.