A Shocking Proposition

They were still talking when they reached the turn off up to the village of Haydon.

Maddy halted the gig there, sheltered from the wind’s bite in the lee of the hedge. “I would invite you up, but it’s getting late. If you don’t turn back now—” She glanced up at the sky.

She was right, but the regret that shot through him was a complete surprise. He wanted to spend more time with her. Find out why she’d used that odd phrase—I still live there. His jaw tensed—find out why she feared Montfort. Did he own Haydon now? Somehow Ash didn’t much like the thought of that.

“Thank you, for accompanying me home,” she said, holding out her hand. “Not just because of Edward, but—” She stopped, her face flooding scarlet.

Because she had enjoyed his company? As much as he had enjoyed hers?

“I’ll see you in the summer if not before,” he said. And realized that he definitely didn’t want to wait that long. “You won’t mind my digging on Haydon land again?”

A queer expression crossed her face. Almost, he thought, it looked like guilt. “N-no. But we’ll need to discuss it.” She held out her hand.

“Of course,” he said. He leaned over to take her gloved hand, meaning only to say goodbye. For an instant her fingers clung and their eyes met. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull back, he turned her hand over, palm up. There, between glove and sleeve, was the merest strip of pale, tempting skin. Heat a swift rhythm in his blood, he raised her wrist to his mouth and brushed his lips over the place. Lord, she was soft. Tissue soft, silk soft. His lips lingered, and he breathed in a new world. Breathed in leather, wool, lavender and, beneath all that, the underlying fragrance of warm, sweet woman. For a fleeting instant there was madness, his fingers tightening involuntarily. And then his brain reengaged, banishing insanity. Reluctantly, rebellion pounding in every pulse of his blood, he obeyed its dictates and straightened, releasing her.

In the real world the earth and sky were, to his surprise, still in their proper relation, the one to the other. Somewhere a rook cawed lazily, a dog barked and the wind whipped at them. Nothing had changed. Except Maddy Kirkby was staring at him, green eyes wide, and her lips, that had sometime in the past several years become shockingly lush, slightly parted.

“You had better go,” he said, rather more roughly than he liked. But God help him if she continued to look at him like that. Her parted lips were giving him ideas. Ideas a gentleman who had taken self-righteous exception to another man’s behavior, was a complete hypocrite to be entertaining.

Her mouth closed and color flared in her cheeks, her chin lifting, as she gathered up the ribbons and set her mare in motion. Her eyes flashed a challenge. “I am not a toy for your amusement, Ash Ravensfell,” she said quietly. The mare’s breath huffed out on the cold air and they were trotting away up the lane.

He watched, even after the gig rounded the first bend, still able to see Maddy, spear straight, until she crested the rise and was gone.

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