Cinderella And The Duke

‘No!’

She lifted her right leg clear of the pommel and slid to the ground, revealing a glimpse of slim calf as her skirts rode up.

‘Stand, Kamal.’

She hoisted up her skirts and ran to snatch up the letter the breeze had deposited on the riverbank, where she teetered for a few seconds before regaining her balance. Her back to Leo, she straightened her shoulders and shook out the skirt of her riding habit. She then attempted to bring some order to her hair as it wafted around her head in the breeze, but in doing so she dislodged her hat. It whirled into the air, raised on a sudden gust that promptly dropped it straight into the river.

‘Oh!’ Mrs Pryce bent to gather the draping skirt of her habit again and then hesitated on the bank, one foot raised. She stamped her foot back to the ground, dropped her skirts and whirled to face Leo, narrowed eyes shooting sparks. ‘Now look what has happened. That...’ she waved towards the hat, floating off downstream ‘...was my favourite hat.’

She was all womanly wrath, full breasts heaving.

She is magnificent.

Leo tore his attention from her, leapt from Saga’s back and ran along the bank until he was level with the blue hat, whirling in the current, feather fluttering. A nearby sapling grew close enough to the water’s edge to provide an anchor so Leo removed his own hat, locked one arm around its trunk and leaned over the water, stretching towards the hat with his hunting crop.

There. Almost. He snagged the hat, pulling it close to the bank, then released the trunk and stepped forward to fish it from the river. He registered the subtle shift of soil beneath his foot too late. Before he could retreat, the bank gave way and his right leg plunged knee-deep into the bone-chilling water of the river.

‘Hell and damnation!’

He grabbed the hat, dropping his crop in the process, and hauled himself back on to the bank. Thank God it was just the one foot. He looked back at the river, hoping to retrieve his crop, but it was already several feet away, spinning in an eddy.

A splutter assaulted his ears and he turned slowly. She must have followed him, for she was closer than he expected, her full lips pursed tight, her eyes dancing. Leo straightened to his full height. How dare she laugh at him? He had done her a favour by rescuing her hat...was it too much to expect a little gratitude...concern even? He’d wager she would soon sober up if she knew his identity.

Coming the Duke again, Your Grace? Vernon’s jibe—thrown at Leo whenever he was in danger of becoming pompous—whispered in his brain. What was the point in travelling as Mr Boyton if he flaunted his title the minute he was treated with less than due deference?

‘Oh, dear.’

Mrs Pryce’s gaze locked on Leo’s boot, which squelched as he walked towards her. Her brows shot up, her lips quivered and another laugh gurgled forth. Leo’s irritation melted away as his own lips twitched in response.

He stopped in front of her and bowed. ‘Your hat, Mrs Pryce.’

He proffered the hat and she took it, holding it away from her as it dripped. She smiled up at Leo, a dimple denting one cheek, her eyes—a beautiful golden-brown, exactly the same shade as her hair—sparkling.

‘I thank you, sir. That was most...er...chivalrous. But I am afraid you have the advantage of me, for I do not know your name.’

‘Boyton, ma’am. Leo Boyton, at your service.’

Her expression clouded. ‘At your service...’ Her voice dripped scorn.

She spun on her heel and marched towards where their horses now cropped the grass side by side. Halfway across the intervening gap, she stopped and whirled around to face Leo. ‘Do not imagine I am not grateful, Mr Boyton, but I cannot be easy here with you, in view of the company you keep. Your choice of friend, sir, does you no favours.’

Friend? Leo followed Mrs Pryce who, having reached the grey, now hesitated. She bent her head, looking down for a second or two, then sucked in a deep breath, her shoulders lifting as her lungs filled.

‘Would you be so good as to assist me, sir?’ The words sounded as though they were forced between gritted teeth.

Leo grinned, safe in the knowledge she could not see. ‘Of course...but...first, allow me to defend myself.’

She turned, her narrowed gaze that of a lioness about to pounce. ‘I am pleased you find my predicament so amusing.’

Leo sobered. How could she tell, from those few words he had uttered?

She crossed her arms. ‘Pray, continue.’

‘You claim, justifiably, that my choice of friend does me no favours, but will you so readily condemn a man for his family, over whom he has no choice?’

‘Family? You are related to my neighbour?’

‘Yes. We are cousins. We are not close, however.’

A wry smile curved her lips. ‘I, of all people, cannot judge you by your relations. As you say, one has no choice to whom one is related. But, nevertheless, you have chosen to accept your cousin’s hospitality.’

‘That is true. My cousin has lived in the Americas for many years. He returned to England only a few months ago and invited my brother and me to enjoy a few days’ hunting. It seemed churlish to refuse.’

‘And your other friend? Mr Stanton?’

‘He is searching for a safe pair of ponies for his new wife to drive and there is a pair for sale locally.’

‘I see.’

‘And what of your family?’ he asked. ‘It sounded as though you also have relatives you do not care for.’

‘My immediate family is delightful.’

‘So you do admit to some less than agreeable kin?’

‘One or two.’

She half-turned from him, towards Kamal, then glanced over her shoulder and raised a brow. He ignored her silent command and indicated the letter she held.

‘Is that letter from one of them?’

The paper crackled as her fingers flexed.

‘Not from one of the less than agreeable members or I should have happily relinquished it to the river and we...’ she faced him again ‘...would not be having this conversation.’ Her gaze travelled—lingeringly—down the length of his body, leaving a fiery trail of desire in its wake. It came to rest on his boot. ‘Should you not remove your boot to drain the water from it?’

His foot and lower leg were numb with cold and he would dearly love to do as she suggested, but...

‘I fear I would struggle to remove it without help. Unless, of course, you care to offer your assistance?’

Her brows rose, as did her gaze, which locked with his. ‘That would hardly be appropriate, sir. Why, I hardly know you.’

‘That can soon be remedied.’

He stepped closer, effectively trapping her between his body and that of her horse. A faint gasp—intrinsically feminine—whispered past his ears and his heart responded with a lurch and a yearning he hadn’t experienced for a very long time. He studied her: her fine, creamy skin, the peachy blush of her cheeks and her straight yet delicate nose, the lush pink lips, the fine golden-brown threads of her brows. Her eyes, framed by long lashes, gleamed as they held his gaze. There was curiosity in their depths. No hint of fear or apprehension.

Leo stripped off his glove and touched his fingertips to her jaw. Her skin was silky-smooth, soft and warm. The scent of jasmine and warm woman weaved through his senses and blood surged to his loins. Then, on a swiftly indrawn breath, she looked down and away.

Leo stepped back and her lids flew open. Her gaze sought his again, questioning, and he smiled reassuringly. There was no hurry. She might be a widow, but he had no intention of rushing her. Over the years, he had found the preliminaries—the intricate dance and the anticipation—almost as enjoyable as the act itself. Delay only served to enhance the pleasure.

There was only ever one first moment of recognition.

Only one first kiss.

Only one first time to lie together.

They were times to savour.

He slid his hands either side of her ribcage, then smoothed his palms down her sides to the indent of her waist. He tightened his grip and lifted her, the narrowness of her waist and the womanly flare of her hips imprinting in his memory as he raised her to the saddle. She hooked her leg around the pommel, settled her skirts, placed her sodden hat upon the Arabian’s withers and finally tucked her letter inside her bodice. She cast him an unfathomable look, then nudged Kamal towards the bridge. Before they had taken a dozen paces, however, she halted him and reined him around.

‘My home is not far, Mr Boyton. Would you care to come with me and dry your foot? You must be frozen and I should hate for you to catch a chill after so gallantly rescuing my hat.’

Her smile radiated, feeding his lust, but he was conscious of a ripple of disappointment that she had cut short the fun of flirtation. Still...mentally, he shrugged. He wouldn’t refuse her. She was a lovely woman and it appeared she was willing.

‘Thank you. That would be most welcome.’

Chapter Four

Rosalind watched Mr Boyton mount his black gelding. The flex of his shoulders within the fine cut of his hunting jacket and the bunch and flex of his thigh muscles as they propelled him into the saddle made her mouth go dry. She could still feel the secure grip of his fingers at her waist, the effortless power with which he’d lifted her on to Kamal’s back, his gentle fingertips along her jaw, the intensity of that silver gaze as it penetrated deep into her soul.

He had been going to kiss her.

She had almost allowed it.

She had wanted him to kiss her.

Strange sensations swirled deep inside, the same sensations as before but stronger, more intense. Nervy, intoxicating waves that washed through her—promising, enticing, persuasive—feeding her regret that she had stopped him and feeding her regret that she had never experienced a kiss.

And now she wondered—how would it feel? To feel a man’s lips on hers? No. Not any man. This man. To feel his lips upon hers?

She swallowed, suddenly unsure. Why had she issued that invitation? She had ridden away. She had intended to keep going. He would not be in the area long and prudence dictated she should avoid him, but with every step Kamal had taken the stronger the urge had become to snatch more time with him whilst she might. That urge had swelled until it was near undeniable.

Flustered, she turned Kamal once more for home. Even though Leo was behind her and out of her sight, every tingling inch of her skin was aware of his presence. The black hunter soon ranged alongside Kamal and Rosalind peeked sideways at its tall, straight-backed rider. Above all else, she sensed she must conceal the confusion he aroused within her. She would not relinquish all control of this—whatever this might be—to a man who was clearly used to authority. She cast around for a neutral topic—anything that would prevent him studying her too closely.

‘I am surprised you are not hunting today, sir. It is the perfect weather for it, is it not?’

‘It is and I was with the hunt, until Saga here threw a shoe,’ Leo replied.

He removed one glove and slowly smoothed the horse’s neck with his bare hand as he spoke. Rosalind followed his movement, gooseflesh erupting across her back and down her arms, as though it were her skin he stroked. Her pulse quickened and her lips tingled. She risked a quick glance at her companion’s face. She caught the gleam in his eyes, and guessed his action had been deliberate...designed to provoke such a reaction.

Take care. Compared with him you are as unknowing and as inexperienced as Nell.

The thought of her sister steadied her.

I might be inexperienced in matters of the flesh...and of the heart...but I am no green girl.

Unconsciously, she raised her chin and, from the corner of her eye, she saw Leo’s lips twitch again. After a couple of beats of silence, he continued.

‘I elected to walk him to the farrier in the village rather than send to the Manor for a replacement.’

Rosalind studied the lane ahead of them, determined to give him no further opportunity to distract her. ‘I, too, was in the village earlier. I recall seeing a black horse in Mr Benson’s forge as I passed. That must have been you.’

He glanced down at himself, then at Rosalind, his lips curving. ‘Not me precisely,’ he said. ‘The last time I looked, I was not a black horse.’

Rosalind bit her lip against the urge to giggle. ‘My apologies, sir. I shall endeavour to select my vocabulary with more care in future.’

He grinned. ‘I find it does help to prevent misunderstandings. That is a remarkably fine animal you have there, Mrs Pryce.’

‘Thank you. He is beautiful, is he not?’ Rosalind patted Kamal with pride and affection. ‘He was a gift from my father.’

He had actually been a gift from her stepfather, but the less anyone knew of her connection to the late Earl of Lydney the better. It could only harm Nell’s reputation if it became known that she had not moved straight from her guardian’s protection to that of her aunt.

‘I assumed he must be a gift from your late husband,’ Leo said.

‘No.’ The less she said about her fictional dead spouse the better.

‘Have you been a widow for long?’

Rosalind shot a swift sideways glance at Leo before answering. ‘I would prefer not to talk of it.’

‘You are not in mourning, I see.’

She tweaked the peacock-blue skirt of her riding habit. ‘You are correct.’

She was uneasily aware that Leo was studying her closely. She kept her attention firmly on the lane ahead.

‘Have you lived here long?’

‘We moved here two weeks ago.’

‘We?’

‘My brother and I.’

‘Just the two of you, then?’

‘Yes.’

Thankfully, Leo fell silent. A sideways glance revealed a thoughtful expression. His questions... Rosalind’s nerves jangled. Why had she invited him back to Stoney End? For the sake of a wave of longing that had temporarily robbed her of her wits? None of the gentlemen at Halsdon Manor must connect her and Freddie with Jack Caldicot, the new Earl of Lydney and, through him, with Lady Helena Caldicot, on the brink of making her debut in society. Who knew what lords and knights and so forth Leo was acquainted with? Without doubt he must know Sir Peter. All these society people knew each other, or knew of each other.

Donning the mantle of a widow had seemed a sensible precaution when they fled Lydney Hall, in fear of pursuit from Sir Peter and Lord Bulbridge and, for the same reason, both Nell and Freddie had stayed hidden at Stoney End. They were far more memorable than Rosalind, with Freddie’s lameness and Nell’s silver-blonde beauty. One careless word and all their plans could come to naught. If it became known Rosalind had taken Nell from her legal guardian’s care to live here under assumed identities—even for so short a time as two weeks—it would surely create a scandal, which could ruin Nell’s chances of making the splendid match she deserved.

At last, the chimneys of Stoney End came into sight. Rosalind led the way into the stable behind the house.

‘You can tether Saga in there.’ She pointed to an empty stall. ‘There is an old blanket at the back, to stop him catching a chill.’

Leo loosened Saga’s girth as Rosalind led Kamal into his stall and started to unsaddle him.

‘Where is your groom?’

‘We do not have a groom at present, but a lad from Foxbourne Manor comes in twice a day to help.’

Before she knew it, Leo was inside Kamal’s stall, setting her nerves tingling again as he brushed past her to take over the unsaddling.

‘I can manage.’

‘I make no doubt you can, but a lady should not have to do this sort of work,’ Leo said, removing the saddle and starting on Kamal’s bridle. ‘Could your brother not take over during the absence of your groom?’

‘No. Freddie is... He is not strong.’

She moved back to give Leo space, still jittery over her reaction to his touch.

‘Does he not ride?’

‘Not at present. He took a fall shortly before we came here and he has not ridden since.’

Yet another thing she could thank Sir Peter for...him and his cronies...mocking poor Freddie and deliberately spooking his horse until it bolted in sheer terror. Pure rage at that memory burned in Rosalind’s heart. She hated that Sir Peter had won...had driven them from their home... She had failed to protect Freddie, deserted their loyal servants, abandoned Jack’s inheritance. But at least she had protected Nell from marriage to that lecher Bulbridge. Her come-out had been all planned for last year, before Step-Papa became ill. Surely Sir Peter could not object to Nell coming out with her aunt as chaperon?

Rosalind gradually became conscious of stillness and silence, and refocussed on the present to find Leo standing in front of her, Kamal’s bridle and saddle in his arms. He was studying her face and she quickly schooled her expression.

‘The harness room is at the back,’ she said, pointing.

‘So you only have Kamal to care for?’ Leo spoke over his shoulder as he went to the saddle room.

‘Yes.’

Rosalind turned to leave, but Leo lingered, gazing around at the empty stalls.

‘No carriage horses? No vehicle of any kind?’

‘Not at present.’

The Lydney carriage and horses were now at Nell’s disposal in London. She sensed Leo’s attention on her.

‘Come.’ She gestured to the stable door, eager to forestall more questions. ‘Let us go indoors and dry your boot.’

She felt him on her heels as she crossed the yard towards the back door. ‘I hope you will not object to entering the house this way?’

‘Not at all. Before we go in, however...’

Hard fingers gripped her upper arm, pulling her around to face him. Rosalind’s breath grew short as Leo gazed down at her and her cheeks heated. She swallowed and tentatively tugged her arm from his grasp. He released her immediately, but she remained pinned in place by the command of those silver-grey eyes. Up close, she could see the shadow of dark whiskers on his jaw and cheek. It gave him a dangerous, almost piratical, air and yet her fingers twitched with the urge to feel their rasp.

Leo touched the tip of her nose—gently, fleetingly—with his forefinger.

‘What is your name?’

His voice was low. Husky. Rosalind caught the faint scent of cologne—musky, with a trace of orange and cinnamon—beneath the smell of fresh air, horse and leather. Her insides swooped like a swallow in flight and her breathing hitched.

‘Rosalind.’ It emerged as a croak. She frowned, cleared her throat and spoke with more force. ‘Rosalind.’

‘Rosalind...’ The mellifluous way he rolled the syllables of her name created shivery waves over her body. ‘It is a beautiful name.’

His eyes darkened and Rosalind felt another quiver run through her, as though he had gently tugged on an invisible cord attached deep within her core. It was as though she were a musical instrument and a mere look, or the sound of his voice, could tease a tune from her body as surely as a harp would respond to the plucking of a string.

This will not do. This is dangerous.

The thought that she was out of her depth swam through her thoughts. She squared her shoulders, spun on her heel and marched over to the back door. She would dry off his boot and then send him on his way.

Her steps faltered. Was that a chuckle? Arrogant rogue. Exasperation flamed at her involuntary responses to him and her inability to hide them. More than ever she wished she had left him standing by the bridge, wet foot or no wet foot.

‘Penny,’ she called as soon as she set foot over the threshold. ‘Penny, where are you?’

He was right behind her. She could feel him. She cast her still-wet hat on to the kitchen table and then crossed to the fireplace, where a lazily steaming kettle hung to one side. She swung it over the centre of the fire and bent to grab the poker to stir up the coals, conscious the entire time of his eyes upon her. Where was Penny when she had need of her?

‘Take a seat, sir.’ Rosalind indicated the Windsor chair set to one side of the hearth, keeping her attention on the fire. ‘I will help you—’

The door flew open, interrupting her, and she glanced round as Freddie came in, Hector at his heels.

‘Ros, have you seen my—’ Freddie fell silent. His brows lowered. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’

Chapter Five

Roused from his appreciation of Rosalind’s beautifully rounded derrière, Leo twisted to find a scowling young man of slender build standing in the kitchen doorway. There was enough resemblance to Rosalind for him to guess this must be Freddie. The swish of fabric and her jasmine scent told him Rosalind now stood next to him. The dog he had seen the other day in the lane padded around the table. He appeared not to share Freddie’s misgivings, for he swaggered over and thrust his wet nose into Leo’s hand.

‘Freddie! That is no way to speak to a guest.’

‘And I,’ said Leo, scratching behind Hector’s ear and curbing his instinct to slap down the young man’s presumption, ‘cannot imagine what I have done to arouse such...er...vitriol.’

Freddie’s scowl lifted, but only slightly. He moved away from the door, rounding the table awkwardly, supported by a crutch jammed into his right armpit. Was that the result of the tumble from his horse Rosalind had mentioned?

‘My apologies,’ Freddie said as he approached Leo. ‘For a moment, I thought...that is, you have the look of our new neighbour, Mr Lascelles, but I see now you are not him.’

A gasp, quickly stifled, whispered past Leo’s ear and he sensed the woman by his side stiffen. She was right to be wary of his cousin.

Leo smiled at Freddie. ‘Ah...in that case, I shall excuse your caustic welcome. I am Boyton. Cousin to your new neighbour, although I hope you will not hold that against me.’

‘I shall endeavour not to do so.’ A fleeting smile crossed Freddie’s face. ‘We all have family connections we should prefer to forget.’

Almost the exact same words his sister had used. Leo tucked that knowledge away for the future. They shook hands.

‘Allen. Frederick Allen.’ The younger man’s cheeks flushed. ‘Of sound mind, if not body.’

‘Fr-e-e-ddie...’

Rosalind’s protestation suggested this was not the first time her brother had used self-mockery in such a defensive way. A mixture of hurt and anger flashed across Freddie’s face. Sympathy for the young man bloomed as Leo concluded Freddie’s impairment was of longer standing than the recent fall of which Rosalind had spoken. At close quarters the lines of stress on Freddie’s face were visible. They made it hard to guess his age, but Leo would lay odds he was younger than his sister.

‘I am pleased to meet you, Allen,’ he said, ‘and I apologise for this intrusion, but my boot is full of river water and your sister kindly offered me the opportunity to dry off.’

Freddie’s brows rose. ‘River water?’ He surveyed Leo’s buckskin breeches, one knee of which was noticeably wet. ‘Dare I ask what you were doing in the river? It is hardly the weather for paddling.’

‘Mr Boyton very kindly rescued my hat.’

‘That is a great deal of kindness for one day,’ Freddie observed. ‘And your hat, dear sister? Might one enquire exactly how it ended up in the river?’

‘Never mind that, now, Freddie. Where is Penny? Mr Boyton needs help removing his boot.’

Rosalind’s brusque dismissal of her brother’s question again set Leo wondering at the relationship between brother and sister. He contemplated his own sons’ reactions if he should speak to them as though they were boys rather than the young men they now were, and he bit back a smile at the likely result. Alex, in particular, would take immediate affront.

‘She is not here. The cook at Foxbourne sent her a message inviting her to raid the herb garden and offering her surplus preserves from her larder. I do not believe I have ever seen her move with such speed. She could be heard muttering about rosemary and pickles as she bobbed up the path.’