Janice Preston - Cinderella And The Duke

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.’