lay together in heated bliss. He pulled her tight against his side, cradling her in the crook of his arm, stroking her until he was sure she slept.
Nom d’un nom. A virgin. If he had known, he would never have taken her. He shook his head in disbelief. Castlefield had not bedded her. Perhaps he scorned a mere servant, no matter that she had shown such love. He couldn’t help the feeling of triumph, even as he regretted her loss.
She’d given him, of all men, a treasure beyond price. He wanted to curl his body around her, shelter her from the world. The emotion tugged at a painful chord in the region of his heart. An emotion he couldn’t afford.
He gazed down at her beautiful face, so young, so fragile in sleep. He brushed her silky hair away from her forehead and kissed each eyelid, with its sweep of fair lashes against fragile skin. Satisfied, he held her safe, then drifted off to sleep.
Shadows filled the room when Garrick opened his eyes. He stretched, feeling the wonderful pull of muscle from head to toe. None of the familiar feeling of panic of something urgent he needed to remember. Had he ever awoken feeling so utterly relaxed?
Ellie stirred. He rolled on his side, kissed her cheek, then her mouth, savoured the honeyed taste of his woman. ‘Awake already, chérie?’ he whispered. The wicked part of his body responded to the thought of her awake. Not a good idea, not when she’d be sore. And he was expected at the Court. He hung over the side of the bed and retrieved his watch, squinting at it in the fading light. Almost seven. ‘I must hurry, if I want to be in time for dinner.’
Beside him, her body tensed.
He turned to face her, propped up on an elbow. ‘What is it, sweet?’
Her gaze slid away. ‘Nothing.’
In his experience, when a woman said nothing in that cool tone of voice it meant trouble. In the past he’d simply walked away, afraid to risk the heat of his anger. He didn’t want to walk away from Ellie.
He tipped her chin with his hand and kissed her lips. They were as cold as ice and unresponsive. ‘I’m expected. Surely you understand?’
Her lashes hid her eyes. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Call me Garrick. Ellie, I can’t live here. What would your neighbours say? Besides, I have duties at Beauworth.’ He’d promised his uncle and he would not go back on his word ‘I will visit you every day.’ He smiled. ‘You won’t be lonely, I promise.’ He took her lips, kissed her long and hard, binding her to him, promising more. He felt the scorching heat spiralling around them, drawing them together, melting her against him.
For a moment, he surrendered to its power. More than anything, he wanted to stay, but he never went back on his word. He owed it to Beauworth and Le Clere to go home.
A week had passed. One of the most blissful Garrick had ever known. And he wanted Ellie to be happy, too. He’d thought of the perfect thing. So now with her at his side in the gig, he felt as nervous as a lad facing his first day at school. Ridiculous. And yet he hadn’t felt this excited in years. Even the unpredictable weather had cooperated with a sunny summer day.
They turned on to the track winding to the barn where he’d been held captive. ‘Where are we going?’ The nervousness in her voice indicated she’d guessed their destination.
He kept his voice gruff. ‘You’ll see.’
Her body stiffened as if she expected some sort of trick. Perhaps he shouldn’t tease, but he couldn’t resist. She’d love his surprise. They turned through the gate. He tried to hold back his smile as her mouth dropped open at the sight of the two horses tied to the rail outside the barn.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Mist.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘You remembered.’
‘That you stabled him at Brown’s farm? Yes.’ He brought the horse to a halt and she leapt down without waiting for help. Skirts ankle high, she ran to the little white gelding, reaching out to him, petting his neck, murmuring soft words into his ear.
A huge warmth filled his chest, marred by a twinge of something small and mean. Jealousy for the damned horse? ’Struth. He must be losing his mind if he envied a bloody gelding.
Forcing a smile, he jumped down and strode to join her at the fence. ‘Dan collected him this morning.’
‘I never imagined you would do something like this.’ Her laughter bubbled like champagne, even as her words cut through his joy and when she flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, he forgave her careless dismissal and basked in her happiness. She could not have been more pleased than if he had brought her diamonds.
‘Oh, I wish I had known, I would have worn my riding habit.’
‘I can do better.’ Garrick didn’t try to hold back his smirk. He took her hand and led her into the barn. There, in a corner, was a suit of boy’s clothes very much like those she had worn when they had fenced, and beside the pile, her sword leaning up against the wall.
She hugged him with abandon. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Well, Miss Brown, first we ride, then we practise. I will teach you my sword trick, if you wish.’
Her face shone in the dim cool light. ‘I do wish. Leave me, so I can change.’
Imperious and charmingly modest. A strange delightful mixture for a creature of passion and adventure. Laughing, he tipped up her face with his knuckle. ‘Do you need my help?’
‘I’m used to doing for myself.’
Of course she was. Women of her ilk did not have maids to help them dress. Yet he would have liked to help her out of her clothes. Heat rushed to his groin. He could insist, of course. It was his right. But this was her day, and so he left and strode out into the sunshine where he paced in front of the barn, imagining her slipping out of her gown and into her other guise with increasingly lascivious thoughts.
When she emerged, her stride and the way she held herself reminded him what a great little actress she was, a woman who changed her persona with her clothes. Now, she was more boy than girl, swaggering in her form-hugging breeches with the sword belted at her waist and the cocked hat pulled down over her hair. The costume left nothing of her body to the imagination and the sight of luscious hips and thighs thickened his blood.
If he hadn’t known how much she was looking forward to going for a ride, he might have pulled her down on to the grass where they’d kissed days before and teased her right out of her breeches. Instead, breathing hard, concentrating on the control he’d learned as a boy, he held his desire in check, merely nodding when she glanced from the horse to him.
In a flash, she mounted, a boy-like leap into the saddle, and urged the little white gelding into a gallop. Ah, but he would not let her get too far. He swung up on to Bess. The mare needed no urging to catch the fleeing pair. And when he came up on her, they rode side by side across the field. Not the sedate trot of an afternoon in Hyde Park, but a wild canter.
‘A race,’ she called out.
He grinned and dug in his heels. Bess easily outstripped the smaller gelding.
He looked back to gloat. Damn her. She’d cut off at right angles. Headed straight for the field’s low stone wall. His heart rose in his throat.
