Page 43 of Miss Harvey's Horribly Lovable Fiancé
Oh, the sights she’d uncovered! Impressive, certainly. Almost as impressive as watching a stallion cover one of Papa’s mares. Ahem! And no doubt that Mama’s explanation of how ‘this fit in there’ required not just imagination about varying sizes, but how one accommodated the other if kisses were the only means of…what? Ease? Excavation? The meeting of lips had nothing to do with the location of any of his attributes or her own anatomy. Unless lips were meant for…
She narrowed her eyes. Closed one. Meant for kissingthere?
She clapped a hand over her mouth and hooted in laughter.
She had to wipe those tears from her eyes.
Oh, my.
Well! Whatever the mechanics, she was bereft with jealousy for the other lucky lady who would one day enjoy the fruits of Giles’s vigor. She let Admiral poke along as she thought about the tremors of delight that dashed through her when Giles (previous to his glorious unveiling) had touched her. Caressed her arms or throat or cheeks. Her nipples even now beaded at the memory and her stomach knotted with heat.
She squirmed in her hot and unsatisfying saddle.
He’d been kind and tender. Loving. And she had insulted him. Hurt him. Reduced him to his…rather marvelous essence, for heavens sake. And humbled him.
Although…come to think of it. He didn’t look reduced when he stood naked before her. He looked…proud and needy. And very…large!
She wanted him that way!
Oh, whatwaswrongwith her?
She desired him! He should have been her lover. But now would never be. Now he’d become someone else’s husband. Someone else’s grand passion.Just not mine.
As the old market town came into view, she pushed back her sorrows. The sight of the familiar warm blue and red brick shops smartly faced with blue-black flint, brought solace to her heart. Her sorrow faded as she planned how to survive alone in the forest where her father’s hunting lodge sat. She’d stop at the green grocer’s and buy a few victuals. She’d go to the baker’s for bread and perhaps, a small cake. One always needed cake to improve one’s point of view. While she shopped, she’d take Admiral to the stables at the inn on the wide market lane and pay the ostler to feed and water the horse. She had to be prudent and care for herself and her mount. At the lodge, she had no worries for Admiral’s welfare. Her father had equipped the tidy house well with one free box stable and another, larger one with four stalls. She’d use the free one for Admiral who like to roam inside. She’d cared for her own mounts since she was ten and Admiral had often cheerfully conspired with her.
Those in town knew her and some might disapprove of her attire. Nonetheless, dressed as she was, she girded herself for their stares. Nothing for that, but her own courage, alas. She repeatedly congratulated herself that she’d had foresight to leave Giles’s breeches with Ida.
The woman could not believe her eyes when Esme folded them into her arms.
“His lordship is upstairs and if you could do me the favor to not give them back for a few minutes, I’d appreciate it.” She headed for the stables and Admiral. Too bad, she’d left her little valise and necessaire in the room, but it couldn’t be helped. “I’m sorry to say, I’ve made a mess of one of his lordship’s boots, too. A broken chamber pot, I’m afraid. Help him clean those, would you, please?”
The woman had chuckled then shooed Esme on her away.
Aunt Elizabeth was not the only lady with a few good laughs at the expense of haughty, prideful men.
* * *
A womanwithout a gun could be a challenge. One with a gun was an unpredictable animal.
He reminded himself of that for the hour or more that it took him to don his clothes and clean his boot to some reputable shine…and lack of fragrance. The journey from The Drunken Crab to Marlborough was short, another hour. The directions that Ida and William Watts gave him to their daughter’s and son-in-law’s wheelwright shop on the high road were direct. He arrived at the small limestone Courtland lodge within minutes of leaving the town.
Valuing his life and limbs—and not certain of her accuracy of shot or shortness of temper, he planned to make himself known to his runaway bride long before sundown. He didn’t want to scare her. But he would cajole, barter and beg to get her to sit quietly and talk with him. In case that did not seem possible, he’d purchased from the wheelwright a four-foot length of hemp rope. Rough, yes, it was—and he’d be judicious in its use, but hell. What else was he to do but tie her down if Esme would not sit still to listen to him?
He’d be careful not to mar the delicate skin he yearned to kiss and tame and tingle. She was stubborn and not often as wise as he’d credited. But now that he was here, he doubted he’d use the rope. Force was simply not part of his character. Finesse was. So he desired minutes, long enough to tell her what had happened with his father, the land along the River Ouse and the marriage settlement. After he said it all, if she still did not believe he’d done everything he could to have her and to love her, he had to let her go, didn’t he?
So when he arrived at the lodge and settled his horse in the small stables adjacent, he left the rope there. He wanted her willing. Always.
He predicted she’d hear him and cock her pistol. He didn’t think she’d come out to confront him. But that is what she did.
She stood silhouetted upon the threshold as the sun set behind her. In her male clothing, she looked small, almost frail, though he knew she was not. This time, her hands were empty. “Go away, Giles. This won’t do any good. I’ve set my mind to this.”
He put one foot upon the stoop, his gaze frank, his mind clear. “It seems you’ve forgotten your weapon.”
“I acted impulsively. I apologize for that. I’ve vowed to reform my usual ways but I failed. Again.”
“I do like you as you are, Esme.”
That got her attention. She stood taller. “I cannot marry you, Giles. Go away.”
