BLACKTHORNE’S WIFE GLANCED at him across the breakfast table with wary eyes. He hoped she’d had as restless a night as he’d had. She hadn’t spoken a word since she’d said, “Good morning,” simply ate her eggs and toast and sausage, putting the burden on him to solicit answers to the questions he’d asked last night. He decided to wait and let her worry.
“We’ll be visiting our neighbors and meeting a few tenants today as planned. I presume you have a riding costume.”
She nodded.
“I’ll meet you in the library when you’re ready.”
She rose and left the table without a word, arriving in the library a surprisingly short while later, dressed in a forest green riding habit that emphasized her slender waist and generous breasts, both of which he could remember holding in his hands. A tiny velvet hat was perched saucily forward on her brow, and a red feather brushed her petal-soft cheek, which had rested on his heaving chest after they’d coupled last night.
She walked ahead of him to the stable, her hips swaying, golden curls cascading down her back, reminding him of how her silky hair had fallen across his shoulders.
He found himself becoming aroused and tried to think of something vile, like fish guts, to erase the vivid memories of his lovely wife writhing passionately beneath him in bed.
The groom led their saddled mounts out of the stable as they arrived.
“Oh, how beautiful!”
Blackthorne was surprised to hear Josie speak with such animation, until he realized she was speaking to the horse. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help feeling pleased that she liked the bay Thoroughbred he’d intended as a wedding gift for her. He’d imagined this moment, when his wife would see the mare for the first time, and he enjoyed seeing her dimpled smile. He hadn’t imagined he would also be feeling resentful that she didn’t seem to like him as well as she did the horse.
Josie ran her hand down the mare’s sleek neck, then looked up at him from beneath dark lashes and asked, “What’s her name?”
“Tumble.”
She laughed, a sound that sent tremors of desire down his spine. “How did she get a name like that?”
“Apparently, Tumble made a practice of leaping sideways whenever she saw her shadow and dumping her rider.”
She shot him a questioning look. “That doesn’t sound friendly.”
“The problem’s been mended,” he assured her, “but she already answered to the name, so I didn’t change it.”
He assisted her into the saddle, feeling mollified that his wife was making an effort to be cordial, then mounted his chestnut. “All set?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. I’m looking forward to meeting your neighbors and tenants.” She flushed and corrected, “Our neighbors and tenants.”
That comment suggested she planned to stay around. Did she? Or was that one more example of her ease with deceit? Everyone he’d ever cared about had left him—his mother, his father, his brother, his wife. He had no reason to expect anything different from the American he’d married—that is, if he allowed himself to care for her.
Experience had taught him a hard lesson, but he’d learned it well. His mother had walked away. His father had killed himself. His brother hadn’t actually committed suicide, but his reckless behavior had been the direct cause of his death. And his wife had known she was ill and deprived him of sharing a few more months or years with her by concealing her illness and getting pregnant. He wasn’t about to allow his emotions to become involved with a woman who’d been lying to him since the moment she’d come back into his life.
He would bed his wife to get an heir—if she ever let him near her again—but he would never give her the chance to rip out what was left of his heart. He sat up straighter in the saddle and forced himself to look at Josie merely as the woman he’d married to save his estate and further his bloodline. He’d given her his name and the title of duchess. He owed her nothing more. But there was no reason not to be civil. He made his voice as cordial as hers had been and said, “I’d like to show you around the estate before we call on anyone.”
“Lead the way.”
Blackthorne couldn’t help wanting her to like what she saw. He loved the hills and valleys, the oak forest where deer were allowed to roam without being hunted, and the brook that ran across green vistas that had been in his family for eight generations. He’d played pirate here with his brother, and it was land he wanted his own children to roam.
He was surprised by that thought when, prior to his marriage to Josie, he hadn’t cared whether it was his own children or his brother’s who inherited Blackthorne Abbey. It also made him wonder why Josie had come into his bed a second time—even if she had been frightened by a mouse—if she detested him so much.
“Are you ready to answer a few questions?” he said abruptly.
“I’d rather enjoy the beautiful surroundings. How could you bear to live in noisy, crowded, stinky London, when you had all this waiting for you here?”
He laughed at her description of one of the most cosmopolitan locales in the world. “Stinky?”
“Malodorous, if you will. But stinky fits.”
He conceded her point with a nod and a rueful smile. Despite the broom boys who did their best to collect animal waste, the sharp, acrid odor of manure and urine from horse-drawn carriages made London reek in the summer.
She took a deep breath, straining the buttons in her bodice—and his fitted buckskins to their limit—and let it out with a loud sigh. “If all this had been mine, I would never have left.”
“You’re forgetting the terrible condition of the Abbey.”
“It won’t be long before it’s restored. Would you ever consider staying at the Abbey year round?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet about that.” He wasn’t going to admit anything to her. He had to be in London part of the year to sit in the House of Lords. And he had social obligations and friends who made their homes in Town. Part of his year would certainly be spent in London. He still wasn’t sure whether the bad memories from his childhood would interfere with his desire to live at the Abbey.
“One of my ancestors built a glass summer house at the pond where the brook ends,” he said. “Would you like to see it?”
“Is it safe to ride at more than a trot?”
He pointed toward the sunrise. “Can you make out the cart path across that field?”
She tilted her head, causing the feather to caress her cheek, then pointed toward two indentations that ran across the overgrown field, where wheels had compacted the grass. “Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
“I’ll race you to that big oak on the other side!” She kicked Tumble, who bolted into a gallop, nearly throwing her out of the saddle. She merely laughed, seated herself more firmly, and leaned forward over her mount’s neck, as she raced away.
He was only a moment behind her, spurring his horse to a gallop and easily catching up to her. She shot him a crooked smile, then urged her horse to greater speed.
His heart was in his throat. Was she always this reckless? What if some obstruction had been placed on this path during the years the Abbey had been abandoned? She would end up dead, and he would never get an answer to his questions.
“Slow down!” he yelled at her.
“And let you win? Never!” She leaned closer to her mount’s neck, her golden curls flying.
He considered reaching out and grabbing Tumble’s reins, but once upon a time, the horse had been skittish, and he had no idea how the mare would react. He gritted his teeth and raced ahead of his wife. That way, he would encounter any obstacle first, and take whatever fall resulted himself.
But there was nothing blocking their way except overgrown grass. He reached the oak first and was already out of the saddle and waiting for Josie when she arrived with a huge grin on her face, as though it had all been a great lark.
“That was wonderful! I’d forgotten how much I love riding neck-or-nothing on horseback.”
He reached up and grabbed her by the waist, yanking her out of the saddle, and then had no idea what to do with her. He felt like shaking her within an inch of her life, but that would have meant letting go of her waist to grasp her shoulders, and if he did that, she would likely bolt as fast as Tumble had.
He tightened his grip on her waist and said, “I told you to slow down.”
“I don’t like taking orders.”
“I’m your husband.”
“Exactly,” she shot back, her blue eyes flashing like rippling water in the sun.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m a grown woman, and I’ll make decisions for myself.”
He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Is that some quaint American custom?”
“You married the wrong woman if you expected me to be some docile creature doing what she’s told.”
He held on to his temper and said through tight jaws, “Even if what I’m asking you to do is for your own good?”
“Especially then! I have a mind and a will of my own. I can decide whether I want to take a risk—”
“As your husband, I’m responsible for your well-being,” he interrupted.
“As a wife, I don’t intend to have my every move controlled by some tyrant.”
If he hadn’t had his teeth clamped together, his jaw would have dropped. “Tyrant?” The word came out sounding like he had gravel caught in his throat.
Her eyes focused intently on his face, searching for something, although he had no idea what. “You’re responsible for altering the course of my life.”
“I—”
She put her leather-gloved fingertips on his lips to silence him, and he felt her touch all the way to his belly. “Whether you intended it or not, I’ve been separated from my family for the past two years. I married you because…”
He waited with bated breath to hear what she had to say, but she must have changed her mind about completing her sentence, because she finished, “It doesn’t really matter why I married you.” She tried to retreat, and when he held on, turned a baleful look toward his hands, which were clutching her waist.
Reluctantly, he let go, and she took a step back.
She met his gaze again and continued earnestly, “The point, as I’m sure you’ve realized, is that we are married. Tied together forever. And I intend to be the one who charts the course of my life from now on.”
His cheeks felt hot. Who did she think she was? He was her husband. Her lord and master. “What about the vows you took in church? Don’t they mean anything?”
“Which ones?”
He could feel his heart pounding crazily in his chest. “To honor and obey.”
“What about the loving and cherishing part? Are you planning to fulfill those vows?” she countered. “Tit for tat, Your Grace.”
Although it infuriated him to admit it, she had a valid argument. He’d had no more intention of loving and cherishing her, when he’d spoken those vows in church, than she’d apparently had of honoring and obeying him.
She turned her back on him, effectively ending the conversation without conceding anything, and collected the reins that had dragged on the ground while the mare chomped on the tall grass. “I will need your help to remount.”
“Haven’t you forgotten something?”
She halted and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I don’t believe so.”
“What about my prize for winning the race?”
She angled her body toward his and lifted her chin. “We didn’t agree on a prize.”
“Since I won, I get to choose.”
Her lips thinned, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m listening.”
He was tempted to ask for a kiss. But he could tell she wouldn’t freely give it, and he didn’t want to take it by force, even though he badly wanted it. Forever, which was how long they were tied together, was a very long time. He could be patient.
“I’ll take your feather.”
“What?”
“The feather on your hat. I’ll take it as my prize.”
He wasn’t sure whether she was disappointed or merely confused, but she reached up and unpinned her hat, pulling the red feather free of its mooring, then pinned the stripped hat back on her head, before crossing to him and holding out the feather. “Your prize. Fairly won.”
Was she suggesting he might cheat if given the opportunity? His wife’s behavior was outrageous!
And he had never felt so invigorated, so awake and aware and…alive.
Their gloved hands touched as he accepted the feather. She glanced at him with a startled look in her eyes, and he knew that she’d felt it, too. Some spark had passed between them. He could tell it disturbed her. It disturbed him as well, but he’d be damned before he’d let her see the effect she’d had on him.
He knew a great deal about women—about their wants…and their needs. It shouldn’t be too difficult to tame his American wife and bring her to heel. He’d have her eating out of his hand in no time. Just see if he didn’t. She’d learn the meaning of “honor and obey” if it was the last thing he ever did.