“I thought about wearing a mask, but I didn’t want to frighten the wildlife.”
“I think you look very roguish,” she replied, with a smile. “Just like a wicked baron ridin
g about the countryside looking for wenches to abduct.”
His eyes narrowed. His mouth curled into a wicked-baron smile.
“Then give me your hand, wench.”
She did so. His fingers closed hard on hers, and then she put her foot on his in the stirrup and he swung her up behind him on the horse. She clung about his waist, relaxing against him, pressing her cheek against his shirt and feeling the muscles in his back tighten and shift. Once again she thought how nice it was to be in such close contact with a man, feeling him move and breathe, and drawing in his clean masculine scent.
Her irrepressible curls tugged against their pins and she shook her head so that her hair tumbled free. The wind caught the folds of lace on her bodice and at her wrists, and lifted her skirts to show her petticoats and stockings. It was shocking, she supposed, but she didn’t care. She felt as if they were flying, the two of them, and the world was reduced to the simple equation of Sinclair and Eugenie.
But as they galloped further on, her determination to enjoy the moment began to give way to anxiety. The practical part of her brain took charge, reminding her that if they were seen, if they became the subject of gossip, then her reputation would be in shreds. She imagined explaining to her neighbors that she planned to marry him and the expressions on their faces. Disbelief, scorn, horror. They’d consider her a scheming hussy, or an innocent fool.
Why had she let herself be coerced by her friends’ expectations into declaring her intention to marry the duke? Why couldn’t she have chosen a lord or a baron, or even a plain mister? There had been a gentleman she met when she stayed with her Aunt Beatrix years ago who had paid her a great many compliments and she’d always thought . . . hoped . . . that one day he might seek her out.
It was probably the best Eugenie could hope for when it came to marriage prospects, or so her practical brain told her.
Slowly she withdrew her arms from about his waist, sitting back from his warm, muscular body. Time to put an end to this. Eugenie opened her mouth to tell him to stop and set her down, but just at that moment Sinclair turned his horse into the woods.
Taken by surprise, she clung to him again. He slowed their gallop, as the branches and leaves reached out to enclose them, and the earthy smells of nature pressed upon her senses. It was shady in here, the light turned green and mysterious.
“Duck,” he said matter-of-factly. Instinctively she bent her head and a low branch brushed over them. He glanced back at her with a smile. “Well done, Miss Belmont. A woman who can take orders without arguing.”
Eugenie tucked her tangled hair behind her ears, ignoring his barb. “Where are we going, Your Grace?” she said, unable to hide her nervousness.
“Do call me Sinclair.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Where are we going, Sinclair?” she repeated breathlessly.
“A place I know. Ideal for our game of abduction.”
It was a game, she reminded herself with relief. Of course it was. There was nothing to worry about.
Ahead of them the woods opened into a small clearing. The space was entirely enclosed by trees and undergrowth. The grass was sparse, the air a little chilled from the shade of the taller trees, and there was a hushed silence to the place that made her skin prickle. Sinclair dismounted and reached up to grasp her waist and lift her down. Her feet touched the ground and, suddenly shy, she stepped away, turning to examine her surroundings.
“How did you know of this place?”
“Jack mentioned it to me. Evidently fairies dance here when the moon is full.”
“Do they?” She turned back to observe him. He looked very different from the polished and proper duke who’d appeared last night at The Acorn. Windblown and disheveled, he could indeed be a highwayman or a kidnapper. Someone to treat with caution. Someone to fear.
But Eugenie wasn’t afraid. Instinctively she knew Sinclair would never hurt her, and she was the sort of woman who trusted her instincts.
No, he would never hurt her, but he may well try to seduce her.
That was what dukes did with women like her, wasn’t it?
Her skin tingled at the memory of their kisses; the taste and feel of him in her arms. No wonder the village mothers warned their daughters about the dangers of the flesh! It was far too easy to become addicted.
He came toward her. Reaching out to take her hands in his, he raised one to his mouth and pressed his lips to her. She felt the warmth through her thin gloves and closed her eyes the better to enjoy the experience. When she opened them again he was watching her.
“You set me another dare and I have passed, have I not, Eugenie?”
“Yes, Sinclair, you have passed.”
“Do I get my reward?”