The Lodestone Read Free

could never have Cleome, not for keeps at any rate. In their narrow-minded hamlet, he could sooner marry the wanton serving wench, Fanny. At least that ’un had her father’s name, without having to borrow it. But thoughts of having Cleome, and having her soon, had been occupying his mind lately. She had grown up and grown well.
    Epitome jerked his head away as if demanding to be off but Young Sam held him firmly. Cleome patted the horse’s neck and whispered soothingly, not even noticing how close the groom was leaning. He had but to reach out and his hand would brush her thigh, and such a movement could be taken for an accident. Her nearness made him drunk or half-demented—and her just the by-blow of a tinsmith, a pans and pots man who’d ended his sorry life fighting Napoleon for the king. At least the Eagle’s Head and surrounding land would go to her some day; and more than once, Young Sam had considered sacrificing his good name in exchange for such a dowry.
    But then there was her ma to be considered and according to Fanny, the woman had lost her mind over losing Jimmy Parker. What man wanted an insane mother-in-law whose condition, mayhap, would be passed on to the next generation.
    In her efforts to pacify the prancing colt, Cleome’s soft hand brushed against Young Sam’s strong, callused one, and the quick thrill of it almost paralyzed him. As Cleome took off down the lane toward Easton Place, her slippers fell off her feet, which she then dug into Epitome’s sides, urging him on. Young Sam leaned over to pick up her shoes, and the heat of desire engulfed his loins and coursed through his body like a bolt of lightning.

Chapter Two
     
    As Drake untied his horse and led him away from the stream and through the thick copse of trees that edged it, he heard a sound like rolling thunder. A rider galloped past him on the lane, and his horse whinnied in protest as a cloud of dust kicked up around them. An oath escaped Drake’s lips as the grime of the road clung to him once again. Who the devil would ride a horse at such breakneck speed?
    In the distance that quickly increased between himself and the reckless rider, he could see voluminous skirts billowing around shapely ankles and small, bare feet. Her bonnet flew off and, as if released by a catapult, a cascade of copper-colored curls tumbled down. Glinting in the sun like rubies, they bounced against shapely shoulders.
    A woman! The thought filled him with anticipation. And she sits a horse as well as a man! But what in blazes is she running away from? He stepped into the lane and picked up the straw hat with the pink satin ribbons that had fallen, unnoticed by its owner. As if in answer to his unspoken question, a tradesman’s cart wheeled complacently into view and its driver touched his forelock to Drake.
    “By yer leave, sir,” the ancient groom spoke respectfully. “I’ll return the miss’s bonnet to her.” He held out a gnarled, callused hand.
    Drake tied the bonnet to his saddle horn and mounted his chestnut stallion. “You’ll never catch up to her at that pace, old man,” he said with a grin as he urged his horse forward.
    The old man’s voice rang out behind him like a challenge. “All due respects, sir! Ye’ll not be catching up to her, either! Not on that mount, nor any other!”
    Drake Stoneham was a man who did not like to be challenged, because once the challenge had been set, it must be won. His pulse quickened as he dug his heels into Prince Talleyrand’s sides and leaned forward, speaking into the horse’s ear, coaxing the stallion onward.
    He could scarcely believe his eyes, for his mount was fast and came of pure bloodlines. Drake had been urged more than once to race him but his interests lay elsewhere. Besides, a strong, fast horse was essential to him in his travels. It was much to his chagrin that he could come no closer than two full lengths behind the girl before she pulled away as if propelled by the wind itself. He