The Love Affair of an English Lord Read Free Page B

path.
    â€œI say . . .” she began to protest before the breath whooshed out of her lungs.
    The woods sped past her vision in a gray-brown blur. The horse kicked up tufts of wet turf and sent them flying into the rain. Over a soggy meadow and down a dark humid tunnel of wet honeysuckle that slapped them as they thundered by. She could make neither heads nor tails of their surroundings, but this route did not look anything like the walk home.
    She wrapped her arms around Galahad’s waist and raised her voice to a shout, her body jostled against his. She felt the muscles in his torso tighten. Did she imagine that he liked her clinging to him for dear life? “Excuse me? I do believe you are headed the wrong way!”
    He grunted, or made some such dismissive gutteral sound that indicated she was a feather-brained female for daring to question his sense of direction. Chloe’s head began to swim with visions of being abducted by this dark, brooding stranger. Of being dragged down into the bowels of some hidden castle and kept a prisoner of his perverse demands.
    Would he keep her naked on his bed, covering her with tender cruelty at night in Russian lynx pelts after he had left her fainting from his ravishment? Would he entice her back to consciousness with pearls and sweetmeats and potent brandy? Or, judging by his hell-bent speed on horseback, would they both be thrown to their deaths before any perversity could be undertaken?
    Chloe was contemplating the latter unpleasant possibility when, after flying through a tangled hazel grove, they emerged miraculously onto a clear field.
    She stared across the dreary landscape, her heart thumping in her throat. “My house,” she said in surprise.
    â€œImagine that,” he drawled, and turned his head slightly to look down at her in a way that let her know he wasn’t so preoccupied with his own affairs as to be unaware of how tightly she was clinging to him.
    The brown and white half-timbered farmhouse, known by the pretentious name of Dewhurst Manor, withstood the steady rain as it had for two centuries. Chloe imagined she could see her aunt peering through the lace curtains, wondering what had happened to her restless niece. She would probably be soundly scolded for accepting a ride from a neighbor rather than traipsing up to her knees in mud. The poor footman would be dealt a boxed ear.
    â€œYou might have told me you were taking a detour,” she said under her breath as she unwrapped her arms from the strong male body she had been blatantly using as an umbrella.
    He did not turn his head again. She sensed the mockery of his smile as he said, “I see no reason to explain the obvious.”
    â€œOf course not,” she muttered. An explanation would have involved polite conversation. What a crabby man. She was embarrassed that the possibility of abduction had ever entered her mind. He probably didn’t have a castle anyway. At least not in Chistlebury. Perhaps he lived in a cave. He was more dragon than knight. She supposed it was too much to hope he would escort her all the way home, although on second thought, her appearing on the doorstep with Galahad in tow would probably send her aunt into a swoon.
    â€œWell,” she said, covering her irritation with a polite smile, “it was very decent of you to take time from your”—From his what? she wondered. From thundering about like an ancient seigneur in search of storm-caught maidens?—“from your duties to rescue me.”
    He dismounted in silence and helped her down from the horse, lifting her with no apparent effort. The brush against his broad-shouldered body brought another sensation of warmth to Chloe’s rain-chilled skin. He had a strong physique, and his touch was surprisingly gentle despite the impatience she sensed in him.
    Clearly, although his mind was a hundred miles away, he was still male enough to acknowledge the differences in their sex. He