Read Online Time After Time by Elizabeth Boyce - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Boyce
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She touched her heels to Old Nell’s side, and gripping the gelding’s lead, rode swiftly out of the paddock. “I’ll be back soon, my lord,” she said, urging the horse into a canter.
But as Hugh and Cowick Hill disappeared from view, the spot where he’d touched her continued to tingle, as if her thigh had taken on a life of its own. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about the warmth of that hand.
Do men touch each other like that? she wondered. She’d seen them slap backs in a hale, hearty way, but on the thigh?
“What a rogue.” Her voice surprised her. “A rogue in sheep’s clothing. He pretends to be a gentleman, but he’s a rogue.” The thought pleased her. It had the right note of disdain. Still, the feel of his strong fingers persisted. She tried to concentrate on the road, but the tingling grew.
In time with Old Nell’s steady stride, Ellie repeated over and over, “A rogue, a rogue, a rogue … ”
She brooded about the rough way he’d grabbed and spanked her — the power in his arms, the outrage on his chiseled face.
The tingling caught fire. She pushed Old Nell to walk faster. Now the tingling pulsed in the deepest part of her womanhood. It ran down her legs and throbbed in her breasts. His hand on her leg: cords of blue veins, the fringe of hair on the knuckles … the image hijacked her mind. Nell’s long strides rocked Ellie gently back and forth in the saddle.
The tingle became a delicious itch that consumed her. “Oh,” Ellie gasped. “Oh, oh.” Her breath caught. She moved with the horse, pushing against the saddle, mouth open, head back, eyes closed. And then a bolt of pleasure rocketed to every part of her. Her mind buzzed. The commotion in her body blurred the scenery and left her shuddering.
When the feeling subsided, Ellie pressed the mare into a canter. I must never ride this horse again, she thought. And from now on, I will do anything to avoid Hugh Davenport.
• • •
Walking back to the house from the barn, Hugh found his mind would focus on only one thing: Toby. He’d admired many a wench’s tiny waist or buxom breasts, or both, but not her skills, horse training, or otherwise. This was a chit who could do something useful. And she was pretty. Oh, and her thigh — hard with that womanly layer of softness encasing the muscle. Delightful leg. Superlative leg.
If he did approach her, what if one of the stable hands saw? They’d think he was seducing a man. Not the best impression to leave with a bunch of barnyard gossips. Worse, what if she didn’t accept him? Gad, she’s pretty, and what a rider.
Thoughts scattered like frightened birds — without warning Hugh found himself plunging toward the dark depths of the fountain pool. Face inches from the water surrounding the statue of the nymph, he saved himself by plunging both arms to the elbow in wet. The spouting fish the nymph clutched doused his head. “Bloody hell,” he cursed, glaring at the structure. “Did they move this damn thing?” The nymph smiled her stony secret.
I must never walk this bloody path again, thought Hugh. And from now on, I’d better avoid Toby Coopersmith.
Chapter Four
Lady Davenport bustled into the library. It had the best afternoon light, and a new edition of The Baronetage had just come in the post.
She sat on a divan by the window and flipped through the pages. A crunching noise stopped her perusal.
“What are you doing you dreadful dog?” she said, addressing the spaniel, who had his muzzle deep in the cushioned chair. Sport gazed at her with innocent eyes. “Cease or out.”
She resumed turning pages. The dog returned to munching. “Quiet!” she ordered. The spaniel looked uncomfortable. He stood, turned around, and settled back in the chair.
Lady Davenport’s eyes zeroed in on a juicy bit about Edmund Billingsworth Toping. “He’s come into his father’s title, at last,” she said to no one. Chuckling, she remembered how he’d gallantly
But as Hugh and Cowick Hill disappeared from view, the spot where he’d touched her continued to tingle, as if her thigh had taken on a life of its own. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about the warmth of that hand.
Do men touch each other like that? she wondered. She’d seen them slap backs in a hale, hearty way, but on the thigh?
“What a rogue.” Her voice surprised her. “A rogue in sheep’s clothing. He pretends to be a gentleman, but he’s a rogue.” The thought pleased her. It had the right note of disdain. Still, the feel of his strong fingers persisted. She tried to concentrate on the road, but the tingling grew.
In time with Old Nell’s steady stride, Ellie repeated over and over, “A rogue, a rogue, a rogue … ”
She brooded about the rough way he’d grabbed and spanked her — the power in his arms, the outrage on his chiseled face.
The tingling caught fire. She pushed Old Nell to walk faster. Now the tingling pulsed in the deepest part of her womanhood. It ran down her legs and throbbed in her breasts. His hand on her leg: cords of blue veins, the fringe of hair on the knuckles … the image hijacked her mind. Nell’s long strides rocked Ellie gently back and forth in the saddle.
The tingle became a delicious itch that consumed her. “Oh,” Ellie gasped. “Oh, oh.” Her breath caught. She moved with the horse, pushing against the saddle, mouth open, head back, eyes closed. And then a bolt of pleasure rocketed to every part of her. Her mind buzzed. The commotion in her body blurred the scenery and left her shuddering.
When the feeling subsided, Ellie pressed the mare into a canter. I must never ride this horse again, she thought. And from now on, I will do anything to avoid Hugh Davenport.
• • •
Walking back to the house from the barn, Hugh found his mind would focus on only one thing: Toby. He’d admired many a wench’s tiny waist or buxom breasts, or both, but not her skills, horse training, or otherwise. This was a chit who could do something useful. And she was pretty. Oh, and her thigh — hard with that womanly layer of softness encasing the muscle. Delightful leg. Superlative leg.
If he did approach her, what if one of the stable hands saw? They’d think he was seducing a man. Not the best impression to leave with a bunch of barnyard gossips. Worse, what if she didn’t accept him? Gad, she’s pretty, and what a rider.
Thoughts scattered like frightened birds — without warning Hugh found himself plunging toward the dark depths of the fountain pool. Face inches from the water surrounding the statue of the nymph, he saved himself by plunging both arms to the elbow in wet. The spouting fish the nymph clutched doused his head. “Bloody hell,” he cursed, glaring at the structure. “Did they move this damn thing?” The nymph smiled her stony secret.
I must never walk this bloody path again, thought Hugh. And from now on, I’d better avoid Toby Coopersmith.
Chapter Four
Lady Davenport bustled into the library. It had the best afternoon light, and a new edition of The Baronetage had just come in the post.
She sat on a divan by the window and flipped through the pages. A crunching noise stopped her perusal.
“What are you doing you dreadful dog?” she said, addressing the spaniel, who had his muzzle deep in the cushioned chair. Sport gazed at her with innocent eyes. “Cease or out.”
She resumed turning pages. The dog returned to munching. “Quiet!” she ordered. The spaniel looked uncomfortable. He stood, turned around, and settled back in the chair.
Lady Davenport’s eyes zeroed in on a juicy bit about Edmund Billingsworth Toping. “He’s come into his father’s title, at last,” she said to no one. Chuckling, she remembered how he’d gallantly
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