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“How surprising to meet an old-“ He paused, his stare boring into her. “Friend… in such circumstances.”
Only now did she realise her heart was drumming against her poor chest. But she raised her chin haughtily. This man would not unsettle her; she would not let him!
He halted close to her, so close, she saw an expression line between his attentive eyes.
“It is surprising indeed that you even remember me.” She devolved.
He was not a man to be forgotten–ever. His deep-set eyes in a fierce face with square jaw, tight lips and a slightly too long roman nose, which gave him an arrogant air. That, framed by dark brown hair that fell to the top of his strong neck, made him a singular specimen.
“Certain hard-learned lessons remain engraved in the memory, I reckon.” The silky, lethal comment rang in her ears and did something to her heated skin.
She lifted her head to meet his stare and time became like the stones that encrusted the castle. Immobile and with so much pent up energy it might cause an earthquake. His irises went dark now, they pierced her in a manner that practically bared her. His stare became so cold and granitic it neared loath. Cold, bitter loathing. It clawed at her, twisted her stomach with acid discomfort. Underneath, remained something different, too close to magnetism and… inexorability.
That undeterred attention beclouded her mind. She lost control of her breathing, which came with difficulty. It was a conscious effort to cool her head. She could not let him muddle her senses. Not anymore. She had to remember that he was a traitor to king and country and that she received a mission to accomplish here, to address his crimes.
“It is part of the maturing process, as anyone knows.” Her expression went cold. No matter what their past held, they stood on opposite fields now.
Romulus came to the chafing perception it would be extremely difficult to take his eyes from this woman. Her night-sky black hair, done with skill and in glossy waves and ringlets, her immaculate face with large brown eyes, a delicate nose. And a mouth that-when tasted would cause addiction, as he got the tormented chance to prove for himself-entranced even a saint, which he was not, he had to admit. That dignified bearing did not distract from her round breasts, tiny waist and flaring hips. He needed to whip himself for still being tempted. She broke her word to him and married another. She deserved only his contempt.
“No doubt you made my… maturing process a fabulous attainment!” He jabbed. That he had been unable to forget her, to put that blasted summer behind him, spoke volumes. It made him wish somehow to contract selective amnesia and wipe her from his past years. She taught him perfidy and bitterness.
A frosty little smile bloomed in her full, delectable lips. She changed in these last eight years, he had to own. There were a self-confidence and self-possession that had not been there when she was eighteen, barely out from the schoolroom.
“Everyone can see you survived.” Her neutral tone dismissed.
Survived? Yes, you could say that. When his men informed him there was a lady whose carriage broke down, he could never have imagined she would be that lady. Her appearance jumbled his thoughts and threw him in a cauldron of feverish memories, better locked away. He had only moments between her arrival and her entrance in this room to recompose.
A harsh command to himself to show her only indifference, and he stepped away from her beauteous person, so that she did not affect him. He rang for the butler.
At the servant’s entrance, he directed. “Please, show her ladyship to her rooms in the south wing.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The middle-aged man motioned her out of the study.
As the door closed, he wished he forgot all about her, but her floral scent floated in the air for a long time, denying him a reprieve.
He sat at his desk and summoned his man of affairs.
“Did you want to see me, Your Grace?” The man came into the room.
“Yes, Miller. Please close the door.” When it closed, he continued. “I would like you to tell me what happened.”
Miller, a lanky man in his forties, took off his hat and started his account, as he held it between his hands. “A broken wheel, the carriage has two horses, and she travels with a coachman and a footman, Your Grace.”
Romulus rubbed his blade-square jaw thoughtfully. “Have the carriage repaired first thing on the morrow, Miller. I want them away as soon as possible.” He had too much going on right now. He could not afford strangers nosing around the grounds.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The man hesitated for a moment. “Strange thing, Your Grace.”
“What, Miller?” Romulus had already bent his head to important ledgers on the desk.
“The lady rode astride-“ At that, Romulus snapped his head up. His body sprouted a violent reaction, his arousal so instant and hot, he thanked the massive desk for shielding it.
“Astride, you say?” As he taught her that fateful summer.
“Aye, Your Grace. Mounted in a trice, not a word of complaint.” He sounded bewildered. The man did not know half of it!
“Thank you, Miller.” His man of affairs bowed and left.
Like a play in a village tableau, his memory unleashed the images of them on his horse. She asked him if it was difficult to ride astride and, in a blink, he had her on his brown stallion as he mounted behind her. Her demure skirts lifted to reveal her boots and modest stockings. Her body glued to his, her back cradling his unmistakably aroused groins, he reached around her and covered her hands with his on the reins. They galloped in the meadow and she controlled the horse, a quick study, the chit. Then, he laced his arms firmly around her feminine waist, bringing her even closer. She laughed, head tilted to the sun, enjoying it, completely unaware of
