She lifted both brows, then crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ll not take that tone with me.”
“Woman,” he growled in a voice that had sent grown men to their knees quaking in fear more times than he could count. “This is not a game.”
Her face sobered, but there was none of the accompanying fear he was used to seeing. If anything, his growl seemed to challenge her.
“You are quite right, milord. It isn’t. I will either ride with you or I shall walk.”
Draven glared at her. “Have you no sense to press me so?”
“I have plenty of sense.”
“Then ride with Simon.”
“Nay.”
By the stubborn set of her jaw he could tell she had no intention of ceding the matter. “If you are the meekest of Hugh’s daughters, then I am thankful I have never had the privilege of meeting your sisters.”
Realizing arguing with her would do nothing save waste more time, Draven relented. “Mount the damn horse.”
Emily sensed she might be pushing him too far. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so bold after all. But then her father had called her boldness one of her more endearing qualities.
As she took the saddle, she didn’t think Lord Draven agreed with him. In fact, judging by the stiffness of his body as he mounted behind her, she didn’t think he thought much of her at all at present.
She opened her mouth to apologize.
“Don’t speak,” he snapped. “Not one single word.”
Emily clamped her lips together and vowed not to open them again to him until he apologized for his sharp tone.
Draven felt her go tense in his lap and knew he had offended her. So be it. He didn’t think he could stand feeling her pressed against him while that silken voice of hers addressed him. Indeed, his entire body ached with longing to the point he didn’t know if he could stand it.
If they passed a single village, town or manor on this trip, he would stop and buy her a horse no matter the price.
In fact, he’d gladly trade everything he owned for a wayward nag.
The day wore on in silence while Draven tried his best to distance his mind from his body. But it was impossible. Every stinking hoofbeat drove her against him in a sensuous rhythm that rocked his equilibrium and tolerance all the more. And with every hour that passed, he could feel his anger mount and his shaft stiffen far beyond pain.
The wind blew tendrils of her hair against his face, caressing his cheeks and sending her honey-suckle scent through him.
Oh, but it would be so easy to spur his horse forward, find a secluded place in the woods and lay her beneath him.
The memory of her kiss tortured him even more.
“Milord?”
He winced at her voice. “I told you not to speak.”
“I didn’t want to,” she said petulantly, “But I have no choice.”
“Aye, you do.”
“I do not,” she said firmly.
He looked down at her and saw the blush on her cheeks. “What is of such?—”
“We needs take a rest.”
“I wish to cover?—”
