Page 23 of To Wager with Love

“I have you,” he said, his voice soothing, which disturbed her more than anything else he could have said or done.

The words slid over her skin like a caress and made her want to sink into his embrace. Instead she pushed away and sat up, as far away as was possible, rigid with anxiety as the horse swayed into motion. Alarmed, she grabbed at the nearest thing to steady herself and found herself clinging to Montagu’s lapels.

He looked down and sighed. “Well, it was ruined anyway, I suppose, though I’d rather you’d put your arms about my neck.”

“I’d rather die,” Matilda said, willing her fingers to release his coat, but quite unable to do so.

She watched the ground passing beneath them as the horse strode on. They continued in this way for some time, Matilda rigid with tension, eyes fixed on the earth.

“Stop looking down,” Montagu said, a note of amusement in his voice. “I promise I won’t let you fall. I must confess, I am delighted to discover something that frightens you. I had believed you utterly fearless.”

That was enough to make her look up and stare at him in amazement.

“What?” he asked. “There are many who fear me, who stammer and stutter in my presence, but not you. Not once. You’ve never feared me, not from the first.”

It was said with no inflection, just an acknowledgement of the truth. Montagu was a powerful man with many interests. Love him or loathe him, no one could ignore him, and many feared his displeasure.

“You’re wrong,” Matilda replied, turning away from him.

She feared him, and she feared what path he could lead her down if she gave into temptation.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she demanded before he could question her further, and more than relieved that Holbrooke House was in view.

The sooner she was out of his company, the better.

There was a short pause before he replied. “I had business in the area.”

“With St Clair?”

“No, I…. St Clair invited me to the house party, but I had other matters that needed my attention. However, I was here for a few days, so I thought it polite to pay a call.”

Matilda turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?” he asked. “My manners are impeccable, Miss Hunt, ask anybody.”

She made a sound that was not particularly complimentary and heard the low rumble of a chuckle. They rode on in silence for a while and Matilda concentrated her entire being on ignoring the hard male body so close to hers, the powerful thighs controlling the horse beneath them with ease, and the scent of him that rose from his damp clothes. Leather and horses, the subtle aroma of bergamot, and something hot and masculine curled about her. The desire to loosen her grip on his lapel and slide her hand up his neck was tantalising. She could sink her fingers into his hair and see the white blond locks tangle about them, watch those pale, silver grey eyes darken....

Stop it. Stop it. It would be like petting a cobra, she scolded herself. Are you utterly insane?

Utterly, undeniably, irredeemably, replied a wistful voice in her head that she refused to acknowledge.

“Have you thought any more about my offer, Miss Hunt?”

Oh, that was it.

“This is far enough,” she said furiously as she gripped his arm and removed it from her person.

“Miss Hunt, have a care, you’ll fall,” he protested, but Matilda did not care.

With a muttered curse, she slithered from the horse in an unladylike heap before righting herself.

“Turn around and go back the way you came,” she said, and flung her arm out, pointing him back towards the village.

Thank God, she thought, grateful for her anger, relieved it had saved her from making a fool of herself. She wasn’t about to stalk off with him watching, however, not after the remark about her dress. Getting to her room unobserved would be challenge enough.

His expression darkened. “You act as though I offer you an insult,” he said, his tone cool. “Yet you’d be one of the most powerful women of the ton. I’ve known women behave very badly indeed for the slightest opportunity to be considered as my mistress.”

“Then go and bestow your honours on them, my lord,” she said, sneering up at him, thankful for the reminder of exactly who he was and what he wanted from her. For a moment, in the relief of knowing he was alive, she’d forgotten, and that was an unforgivably stupid and dangerous thing to do.