Page 39 of The Wedding Challenge

“Good Lord, how many residences does the man have?”

“Well, aside from the cottage in Scotland, which has not much land with it—he goes there only by himself, for fishing and, I think, to get away from being so much the duke, you see—he has the manor house in the Cotswolds, which was part of my mother’s dowry. That, he says, will be part of my dowry, but he manages it for me. And then there is the estate in Cornwall, which hasn’t much of a house, just a grim-looking old keep that Sinclair says is scarcely worth keeping up, but there are tin mines on the land, so he has to go there to oversee them. And another manor house in Sussex. That is all, I think. Well, except for Lilles House in London, but that isn’t an estate.”

“All?” Bromwell let out a crack of laughter, tilting his head back. “You have put me in my place. Here I have congratulated myself on pulling my Yorkshire estate out of its debts and purchasing a house in London.”

Callie’s cheeks flooded with red. “Oh! Oh, no, truly I did not mean to boast. Whatever will you think of me? It is only because of his being a duke, you know. Well, I mean, he is quite handy, apparently, at managing all those things. But there are so many estates only because of some past duke marrying some heiress or other and her lands coming into Rochford control, and of course, we started out as barons, and then every time one of my ancestors got another title, there would be another estate….” She ran down, looking abashed. “I am making it sound even worse, am I not? But they are my brother’s, you see, and not mine.”

“Except for the manor house in the Cotswolds,” he put in, his eyes twinkling.

Callie let out a low groan. “I am sorry. Truly, it is not—” She stopped, not sure exactly what she could deny.

The earl laughed. “No, do not apologize. I do not take it as boasting. ’Tis only the truth. You are a woman of very high estate.”

Callie rolled her eyes. “I hate to be thought of that way. It makes me sound so…so priggish.”

“You? I do not think anyone could think of you as priggish. You are, dear lady, delightful.”

“No, I fear I am a rattle. My tongue is always running away with me. My grandmother would tell you that it is one of my worst faults.”

“Your grandmother sounds most disagreeable.”

Callie laughed. “I am unfair to the woman. She is simply proud of the family into which she married, and one cannot fault that. She has always done her duty, even when it entailed raising an unruly young girl when she was long past the age of having to deal with children, and she expects everyone else to do their duty, as well. It is only that what they want or what they enjoy has nothing to do with the matter.”

“And what do you want?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Not to have to marry some stuffy sort because he is a duke, then have the requisite number of children to please his family. All because I am the sister of a duke.” She let out a sigh. “Sometimes I wish…I don’t know…that I could be plain Miss Somebody, possessing no fortune at all.”

“I think you would find possessing no fortune vastly uncomfortable.”

“I know. I must sound like an ungrateful child. I am sure that I would not be at all happy having to pinch pennies or…or trim hats or sew clothes or something just to make enough money to live. It is only that I feel sometimes as if all anyone sees when they look at me is Rochford’s sister, not a person in her own right. Not me.”

“I can promise you,” he said, turning to look into her face, “when I look at you, I see you and only you.”

Callie, gazing back at him, felt suddenly as if everything else in the world around them had fallen away. There might have been no road, no companions, no wintry countryside. All she could see were his eyes, silver in the sunlight and edged with thick dark lashes, and all she could feel was this breathless, burgeoning…something inside her, spiraling up in her until she thought it must explode.

In his eyes, she saw a myriad of emotions flash through him with the same force and rapidity as her own. He turned his face away abruptly, taking a quick breath. Callie, too, glanced away, struggling to control her visage, to hide from the world what she feared must shine out from within her like a flame.

“Ah, there’s the Park,” Bromwell said suddenly, relief tingeing his voice.

Callie nodded. They turned off onto the path into the park. The land rolled gently into the distance, no buildings in sight, just a wide expanse of land framed with trees on either side and beyond, past where the land dipped down. It was not the verdant field that it would be later in the spring, and the trees were still leafless, apart from the evergreen yews and larches, but it was still a scene of sylvan beauty, lit by the pale winter sun. As if to complete the peaceful rural scene, a band of red deer at the edge of the trees raised their heads to look at them with interest, then lithely bounded off.

With a laughing glance at Bromwell, Callie dug in her heels and gave her horse its head. The mare bounded forward, clearly eager to run. Behind her, Bromwell let out a shout and came pounding after her. They tore along the path, leaving the rest of their party far behind.

Callie delighted in the rush of air against her cheeks and the surge of the horse beneath her. Their speed matched the rush of emotions inside her, sending her spirits soaring. The wind caught at the charming little hat, tugging it from her head and sending it tumbling backward, but she only laughed, too caught up in the moment to care.

Bromwell pulled even with her, and though she urged her mare to the utmost, he flashed a grin at her and passed her. After that he began to pull up, and so did she, slowing to a walk. They had outstripped the others, now hidden from them by a fold of land. It was, Callie thought, a good thing that they were shielded, for Bromwell turned his horse’s head toward her, coming close, his face taut and bright with purpose. His arm went out as he reached her, looping around her waist, and he pulled her off her horse and onto his, setting her in front of him.

His other arm wrapped around her back, supporting her, and his hand went up to her cheek, then slid back into her hair. His heat enveloped her; his chest rose and fell rapidly. He said nothing, but his intent was clear on his face, his eyes glinting with it.

Callie turned up her face to his, as breathless as he. They were perfectly still for an instant, their eyes locked on each other. Then his mouth came down to cover hers.

Fire flowed through her, searing her skin and settling deep within her. She trembled in his embrace, aching and eager, as his mouth both filled and fueled her hunger. Her hand went up and curled around his neck, urging him closer. He groaned, his lips digging into hers. He kissed her until she thought she must burst from the heat and desire spiraling up in her.

“Callie…Callie,” he murmured, pulling his mouth away to trail his lips across her skin and down over the curve of her jaw. His hand left her hair to slide down her neck and onto the fabric of her riding habit. “I have been wanting to do that all day. Sweet heaven, I have been wanting to do it for a fortnight.”

Callie chuckled, turning her face into his shoulder, and whispered, “I have, too.”

Her response brought a low groan from him, and she felt his body flare with an added heat as he pressed her closer to him. He kissed her again, his hand sliding down the front of her bodice.