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She stared at him. Well, well, who would have guessed the great Earl of Shrewsbury has a compassionate nature? “I'll speak to my brother about this,” she informed him loftily.
“That will do damned little to solve the problem. James Hardwick has allowed his property and landholdings to go to rack and ruin.”
“Are you saying my brother is to blame for this trouble?” she demanded angrily, furious because what Shrewsbury said about James was all too true.
“He's useless.” Shrewsbury's piercing blue eyes narrowed, challenging her to refute him.
Bess bit her lip and acknowledged the truth of his words. “James doesn't have a good head for business. I make a better man than he does.”
Shrewsbury's eyes traveled up her shapely legs and came to rest on her breasts thrusting beneath the male doublet. “You, Vixen, are all woman, and never more so than dressed in those provocative riding breeches.” He wanted her astride him, not her stallion.
“Black brute,” she murmured, secretly pleased that he thought her provoking.
Angry voices rose up around them. “Will you let me handle this? I could easily put down a riot by force—I have an armed guard of forty soldiers in my pay—but force isn't the answer here.” He didn't wait for her reply but raised his voice to the men milling about them. “There is a job for any man who wants one in my lead and coal mines.”
Bess remounted her horse and added her voice to the earl's. “I, too, have coal to be mined, and sheep to be tended.” Suddenly, Bess remembered what it was like to have absolutely nothing, and her heart constricted. “I'll allow a week's hunting on any of my lands to fill your larders. If there's aught else you need, speak to my stewards.”
The crowds gathered about Bess and the earl to offer their thanks. The mounted pair slowly walked their horses through the throng, uncomfortable with the display of gratitude.
“Ride with me,” Shrewsbury said quietly.
Bess urged Raven forward with her heels, and the two black stallions galloped abreast until the village was left behind and they entered a copse of beech trees. Their horses slowed, then stopped as the riders looked at each other. Shrewsbury urged his mount closer to hers until their stirrups touched. “Christ, I swear you're dressed this way to provoke my lust.”
“I'd rather provoke your temper.”
“Look at the effect you have on me, Vixen.” His hand indicated his swollen groin. “Can we not be secret lovers?”
She lifted her chin. “It would take more than six stiff inches to tempt me to sin.”
“Seven,” he corrected.
They stared for a moment, then both burst into laughter at the absurd things their sexual desire made them say to each other. Bess sobered. “I shall speak to my brother about Hardwick. Thank you for aiding me today.”
“Bess, it is always my pleasure to serve you.” The double entendre gave him the last word.
You are a witty devil when the spirit moves you. We could have such fun together, damn you to hellfire!
