My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(40)

He was conferring with the groom about where best to ride in the rain when a figure appeared in the doorway. He glanced up and forgot what he’d been saying as Mrs. Campbell hurried inside, brushing drops of mist from her sleeve.

The habit was old--fashioned but fit her perfectly. It was a vivid emerald green, with gold braid on the jacket and a small puff of lace at the collar. The fitted jacket emphasized the curves of her bosom and waist, and the long full skirt swayed appealingly around her hips. She folded her gloved hands and looked up from under the wide--brimmed round hat she wore, to meet Jack’s eyes.

“Will it do?” she asked lightly, striking a pose as if her portrait were being painted. “Or shall your grandmother come back from the grave to punish me for my presumption?”

“No,” he said quietly. “If she would punish anyone, it would be me.” But it would be worth it. He thought of all the other fine items of clothing that must be up there, and it made his throat close up. Sophie Campbell was a vision in servant’s clothing. In a golden court presentation gown, with diamonds in her hair and around her throat, no one would guess she wasn’t a duchess herself . . .

Breathing harder than he should have been, he turned back to Owens, the groom, and tried to focus on anything other than his intriguing guest.

“The high meadow,” supplied Owens, a taciturn old fellow. “Drains well, level ground.”

“Yes. Splendid. Put Mrs. Campbell on Minerva,” he said, naming a mare with a mellow temper and a smooth gait. He’d already had them saddle a horse for him. His favorite was still in London, but Maximillian was a good horse, an older gelding who wouldn’t mind the rain.

He stayed away while they saddled Minerva and brought her into the wide center aisle of the stable. There was a mounting block there, and Owens was leading Minerva to it, anticipating helping Mrs. Campbell into the saddle. Jack watched her walk toward it, the full skirt caught up in one arm. She looked like she knew what she was about, and probably didn’t need his help, and yet his feet started moving on their own.

“Let me,” he said, intercepting her before she reached the block. “Minerva doesn’t like the block.”

Owens gave him a queer look at the lie—-Minerva was well trained to stand by the block—-but obediently he stopped the horse. Jack laced his fingers together and stooped slightly. With only a brief hesitation, Mrs. Campbell put her foot into his grip and rested her hands on his shoulders. Her skirts smelled slightly musty, but Jack inhaled deeply and gave her a boost. She landed easily in the saddle, but he stood near as she hooked her knee over the pommel and adjusted her skirts. Minerva shifted, and for a brief sizzling moment, Mrs. Campbell’s leg pressed against his chest. He could feel her knee, right at his shoulder, and without warning his brain imagined her knees rising beside his waist as he moved above her, tasting every inch of her luscious skin, driving hard and fast into her . . .

God save him.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, interrupting his increasingly carnal thoughts. He jerked his head in a nod and swung onto Maximillian’s back, discreetly adjusting his breeches once safely in the saddle.

They rode through the stable yard, then turned up the lane that led toward the woods. “The high meadow is beyond the woods,” he told her, keeping Maximillian beside Minerva. “Owens says it’s fairly firm and should offer a good ride.”

“Brilliant.” She was riding well but very carefully, he noticed, as if she’d not been on a horse in a while.

“Still, we can’t be foolish. It’s wet and I won’t risk Minerva’s legs.”

“Of course not.” She patted the horse’s neck. “I don’t wish to humiliate myself by racing madly across the fields and ending on my backside in the mud.”

She smiled and Jack laughed, although his stomach had contracted at the thought of her backside, muddy or otherwise. “An easy ride, then,” he said, and urged Maximillian into a trot. When he glanced back, she was keeping pace. Her face was alive with joy beneath the brim of her hat.

They rode through the woods, along paths that wove through the trees and avoided any large puddles. When they emerged from the trees and reached the high meadow, Jack realized the rain had actually stopped.

“Goodness,” said Mrs. Campbell breathlessly beside him. She pulled Minerva to a stop and gazed openmouthed at the meadow. “Look . . .”

Barley visible, a rainbow shimmered across the far end of the meadow. Jack raised one brow in question at her, and with an eager smile she nodded. They took off, skimming across the field at a canter. The air felt soft and full, and he realized how right she had been to want out of the house. He couldn’t regret the day spent in the attics, but this felt immeasurably more alive.

They reached the opposite side of the meadow and slowed back to a walk. “Oh my,” cried Mrs. Campbell. She gave a very unladylike whoop. “That was brilliant!”

Her hat had blown off, and tendrils of mahogany hair blew about her face. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed, and he thought he’d never seen anyone look so unabashedly happy. It made him laugh, and a thrill went through him that he’d been responsible. “At last! Something you can savor about Alwyn House.”

She flicked her crop toward him in jest, but her smile was wide and infectious. Even brighter and more joyful than the one she’d given Philip. “It’s a wonderful place because of Minerva. Minnie, darling, you were magnificent!” She leaned low across the horse’s neck to scratch between her ears.