Her Wicked Highland Spy (The Marriage Maker #10)(11)
“Why ever not?” Rosalyn breathed at his side.
The excitement in her eyes couldn’t be missed. Sarah had filled him with tales of her devilry the evening before. A grin pulled his lips. “Shall we race then, lass?”
The word ‘lass’ simply slipped out. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Please!” She tossed him a wicked grin and gripped the iron armrest.
He removed his hat and tucked it under the seat. “Hold on.” With a slap of the reins, he let the horses go.
They sprang forward. The phaeton jerked and, in seconds, they were flying down the road. Ethan scarcely noticed the trees and shrubbery that passed in a blur. He saw only Rosalyn and the raw delight on her face as her bonnet flew back and her hair tumbled free. Her delighted laughter as she pushed the wind-swept curls back from her mouth struck him to the core.
Lord Stafford be damned. Indeed, the man had no place here. He’d loved the man and respected his memory, but he’d be a fool to let a lass like Rosalyn slip through his fingers. Animal lust surged through him. She was a lass to be devoured—perhaps for a lifetime, if she proved as hot under his touch as he suspected, and for the first time in his life, he wondered if he’d finally met his match.
The road forked, and he turned the horses along the top of the white chalk cliffs, then through the fields with windmills on either side until, all too soon, they approached Brighton. With regret, he slowed the phaeton and stopped on the edge of the town to allow the horses rest. A fine view of the terraced houses spread over the hill and. The tide was high, and the crash of the waves battering the base of the cliffs mixed with the plaintive wail of the gulls overhead.
“That was wonderful,” Rosalyn gasped. Her bonnet hung precariously from its ribbons. “I confess, I felt like a bird on the wind.”
“Then you should ride in a balloon above the treetops.” God, he enjoyed the way her breasts heaved.
She turned to him, the thrill of excitement still alive in her eyes. “Oh, that must be splendid. How high can one go? Can one reach the clouds?”
He didn’t answer at first. He simply stared, thinking her the bonniest lass alive, but then realized she still awaited an answer. “The clouds? Aye. I’ve sailed into them before.”
“What did they feel like?”
“Wet,” he chuckled.
Rosalyn laughed, then nodded at the horses in admiration. “The horses were wonderful, too. If I may mention it, you handle them remarkably well.”
Many a time as a spy, his life had depended on doing so.
“Do you belong to a driving club?”
A driving club? Did the king’s service count? He chuckled again, but only said, “I fear I’m not often enough in London for such things.”
She smiled, the action only serving to draw his attention to her plump, pouty lips. Och, she radiated such sultry sensuality. Did she know her effect on men? From the look in her eye, she did. The desire to kiss her overwhelmed him. He leaned forward. She held still, then lowered her lashes. Her breasts rose and fell, straining delightfully in their snug nest, as her parted lips invited him. Before he could move, she straightened and turned away.
He lifted a brow. Again, something had agitated the lass. But what?
When she continued to stare out over the hill, he reached for his hat and clapped it on his head. “Then shall we go?”
“Yes, my lord,” she murmured, sounding all at once distant.
He expelled a silent breath of frustration and encouraged the horses forward with a cluck.
Puzzled as to her cool response, he drove between the tall, narrow, red-brick townhouses that lined the streets and onto the market square. The apothecary shop stood on the corner, a small establishment with small-paned, lattice windows, dimity curtains, and an iron sign that hung above the weatherworn door.
Still, Rosalyn maintained a polite distance as he handed her out, and inside the shop. Gone was the laughing lass from before. He lounged against the apothecary’s counter. The pungent smell of rosemary, ginger, and cedar blasted his nostrils. Ethan observed her from under hooded eyes as she went about her purchase. Her mixed signals puzzled him, but with his years of experience as a spy in His Majesty’s service, he had no doubt he would find the cause.
Chapter Six
The Subjects of Hygiene, Tidiness, and Curiosities
The trip back from Brighton seemed to take an eternity. Rosalyn couldn’t wait to escape. The entire day had been a disaster from the very start, beginning with being caught spying on him, to backing straight into his privates, to—heaven help her—staring at his large erection—then on to holding his hand like a hoyden whilst racing the horses. Lastly, she’d practically begged him to kiss her as they sat in the phaeton on the outskirts of town.
Observe, you dolt. Why couldn’t she remember that a minute in his company? Even worse, why couldn’t she stop her body from reacting to his every move, from the way he held the reins, to the way he lounged in the seat, his strong thighs spread wide, and again—heaven help her—to the memory of his so pleasingly large shaft, straining his breeches.
Her entire body flushed as a telltale moisture gathered between her thighs. Her cheeks flamed, and she studiously focused her gaze on the sea, grateful the man couldn’t read her thoughts.
At last, the torture ended, and they turned down the drive and pulled up to the house.