Chapter 17

The damnedest thing was that even at her most prim, with two guardians at her back, she aroused him. Even from up here she looked naked to the waist. The vision of her magnificent, proud breasts thrusting through the wet shirt was too much for him. He must go down to the beach, to her.
He strode from the house and took the path that led down the cliff to the beach, but she was nowhere in sight when he arrived. He could hardly credit that she had disappeared so quickly and reasoned that she must have turned inland to ride up the Helford River. The tide had washed away her hoofprints and the beach was deserted in both directions as if she had been an apparition. A foul oath was snatched from his lips by the playful sea breeze. Frustration almost choked him, and yet he knew her elusiveness merely whetted his appetite and hardened his determination to have her.
    Lord Helford had to contend with a mountain of paperwork and dispatches connected with his new post, yet a dozen times that day he threw down his pen with the intention of riding over to Roseland. He was torn between the need to see her and the desire to keep his promise.
Finally he gained control over his yearnings, reasoning that if he could not keep his word for at least twenty-four hours, she might develop contempt for him. He hoped against hope that she would visit him before the day was over.
By early evening he had given up hope and took an early dinner in the vast, elegantly appointed dining room. He was totally unused to the feeling of loneliness which assailed him. Usually so self-sufficient, he put his mood down to the fact that he had grown used to stinking, brawling London with all its violent energy. The change from the city to the country would take some adjusting. In London all was noise. On the streets people shouted and pushed and laughed and exchanged clever insults; here the silence was deafening.
He threw down his napkin and pushed back from the table. His longtime steward Mr. Burke approached him with an easy familiarity. “Ruark, there is a young lady outside to see you, sir.” He had come from Ireland with Ruark’s mother, Lady Rosalind, when she had come to wed the first Lord Helford and had outlived them both. Though it seemed natural for Burke to use his master’s first name, Ruark would never have dreamed of calling his man anything but Mr. Burke.
“Didn’t you invite her in, Mr. Burke?” he asked as his eyes lit with pleasure.
“I did, but the lady is unchaperoned and naturally awaits you without,” said Mr. Burke, his face as impassive as if he had announced that dinner was served.
Ruark’s eyes widened at the sight of her. It was dusk, yet it was as if she were surrounded by her own light. She is Summer, he thought, dazed. She was mounted upon an expensive piece of horseflesh which he knew was a black Barbary. She wore an elegantly cut riding dress in a ridiculously impractical shade of primrose yellow, and he had never seen a lovelier vision in his life.
“You are shocked because I’m not in mourning,” she said.
He shook his head. “Nothing you could ever do would shock me,” he assured her.
It will … I promise you … it will, she thought wildly. “Well, I cannot be a hypocrite; I do not mourn him,” she said, putting an end to the matter.
He tried to envision her as he had seen her at dawn, but he could not. This young woman was as elegant as if she had been riding in St. James Park. “I’m so glad you came,” he said, moving to the horse’s side and holding up his arms to her.
“I came as a supplicant,” she said solemnly.
As his strong arms lifted her down to him his heart slammed inside his chest and it was not from exertion. “Anything,” he murmured.
“I’m having the stables refurbished. I vow they are so dilapidated, a strong gust of wind would collapse them. Could I trouble you to stable Ebony until the work is finished?” When she coupled a lie with the truth, her conscience bothered her not at all.
“It is no trouble,” he assured her, happy that he would see her more often now.
As they walked to the stables she embroidered her tale. “Don’t be alarmed if there is a steady parade of wagons coming and going, they will just be workmen.”
Inside the large, airy stables Ruark led Ebony into a loose box so he would have freedom without being tethered. He unsaddled the Barbary and took the bridle and bit from him as well. “He’s a beautiful animal,” he said with admiration, running his eyes down the glossy flanks.
“I’m particularly partial to him,” she said in a throaty, provocative drawl.
The scent of hay and leather drifted in the air and Ruark’s arousal was instant and pronounced. He wanted to pull her down into the hay and romp and roll until they were both naked and he had her pinned between his thighs. His eyes licked over her like a candle flame and he realized the impossibility of such wanton behavior. Her primrose habit was spotless, her coiffure the very latest style known as ‘heartbreak.’ He must remember she was a lady … and an innocent one at that.
Reluctantly he summoned a groom. “Lady St. Catherine will be stabling her mount here for a few weeks. See that he receives the very best of care.”
As they walked from the stables, she said softly, “How can I ever repay you, Lord Helford? Each day I seem to be more and more in your debt.”
“Come and have a drink with me. Let me show off the hall to you,” It didn’t sound like a request.
She shook her head regretfully. “You know I cannot,” she said softly. “Show me the gardens.”
“It is dark,” he half protested.
“The moon is rising,” she assured him.
“Smuggler’s moon,” he murmured, and she shuddered involuntarily.
The intoxicating fragrance of the night-scented blooms stole to them as they