How to Pursue a Princess (17 page)

Lily glanced at the hill, which was covered with beautiful yellow flowers. It was a gorgeous spring day, the sun shining, the wind teasing her skirts and tugging at the scarf that tied her hat.
Hmmm. The wind . . .

She reached in her pocket and pulled out her kerchief.
While no one was looking, she let it slip into the breeze. It tumbled over the horse’s haunches and was then whipped into a clearing on the opposite side of the trail. She turned to give the groom a beseeching stare.

He touched his hat and left the trail in an effort to catch the kerchief.

The second he was gone, Lily pulled up her horse, undid her small watch, and tucked it into her pocket.

It took Lord MacKeane a second to realize she was no longer by his side, and when he did so, he had to ride a little ways back down the trail to her, just as she’d hoped.

“Och, my dear Miss Balfour, what’s amiss?”

“My watch is missing. It was pinned on my lapel and I just checked it, but now it’s gone.”

“Stay right there. I’ll look for it.” With that, he dismounted. “What does it look like?”

“It’s very small and gold, about the size of a shilling.” She frowned. “But it was probably more like a couple of minutes ago that I looked at it.”

“Ah, then it will be a bit farther down the path. I will find it.” He turned and led his horse away from her.

It was the perfect moment. The groom had followed her kerchief off to parts unknown, MacKeane was too far off in one direction, and the rest of the group in the other, to hear her leave. She turned her horse and headed for the hill, clearing it and riding down a gentle slope, finally safe as she rode out of sight of the rest of the group.

Smiling, Lily allowed the horse to have his head, the meadow luring her with its beauty. Her horse whickered softly in approval of the thick, green grass beneath his hooves, decorated with small bunches of bright yellow flowers. The soft sigh of the breeze and the faint rush of water as it danced down the riverbed were the only sounds, so she felt fairly certain that she hadn’t yet been missed.

She undid the scarf she’d tied about her hat and let the breeze cool her ears and forehead. When she reached the middle of the field, she pulled the horse to a halt near a small, broken, ancient stone wall and decided to wait for Wulf there. But a sudden gust snatched the hat from her head, and it bounced off the horse’s haunch before tumbling away. At the slap of the hat brim, the horse jumped and then set off in a wild canter.

Lily grabbed the reins and, with more determination than talent, brought the animal under control and turned it back toward the meadow. She was
not
leaving her hat in the middle of field. Her sister Rose had sent her that hat from Italy, and it was highly unlikely that Lily would ever get another of such quality.

Seeing her hat nestled among a clump of wild-flowers, she pulled the horse up and looked down at it. Once she climbed off her horse, she would have no way to get back on. There was no groom to help, and the horse was too tall. Perhaps she could use the ancient wall? It looked sturdy enough.

Yes, that should do it.
She guided the horse to the
wall, gathered her skirts, and slid off, smiling as her booted feet touched the stone. The horse, happy to be relieved of duty, whickered softly and then dipped its head and began to graze.

Well, that was easier than she’d expected. She threw her long riding skirts over her arm and then jumped off the wall. But as she landed, her boot slipped on the moss-covered ground and she fell backward, landing on her shoulder against the ragged stone. Pain splintered through her.

The sunshine flickered as the outline of an angel appeared. At least she thought it was an angel, for his black hair made a blue aura where he blocked out the sun. She was still trying to grasp her circumstances when the angel spoke, his deep voice rich with an accent she knew all too well. “Easy, Moya.”

She took a shuddering breath and then clutched her shoulder. “I fell.”

“I saw. I wish I had been close enough to catch you. Don’t move. What hurts?”

“Only my shoulder.” She rolled to her side to rise, but the pain made her gasp.

Wulf’s face, now illuminated by the sun, was stern. “I told you not to move.”

She gritted her teeth against the burn, managing to gasp out, “I’m fine. Just give me a moment.”

“Let me see.” He reached for her arm.

Instinctively, she jerked back, then cried aloud as a pain shot through her shoulder.

He cursed, long and low, a symphony of words she
didn’t know, but understood all too well. “Let me see your shoulder,” he demanded. “I must see if you’ve broken something.”

Still clutching her arm, she leveled a hard stare at him.

“I know what I am doing,” he insisted. “My men and I frequently play polo, and such injuries are not unusual.”

“Polo?”

“A game with sticks and a ball that is played from the backs of horses. It’s very difficult and there are many injuries.”

She sighed. “I’m not going to disrobe here, in the middle of a field.”

“But—”

“No. If someone saw us . . . I cannot.”

“Ah, these rules of yours will kill me!” He glowered, but after a moment said in a gentle voice, “Come. I will help you up. You should not be on the damp ground. Just be cautious and hold your arm to your side.”

She did as he asked, tucking her elbow close and holding it in place. He bent, and with an arm about her waist and her good shoulder pressed to his chest, he gently lifted her into his arms.

There was something to be said for a man who could carry one without the slightest bit of discomfort. She could see that coming in handy in a variety of situations.

And not only could he carry her with ease, but
while she was snuggled against his broad chest, his cologne tickled her nose in the pleasantest way. Spicy and sensual, it made her want to turn her face and burrow against him.
I’ve missed this. I’ve missed
him.

He carefully placed her on a flat stretch of the wall, then stooped to place a finger under her chin and tilted her face to his, his expression somber. “There. This is better. Not so damp.”

It was better. Much. She tentatively moved her arm. The pain had lessened some, though she had no doubt that she’d have a large bruise. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

“Poor Moya. I hope not.”

For some reason, that made her laugh. “I’m not poor Moya. And I do wish you’d stop calling me that. My name is Lily.”

“I like Moya.” He ran his thumb over her chin, touching the bottom of her lip. “When I saw you fall—” His gaze darkened and he cupped her neck with his warm hand. “Don’t scare me like that again. You are my light.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that.” Yet she was glad he was saying it to her, and not to Emma.

The thought of Emma made her frown.

“Ah, now you are upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Yes, you are. Beautiful, and upset.” His eyes twinkled. “Don’t tell me you dislike hearing me say how beautiful you are; I would not believe it.”

She pushed a strand of hair from her eyes, realizing how many of her pins had been lost in her fall. “I am far too mussed to be beautiful.”

He chuckled and tipped her face to his. “You, Moya, are beautiful. I love how your eyes turn to silver when you are angry, the red-gold of your hair under the sun, your determined little chin, and . . .” His gaze flickered down her neck, lingering on her breasts. “All of you. Every last bit.”

His gaze was like the lick of a flame, tracing a shiver across her skin. She couldn’t look away, even if she wanted to—which she didn’t. She wanted to lean forward and capture his lips with her own and run her hands over his broad shoulders and—

Stop it.
She dropped her gaze.
Why, oh why, does he fascinate me so?
Something had changed since Wulf had kissed her in the library, and she was beginning to think that it was her. “I should return to the castle. I can ride if you’d help me onto my horse.”

“With your arm injured, you might not be able to control your mount.” He reached out and plucked a piece of grass from her hair.

She sighed. “I’m mussed.”

“
Da.
There’s a smudge of dirt on your nose, too.”

Instantly, she reached for her nose, but in doing so, she unthinkingly lifted her injured arm. “Ow!” She rubbed her shoulder. “It’s stiff.”

His smile faded. “Moya, I—”

“Please, just help me back on my horse. I’m certain I can reach the castle.”

His jaw set. “I will agree only if you allow me to examine your arm. You needn’t disrobe, you know. I just wish to move it and ascertain the extent of your injuries.”

She sighed. She didn’t want him to “examine” anything, but the firm line of his jaw told her that she had no choice. She nodded. “Fine.”

Wulf slipped a hand under her elbow and placed another on her shoulder. “This will only take a moment.” He slowly rotated her arm. As soon as she winced, he stopped. “Where did that hurt?”

She placed her hand on the spot she’d landed. “It feels like a bruise.”

“No sharp pain?”

She shook her head. “It just hurts all over, not any one place in particular.”

“Hmm.” He finished rotating her arm and then sat back on his haunches. “I think you’re right; it doesn’t seem to be broken. But you can’t ride back to the castle. Your arm is weak and there is little you could do if the horse bolts. So I will lead the horse for you.”

She glanced around the clearing and realized that her horse was the only one in sight. “You didn’t ride.”

“My cottage is just on the other side of the river, so I walked.” He stood and held out his hand. “Come. Let’s see if you can move now.”

She stood but staggered when her heel came down on a rock. Instantly, Wulf slipped an arm about her waist to steady her. His voice was muffled against her hair as he said, “Lean against me.”

She didn’t need to lean against anyone now that her heel was back on firm ground, but he was conveniently close, and it took so very little to rest there.
And why not?
she asked herself.
We will never be alone again to enjoy such a thing.
She closed her eyes, savoring Wulf’s strong arm gently tucked about her waist. For such a large, powerful man, his touch was amazingly gentle.

She snuggled closer as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his breath warm on her skin.

I shouldn’t encourage this, but it just seems so natural.
Besides, perhaps this cherished feeling wasn’t because of Wulf. Perhaps there was something innately comforting about the weight of a man’s arm—any man’s arm.
I could get used to this.

She suddenly realized that the silence between her and Wulf had changed. Gone was the peacefulness of the moment, and in its place was a simmer of heat. Her skin prickled as if he were touching her far more intimately than he was, and her mind flickered back to the kiss they’d shared in the library. She’d dreamed of that kiss ever since.

The breeze strengthened and her skirts slapped playfully against his riding boots and brushed the flowered grass at their feet. The sunshine warmed her shoulder, though it didn’t match the coziness from the one pressed against Wulf’s chest.

It was so peaceful, so . . . right.
But this can’t be right. I can’t
let
it be right.

Yet she didn’t move. Instead, she allowed the simmer
of attraction grow, as palpable as the sunlight that warmed their shoulders.

Lily lifted her face to his. His gaze caressed her as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers warm on her skin. She was locked into place, unable to look away. His dark lashes cast his green eyes into shadow, making her think of the moss at the bottom of a stream. The warmth of his hand on her cheek made her breathless, and her skin tingled with awareness.
I should stop this, but I can’t.

Instead, she yearned to lean forward . . . toward him . . . into him. . . .

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
Though many consider me a great matchmaker, I must admit that there are circumstances even I cannot overcome. Fortunately, thus far I’ve been able to offset those circumstances with those two weapons of good fortune: luck and timing.

Woe betide the relationship not blessed with either.

Lily lifted her lips to Wulf’s. The gentle, sweet touch set off a wild, uncontrollable flash of desire that roared through her, sweeping away every thought, every hesitation, every wish to resist either his desires or hers. She wanted this man so badly that her hands shook, and her heart thundered so loudly that she was certain he could hear it.

As if he could read her wanton thoughts, Wulf deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding over her lips, teasing them apart. She opened to him, welcoming the onslaught
of heated passion, pressing herself against him, refusing to let anything come between her and this man.

Murmuring her name, he slipped a hand behind her head, sinking his fingers into her hair. His touch was demanding and urgent, stirring her passion yet more. His kiss changed and he teased and taunted. As with the kiss in the library, he taught her as she went, and she found herself a desperately eager student, panting and aching.

Sensing her need, he cupped her face between his hands and kissed her wildly. Lily moaned as he captured her and devoured her as he plundered her mouth with his.

Suddenly kissing wasn’t enough. She unthinkingly went to slip an arm about his neck, but the pain from her shoulder made her break the kiss with a gasp.

Instantly Wulf paused. He was flushed, his eyes bright, his breath as quick as hers. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no. I forgot about my arm and reached for you.” She pressed a hand to her heart where it fluttered against her chest. “I think my heart would fly away if it could escape.”

He chuckled softly. “It seems all of our kisses are destined to be interrupted. But one day . . .” He rested his forehead to hers. “One day we will kiss until there are no more kisses to be had.”