Rake Beyond Redemption. Anne O'Brien
one side of the outbuildings.
It amused her a little. This area looked as if someone had taken it in hand. Someone was more interested in the stables and their occupants than the house itself. She stepped through the open doorway into shadows, bars of sunlight angling across to form strips across the floor. It smelt of dust and hay and horses, in no manner unpleasant. Dust motes danced and glinted gold in the light. Somewhere in the far depths of the building someone whistled tunelessly.
The first stalls were closed. But the third was not.
Marie-Claude approached quietly.
And there he was. Coatless, in shirt and boots and breeches, he was grooming a dark bay stallion. Long smooth strokes of the brush from shoulder to knee. It was no difficulty for her to simply stand and stare, to watch the stretch and bend of his body. The flex of sinew in his powerful thighs. The fluid, agile play of muscle in his back and shoulders under the linen shirt. He reached and stretched with an elegant grace that set off a silent hum of pleasure in her throat. Turned away from her as he was, she could not see his face, but his dark hair shone in the soft light. Once more she experienced the urge to run her fingers through the dishevelled mass.
Here was her future. She was sure of it. Here was the man who could make her body sing again, even without touching her. And when he did—well, she really had no point of comparison. It was as if all the sparkle and bubbles from a glass of French champagne had erupted in her blood. This was the man who could wake her from the trance in which she had lived and slept since Marcus had died. Like Sleeping Beauty roused from a hundred years of enchanted sleep with one kiss from the Prince.
Marie-Claude was transfixed. Until Zan Ellerdine stood to his full height, half-turned and shook back his hair from his face as he reached up to a curry comb on a shelf above his head. As the light gleamed on the sweat at throat and chest she felt a need to touch her tongue to her dry lips. He was magnificent. And how intriguing. He applied himself again to the animal’s quarters, his expression distinctly moody, the lines between nose and mouth heavily drawn, his eyes dark and brooding, snapping with temper. There was no softness in that beautiful face, only a cold ruthlessness, a driving force that would be indifferent to all but the ultimate goal.
But, oh, he was beautiful.
Cold logic immediately took hold. She should run for her life. This was not a man any well-bred woman should seek out. Zan Ellerdine was a man who had no thought of her, of any woman, but only of his own needs, who would take her and use her to his own ends.
A faint noise. She must have moved, scraped her foot against the cobbled floor. Marie-Claude held her breath.
Zan straightened to run his fingers through the stallion’s mane. ‘How’s the mare, Tom?’ He raised his voice to the far whistler. ‘Just a sprain, I thought…’
He glanced back over his shoulder. And stilled, every muscle controlled, the words drying on his lips.
There, just as she had known. Those dark eyes, dark as indigo, looked into her, knew every secret of her heart, she was sure of it. For a brief moment his features softened as he saw her. The lines that had bracketed his mouth smoothed out. The fierce emotion in his eyes faded. She thought he would smile at her. Hoped he would.
His mouth firming into a hard line, Zan Ellerdine tossed the brush he was holding on to the bed of straw and faced her, hands fisted on hips.
‘Go away. There’s no place for you here. You shouldn’t be here.’
It was like a blade to her heart, a tearing pain. Marie-Claude took a moment to wonder why it should matter so much, if a man she barely knew felt no desire to spend even a moment in her company. And after all, wasn’t this what she had feared would happen? If she’d had any sense, any sense at all, even one ounce of dignity and pride, she would never have set foot on Ellerdine property in the first place. Instead she had laid herself open to this.
And she would open herself to more. She simply did not believe that his insolent denial of her reflected that initial response in his face. She summoned all her sang-froid, straightened her spine and raised her chin.
‘I have come to pay a morning call, Zan.’ There! She had called him by his name. ‘Did you not expect me?’
‘No.’
‘You promised you would come to ask after my health. You didn’t.’
‘No. I didn’t.’ Still he stood, uncivil and unwelcoming.
‘Did you even care?’
‘You had wet feet and a ruined gown, nothing more. A gown that Venmore could afford to replace out of the loose change in his pocket. I doubt you would succumb to some life-threatening ailment.’
So callous. So unreasonably impolite. But Marie-Claude kept the eye contact, even when it became uncomfortable. ‘As you see, I am perfectly well, but I was raised to honour my obligations,’ she stated, her demure words at odds with her galloping heart. ‘So since I am indebted to you, I have come to pay a morning call to offer my thanks in a formal manner.’
His lip curled. ‘I was clearly not raised to honour my obligations, my upbringing being lacking in such finesse,’ he retaliated, giving no quarter.
‘Frankly, sir, I don’t believe you.’
That shook him. She saw the glint in his eye, but his response was just as unprepossessing. ‘What you believe or disbelieve is immaterial to me. I thought I made it clear our—our association was at an end. I am not available for such niceties as morning calls. As you see, madam, I’m working and you are disturbing me.’
She would not be put off. ‘Then I will say what I wish to say here, Zan. It will not take but a minute of your so very valuable time.’
‘Say what you have to say, madam, and then you can leave.’
He would be difficult. He was deliberately pushing her away. Well, she would not be pushed away in that manner. ‘My name is Marie-Claude,’ she informed him with a decided edge.
‘I know your name.’
‘You called me Marie-Claude before.’
‘So I did. I should have treated you with more respect.’ His tone was not pleasant.
‘But as you have just informed me, your upbringing was lacking in social niceties. So why should you cavil at using my name? I did not think Englishmen were so stiff-necked as to be so rigid over etiquette. Frenchmen, perhaps.’ She paused, then delivered her nicely judged coup de grâce. ‘Since you kissed me, more than once, and I think did not dislike it, I would suggest you know me quite well enough.’
He breathed out slowly, unfisted his hands, but only to slouch in an unmannerly fashion. ‘What do you want from me?’ Still bleak and unbending.
‘I’m not sure quite what it is I wish to say,’ she admitted. How hard this was, how intransigent he was being. ‘You saved me from drowning, or at least a severe drenching. I think I didn’t thank you enough.’
‘As I said—it’s no great matter. I happened to be there—and I would have saved anyone in your predicament.’
‘I think it does matter. Would you deny that some emotion flows between us? Even now it does. It makes my heart tremble.’ She stretched out her hand to him, but let it fall to her side as the stony expression remained formidably in place. Indeed her heart faltered, but she drove on. She would not leave here until she had said what was in her mind. ‘I think I should tell you that I don’t usually allow strange gentlemen to kiss me—or any gentlemen at all, come to that. Just as I don’t believe you kiss women in inn parlours—unless it’s Sally who showed willing. Then you would.’
‘I might,’ Zan admitted.
‘I envy her.’ She raised her chin higher. ‘What I don’t understand is why you went into fast retreat when you learned my name, as if an overwhelming force had appeared on the horizon.’
His