Chapter 27

CHAPTER27

George knew he should not pursue Agnes, but the glint of tears in her eyes and the reckless manner in which she fled from him was enough to make him give chase. It was not safe for her to ride at speed through these dense forests where the underbrush tangled and threatened to trip even the surest-footed mounts, especially not in a heightened temper.

“Halt your horse!” he shouted as he charged after her, spurring his stallion on. The sleek, silver beast was faster and larger than the mare, but the terrain was difficult and treacherous, and Agnes showed no signs of slowing as her horse leaped over fallen tree trunks and trampled through spiny bushes.

I never knew she could ride like this, he marveled in secret, for she had more talent than most of the gentlemen he knew. It was as if she had become one with the horse, her body rocking and swaying with the mare’s every move, her skirts flying out behind her as she rode with one leg on either side of the creature. If anyone saw her, they would be horrified, but George could not help admiring her gumption. Nor did he mind the flash of pantalettes that graced his eyes as she lifted up in the saddle to make another daring leap.

“Agnes, would you cease!” he bellowed, remembering why he was chasing her in the first place. She might have looked skilled, but she did not know the forests of the Finch Estate the way he did; there were hidden trenches and rabbit holes and unexpected hollows everywhere.

She rode on, ignoring him, heading deeper and deeper into the forest.

“Agnes!” he yelled again, realizing that she was charging straight toward an old riverbed.

The water had been diverted long ago, but the steep banks had remained, and as the years had gone by, they had become overgrown with bushes and tall grasses and twisting branches. If a rider did not know the riverbed was there and crashed straight through, they were certain to fall as the ground sharply fell away.

Urging his stallion as fast as it could go, flattening himself to the beast’s powerful back, his heart thundered with panic, matching the pounding rhythm of the stallion’s hooves.

Soon enough, Agnes and her mare came into view on his right until both horses were riding level with one another. Sitting up straight in the saddle, George wasted no time in leaning over to grab hold of the mare’s reins. It was a dangerous maneuver, and one he did not attempt lightly, but if he did not do something drastic, he knew they would all end up in the riverbed.

As hard as he could, he pulled on the mare’s reins. The gray beast reared in alarm, and for a terrible moment, he thought Agnes was going to slip from the saddle and tumble straight to the ground. But she held a sturdy seat, gripping tight with her thighs in a way that made his stomach tighten, and wrenched the reins back into her control.

Yet, she made no move to continue her charge, choosing to settle her mare instead. Meanwhile, George slowed his stallion and wheeled the elegant creature around, plodding toward Agnes with his breath ragged in his lungs and a cold sweat prickling down the back of his neck.

“You could have died! Did you not hear me mention that part before?” George snapped, watching as Agnes jumped down from the saddle and stood with her back to him. She held the mare’s bridle and ran her hand up and down the creature’s nose, whispering soothing words.

Determined to make her listen to him, George also got down from the saddle and marched toward her. “Do not ignore me, Agnes!” he growled, grasping her by the arm and spinning her around. “You do not know these woods. You were about to cause very real harm to yourself and to Lady Finch’s prize mare though I see that your ankle has recovered quite miraculously.”

“I was trying to save the blasted fox!” Agnes hissed in reply, peeling his hand from her arm. “I once told you of my distaste for hunting on horseback, but I suppose I should not have expected you to remember.”

George blinked. “You… feigned an injury to save a fox?”

“I decided that it deserved to live,” she replied haughtily as the mare gently nudged her back. There was no denying that she had a way with animals, for he had already been rather impressed by the way the dogs had gone to her as if she was their master. George could barely get them to sit when asked.

“So, you chose to ride alone through dangerous woods in order to save the life of a fox who would not hesitate to bite you if you came too close?” He had to ensure he understood, for it was almost too outlandish to be correct.

Agnes folded her arms across her chest. “I did. I do not require any reward or recompense from the fox. If it bit me, I would likely deserve it, but I would not be foolish enough to get close enough to get bitten.” She paused, adding quietly, “Not by a fox, anyway.”

All at once, George understood. He understood her tears and her desperation to escape him; he understood the slight tremor in her voice and the ferocious disappointment in her eyes. More than that, he understood the mistake that he had made.

“You are not sport to me, Agnes,” he said softly.

Her eyes narrowed, the movement freeing a tear that trickled down her cheek. “I do not believe you.”

“I did not write because I knew my letters to you would be intercepted,” he explained carefully. “Lady Finch would see them, and she would ask you questions that I did not want you to have to answer alone.”

“You have been gone for five days, George,” she countered. “You look as if you have not slept and have imbibed heavily. Knowing what I know of you, I can only assume you were spending your evenings in… your usual manner.”

Her words gutted him as if he were a fish on a cold slab, cutting underneath his ribs and stabbing into his lungs, pushing the air from his chest in one pained gasp. But how could he blame her for thinking such things of him? He had not confessed, he had not written, he had indeed remained in London, and he had not done anything to try and let her know that she possessed his heart, his body, and his soul.

“I stayed in London because I had to,” George said, hearing the hurt in his voice. “My ships had come in, and I had to ensure all was well before I could venture here. I am not an ordinary Duke, Agnes, as you well know. I have to continue to make my fortune, or everything will crumble. My father—he left nothing for me. He left me a husk of a manor and a few coins in cobwebbed coffers, spending and spending without hesitation like his forebears. I am somewhat fortunate in that he died without leaving much in the way of debt, but that is only because he sold almost every possession he had.”

The words tumbled from his lips in a waterfall of honesty, saying things he had never said to anyone before. Not even William knew the entire truth.

“My father despised me,” he continued thickly. “He blamed me for my mother’s death. I was six, and she took me riding while he was visiting his mistress in London. She fell and hit her head, and… I tried to help her. I tried to save her, but I was a child. Lady Finch, who was a dear friend of my mother and often kept her company while my father philandered, found me and my mother when we did not return. Apparently, I had tried to pull my mother onto my pony, but I must have grown too tired, for Lady Finch found me curled up next to my mother, fast asleep. I did not know she was already dead when she struck her head as she fell.”

Agnes gasped, clasping a hand to her mouth. “George… My goodness, that is… awful. I am so very sorry.”

“I should have had the right to hate my father for not being there, but he decided that he deserved to hate me instead,” George carried on, a lump cloying in his throat. “He wanted to send me away, to be raised as far from him as possible, but Lady Finch intervened. She took me and raised me as if I were her own son even though Christopher was never fond of me. My father agreed to pay for me to attend Eton, and that was all he deigned to do while he drank and gambled away the rest of the meagre fortune our so-called ’dynasty’ had left.”

That rejection had shaped George though it had taken him a long time to admit it. He always assumed he would be a disappointment to everyone around him, so he had done whatever he pleased, believing there was no use in trying to be good.

“When he passed,” George’s voice hitched, “he told me on his deathbed how much he loathed me, and that if he had possessed a “spare,” I would have been disinherited. Yet, his hatred was a gift in many ways. Without it, I would not have succeeded in business in order to spite him. I think he wanted me to suffer and struggle, I think he wanted me to have to watch my titles and lands and property be stripped away, but he had not bargained on my tenacity. Nor Lady Finch’s. She put me in correspondence with my first business associates, and in the twelve years since he died, I have restored everything he sought to destroy just to punish me.”

As he dropped his chin to his chest, certain that he made himself appear weak in Agnes’ eyes, he mustered a strange smile. Even if she rejected him now, spilling his heart to her seemed to have poured a heavy weight from his shoulders, lightening his burden. He drew in a deep breath of the fresh, earthy forest air, and it was as if he was breathing clearly for the first time in years.

“I did not know,” Agnes whispered, pressing her hand to his chest. “How could anyone when you wear such a convincing mask of charming, irresponsible, reckless rake?”

He laughed stiffly. “I thought I could bury it—the pain, I mean. In that regard, at least, I am not dissimilar to my father or his predecessors. They all indulged and imbibed and were generally wretched individuals, so I thought it would be a shame if I broke the habit of centuries.”

“You are not wretched, George,” she told him, stepping closer. “I said I thought there were two of you, and now I know I am not mistaken. There is the side of you that wants to be nothing like your father, and there is the side of you that is scared of what being “good” might mean—a devil and an angel on your shoulders.”

George swallowed uncomfortably. “The angel is louder since you appeared in my life.” He paused, meeting her intense gaze. “And I promise you, I have done nothing untoward in my absence. I have imbibed, but I have imbibed alone in my townhouse, wishing I were with you. Nor have I slept properly, but you are also at fault for that—I have tossed and turned, worrying that you would think the worst. Yet, as I said before, I could not write, and I could not leave London until my business was concluded.”

“I apologize for causing you any disturbed slumber,” she said silkily, smoothing her palms up his chest. “But you should know, you have made me suffer equally. Do you see these dark circles beneath my eyes? I am utterly ghastly. Why, just this morning, I opened the door to greet my lady’s maid, and I swear to you she looked like she had seen a ghost. There was even a partial scream.”

George’s lips curved up in a smile. “That cannot be true, for you look just as beautiful as you did at the races when I held you and kissed you and—”

She silenced him with her mouth, raising up on tiptoe to crush her lips against his with a ravenous hunger that knocked him off balance. He might have steadied them both if it had not been for the twisting roots of a mossy oak and the overgrown knots of nearby weeds snagging at his feet.

He felt himself falling, and his arms wrapped around her, determined to protect her as he hit the ground. Fortunately, the matted carpet of weeds and shrubs acted as the perfect cushion, leaving him winded but otherwise unharmed.

“I fear you might be the… greatest threat to my health,” he wheezed, laughing as she landed on him. “You have already prodded me toward madness, and now you have bruised me.”

“Clearly, I do not know my own strength.” She tried to get up, but he pulled her back down, seeking out her mouth with his own until they were once again connected in a searing dance.

Her body was warm and supple in his embrace, her legs flanking his hips, for as he already knew, she did not like to ride side-saddle. As they kissed, she undulated to the rhythm of their lips, whipping him up into a particular kind of frenzy. She likely did not know how the friction of her body would tease him, but he was not going to argue; it felt too good for that.

“I want you,” he growled, his teeth grazing her lower lip gently.

She paused, blinking down at him. “I… do not know what that means.”

“Then, let me show you,” he urged, slipping his hand beneath her skirts, eager to hear her call out his name as he opened the gates to paradise for her.

His fingertips traced the inside of her thighs, relishing in the way she shivered at his touch, and her eyes closed as though she was already on her way to a realm of bliss. Reaching the ribbon that held her pantalettes in place, he unfastened it and caressed the soft, bare skin of her stomach for a moment, licking his lips as he dreamed of a time when he could kiss her there, could kiss her all over at his leisure.

Letting his hand explore lower, he cupped the heat of her, easing his fingertips through her petals. As her first gasp whispered into the air, he drew his fingertips back and settled them upon the hidden bud that was the root of her pleasure.

He tapped lightly upon that bud, coaxing it into life, and slowly began to draw circles around it. He watched her expression intently and listened for the change in her breath, determined to learn what she liked from the whispers of her body, discovering how to please her through the instruction of every tremble and gasp and furrow of her brow.

“Oh, George,” she murmured, arching her back with her hands braced against his stomach.

He smiled and started to strum his fingertips across her secret pearl, his loins ablaze with need as a moan slipped from her lips. Perhaps, so deep in the forest, no one would hear them if they abandoned all inhibition. Perhaps, this was the perfect place to explore one another with the forest floor as their bed and the shade of the trees as their protection from judgment.

No sooner had he contemplated it than he heard something in the distance: the unmistakable sound of dogs barking. And beneath his back, the faintest vibration of many hooves, heading in their direction.

Agnes shot up first, rushing to fasten the ribbon of her pantalettes. “Hurry!” she urged, her face flushed. “Goodness, if we are discovered, it will undo my sister’s prospects!”

George got to his feet, glimpsing a flash of her bare stomach. “We can outrun them.” He offered his hand to her, and with thoughts of her bare skin still racing through his mind and burning in his loins, he helped her up onto the saddle of her mare. “Let us hope that both the fox and the two of us shall escape today.”

With that, he hauled himself into his own saddle, and they took off through the forest, heading away from the possibility of paradise and back to the real world where they would have to pretend that they were nothing but acquaintances.

That was close, he knew as he carved a path through the undergrowth, hoping the hunters would not spot it. But not close enough.