Cinderella And The Duke. Janice Preston

      She turned, her narrowed gaze that of a lioness about to pounce. ‘I am pleased you find my predicament so amusing.’

      Leo sobered. How could she tell, from those few words he had uttered?

      She crossed her arms. ‘Pray, continue.’

      ‘You claim, justifiably, that my choice of friend does me no favours, but will you so readily condemn a man for his family, over whom he has no choice?’

      ‘Family? You are related to my neighbour?’

      ‘Yes. We are cousins. We are not close, however.’

      A wry smile curved her lips. ‘I, of all people, cannot judge you by your relations. As you say, one has no choice to whom one is related. But, nevertheless, you have chosen to accept your cousin’s hospitality.’

      ‘That is true. My cousin has lived in the Americas for many years. He returned to England only a few months ago and invited my brother and me to enjoy a few days’ hunting. It seemed churlish to refuse.’

      ‘And your other friend? Mr Stanton?’

      ‘He is searching for a safe pair of ponies for his new wife to drive and there is a pair for sale locally.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘And what of your family?’ he asked. ‘It sounded as though you also have relatives you do not care for.’

      ‘My immediate family is delightful.’

      ‘So you do admit to some less than agreeable kin?’

      ‘One or two.’

      She half-turned from him, towards Kamal, then glanced over her shoulder and raised a brow. He ignored her silent command and indicated the letter she held.

      ‘Is that letter from one of them?’

      The paper crackled as her fingers flexed.

      ‘Not from one of the less than agreeable members or I should have happily relinquished it to the river and we...’ she faced him again ‘...would not be having this conversation.’ Her gaze travelled—lingeringly—down the length of his body, leaving a fiery trail of desire in its wake. It came to rest on his boot. ‘Should you not remove your boot to drain the water from it?’

      His foot and lower leg were numb with cold and he would dearly love to do as she suggested, but...

      ‘I fear I would struggle to remove it without help. Unless, of course, you care to offer your assistance?’

      Her brows rose, as did her gaze, which locked with his. ‘That would hardly be appropriate, sir. Why, I hardly know you.’

      ‘That can soon be remedied.’

      He stepped closer, effectively trapping her between his body and that of her horse. A faint gasp—intrinsically feminine—whispered past his ears and his heart responded with a lurch and a yearning he hadn’t experienced for a very long time. He studied her: her fine, creamy skin, the peachy blush of her cheeks and her straight yet delicate nose, the lush pink lips, the fine golden-brown threads of her brows. Her eyes, framed by long lashes, gleamed as they held his gaze. There was curiosity in their depths. No hint of fear or apprehension.

      Leo stripped off his glove and touched his fingertips to her jaw. Her skin was silky-smooth, soft and warm. The scent of jasmine and warm woman weaved through his senses and blood surged to his loins. Then, on a swiftly indrawn breath, she looked down and away.

      Leo stepped back and her lids flew open. Her gaze sought his again, questioning, and he smiled reassuringly. There was no hurry. She might be a widow, but he had no intention of rushing her. Over the years, he had found the preliminaries—the intricate dance and the anticipation—almost as enjoyable as the act itself. Delay only served to enhance the pleasure.

      There was only ever one first moment of recognition.

      Only one first kiss.

      Only one first time to lie together.

      They were times to savour.

      He slid his hands either side of her ribcage, then smoothed his palms down her sides to the indent of her waist. He tightened his grip and lifted her, the narrowness of her waist and the womanly flare of her hips imprinting in his memory as he raised her to the saddle. She hooked her leg around the pommel, settled her skirts, placed her sodden hat upon the Arabian’s withers and finally tucked her letter inside her bodice. She cast him an unfathomable look, then nudged Kamal towards the bridge. Before they had taken a dozen paces, however, she halted him and reined him around.

      ‘My home is not far, Mr Boyton. Would you care to come with me and dry your foot? You must be frozen and I should hate for you to catch a chill after so gallantly rescuing my hat.’

      Her smile radiated, feeding his lust, but he was conscious of a ripple of disappointment that she had cut short the fun of flirtation. Still...mentally, he shrugged. He wouldn’t refuse her. She was a lovely woman and it appeared she was willing.

      ‘Thank you. That would be most welcome.’

       Chapter Four

      Rosalind watched Mr Boyton mount his black gelding. The flex of his shoulders within the fine cut of his hunting jacket and the bunch and flex of his thigh muscles as they propelled him into the saddle made her mouth go dry. She could still feel the secure grip of his fingers at her waist, the effortless power with which he’d lifted her on to Kamal’s back, his gentle fingertips along her jaw, the intensity of that silver gaze as it penetrated deep into her soul.

      He had been going to kiss her.

      She had almost allowed it.

      She had wanted him to kiss her.

      Strange sensations swirled deep inside, the same sensations as before but stronger, more intense. Nervy, intoxicating waves that washed through her—promising, enticing, persuasive—feeding her regret that she had stopped him and feeding her regret that she had never experienced a kiss.

      And now she wondered—how would it feel? To feel a man’s lips on hers? No. Not any man. This man. To feel his lips upon hers?

      She swallowed, suddenly unsure. Why had she issued that invitation? She had ridden away. She had intended to keep going. He would not be in the area long and prudence dictated she should avoid him, but with every step Kamal had taken the stronger the urge had become to snatch more time with him whilst she might. That urge had swelled until it was near undeniable.

      Flustered, she turned Kamal once more for home. Even though Leo was behind her and out of her sight, every tingling inch of her skin was aware of his presence. The black hunter soon ranged alongside Kamal and Rosalind peeked sideways at its tall, straight-backed rider. Above all else, she sensed she must conceal the confusion he aroused within her. She would not relinquish all control of this—whatever this might be—to a man who was clearly used to authority. She cast around for a neutral topic—anything that would prevent him studying her too closely.

      ‘I am surprised you are not hunting today, sir. It is the perfect weather for it, is it not?’

      ‘It is and I was with the hunt, until Saga here threw a shoe,’ Leo replied.

      He removed one glove and slowly smoothed the horse’s neck with his bare hand as he spoke. Rosalind followed his movement, gooseflesh erupting across her back and down her arms, as though it were her skin he stroked. Her pulse quickened and her lips tingled. She risked a quick glance at her companion’s face. She caught the gleam in his eyes, and guessed his action had been deliberate...designed to provoke such a reaction.

      Take care. Compared with him you are as unknowing and as inexperienced as Nell.

      The thought of her sister steadied her.

      I might be inexperienced in matters of the flesh...and of