Staring into the blue of his eyes, those amazing eyes that could twinkle and laugh, or blaze with scorching lust, she wetted her lips and whispered, “Make me.”
Something flared in his eyes that might have frightened her if it hadn’t excited her so much. His hands tightened about her waist and she was in the air, snatched against his hard body. Instinctively, her arms went round his neck and her legs tightened about him. His hands moved to her hips and took control, alternately pushing and pulling her against him, then holding her steady while he thrust into her. He groaned, then growled, then kissed her deeply.
She ran her tongue across his lips before she moved her mouth to his jaw, to his throat. Her teeth nipped at his skin, slick and hot above his pulse. She opened her mouth and tasted him, licked him, her breath moving hot upon his flesh while his cock pumped faster, harder, pounding against her womb as he grew longer, his body tensed and poised for release.
“Now, Lucy. Come for me . . . now!”
She might have cried out, but she’d never know, because he captured her mouth with his at the same time his big body stiffened, every muscle tightening, and she felt him jerk and twitch deep inside, the contractions of her body greedily absorbing his essence.
***
Just after dawn, Jane met Benjamin, the stable master, and each of the grooms. She asked a few questions to ascertain their knowledge of horses and was well satisfied with each of the friendly, hardy lads. She was shocked at the damage Pendragon had done to the stall, expressing her dismay by exclaiming, “Blixford, I believe your stallion is half mad.”
The grooms chuckled and moved away to begin their morning tasks.
Blixford tapped one shining black boot with the head of his crop and said evenly, “He’s descended from Arabian stock, Jane.”
Eyeing the splintered boards, she was in awe. “Are Arabians half mad?”
“Doubtful, but perhaps the line retains something of their wild nature.” He waved toward the other stalls. “If you’ll choose another mount, we may take our ride. There are only five available, being that Beckinsale House is the smallest of my estates. I never have visitors here, so the livestock are exercised by Benjamin and the grooms. The others here are the coach horses.”
She went along the block and peered into each stall, settling on a brown bay gelding at the far end. A neatly painted wooden plaque upon the stall door told her his name was Morpheous. The horse didn’t appear to live up to his name. Far from sleepy, he was feisty and full of spirit, poking his nose toward her and sniffing before he backed up and tossed his head.
He was saddled without delay, and before long, she was clattering out of the stable yard with Blixford at her side, himself seated on a roan mare.
They rode north, through a wooded area that eventually opened to a large pasture. “Did you spend your previous honeymoons at Beckinsale House?”
“No,” he said simply and conclusively, his tone clearly indicating he didn’t like the question.
She couldn’t help her curiosity, however, so she asked the next logical question. “If not here, then where?”
“All three of my previous brides were immediately settled into Eastchase Hall.” His sigh spoke volumes, as though he knew she would continue to question him, regardless of his dislike of the subject. “I brought you here because I suspected you would like it, and I suppose in some respects I’m a superstitious sort. I thought to change the course in hopes the outcome would be different.” He lifted his thumb and indicated the south, behind them. “This is also where I house my crossbreeding program. I believe you’ll enjoy meeting Crofton, who oversees. He has a fascination with the possibilities presented by crossbreeding sheep that is equal to yours.”
“Blixford, how marvelous! Thank you!”
He cast a look her way. “You are enjoying yourself?”
“Very much so.” She looked ahead, toward the pasture. “Is this where Benjamin moved Grendel and Pendragon?”
“It is. Do you suppose they’ll dislike our interruption?”
Jane laughed. “Doubtful. Unlike humans, horses don’t mind an audience.”
“I assume you’d have cause to know this?”
She jerked a startled look toward him. “Sherbourne has long maintained a breeding stable at Hornsby Grange. Surely you’re aware? One of his won at Ascot only two years ago.”
“Yes, I’m aware, but I’m surprised your father would allow you anywhere near the process of breeding horses. It’s not typically an endeavor for unmarried young ladies.”
She gave it some thought before she nodded. “I suppose not. My father is somewhat unorthodox, isn’t he? He laments he didn’t remarry after my mother’s death, that my rearing in a houseful of males must surely have been to my detriment. Perhaps he’s correct, but what’s the point revisiting history? He didn’t remarry and I grew up within a crowd of boisterous, decidedly masculine males, most of whom frequently forgot I was female. I daresay it wasn’t until I matured into a feminine form and Sherbourne insisted I don a dress that they realized I was not, in fact, a boy.”