Page 50 of The Marriage Wager

The climb had been growing steeper as they talked, and now Dominic pulled his horse to a stop and turned to them. “We shall have to walk the rest of the way to the promontory.”

At the prospect of walking, the idea of looking at the view quickly lost its enchantment for Margaret. As they all dismounted, she whined, “All the way to the top? But I am scarcely dressed for walking.”

Her mouth turned down expressively as she looked at the train of her riding habit, looped over her arm, then turned toward Mr. Carruthers, looking up at him beseechingly. “I think I would prefer to stay here. It seems quite pleasant in this little clearing. If, of course, someone would stay with me…”

It was true that the heavy skirts of the women’s riding clothes, with their trailing trains meant to appear at advantage draped over the side of the horse as they rode sidesaddle, were not easy to walk in. Nor were the supple riding boots. However, Margaret had known about the steepness of the climb before they left; she had expressed her doubts about it at the breakfast table. It was distinctly annoying that she had decided to come on the expedition to the promontory despite her laziness, and Constance felt rather certain that she had done it primarily to have a chance to be with Mr. Carruthers.

“I shall be pleased to remain here with Miss Woodley,” Mr. Carruthers offered gallantly.

Constance sighed. “Perhaps I should stay, too.”

She did not really want to stay here tamely in the clearing without even seeing the view from the promontory, but she felt it incumbent upon her not to leave Cousin Margaret alone with a man whom she scarcely knew. It was not inherently scandalous, of course, for a woman to be alone with a gentleman in the afternoon, even in this rather secluded setting, as long as it was not for a very long period of time. However, her cousin was quite young and also quite silly, and Constance was not at all certain what she might do if left to her own devices, especially given the way she had been flirting with Mr. Carruthers. She could not leave Margaret in a situation where she could damage her own reputation.

Calandra glanced at Constance, then at Margaret, and said easily, “Oh, no, you have not seen the view. I shall stay here. I am rather tired, and I have been to the promontory several times.”

Constance cast the young woman a grateful look. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” Calandra told her. “I only came along because I did not want to be there when Muriel returned from her trek around the lake.”

In the end, Mr. Willoughby, whose horse was showing signs of weariness, decided to remain behind, as well, so only Dominic and Constance continued to the top. They walked, leading their horses, and soon were out of sight among the trees. The path became steeper, and they fell silent, needing their breath for the climb.

They passed a small thatch-roofed cottage and shed, nestled against the hillside. It looked, Constance thought, like a cottage from a fairy tale.

“Who lives there?” she asked, pointing.

“No one. It’s deserted. Has been for years,” he answered. “We might as well leave our horses here.” He tied their mounts to the low-hanging branches of a tree in front of the cottage.

“It is called the Frenchman’s House,” he went on. “I have no idea why. There are innumerable stories about it. Some say it was where they exiled some mad FitzAlan ancestor.”

“Oh, no, it must have involved some tragically romantic story,” Constance said in disagreement. “Just look at it.”

Dominic chuckled. “Most likely it was where some favored old servant retired.”

“That is much too mundane,” she protested.

He smiled down at her, and suddenly Constance was very aware of her own body, of the pulse of blood at her throat and the pull of air into her lungs. Her skin was warm with the exercise of climbing, and she felt the caress of a breeze on it.

She was aware, too, of the fact that they were all alone in this secluded spot, something quite rare at any time, but especially in this large house party. Dominic’s eyes traveled over her face, and he reached up to gently brush his thumb across her cheek. The brief, skimming touch seemed to awaken every nerve in her body, and Constance shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No. Not at all.” Gazing back into his eyes, she knew that he understood why she had shivered—and understood, as well, that the heat in her body came only partly from the warmth of the day.

She thought that he was about to kiss her. She knew that she wanted him to. She wanted, Constance realized, far more than that. She wanted to feel his hands on her body again; she wanted his lips to travel over her. She wanted his mouth to close around her nipple and bathe her in damp heat. Her breasts ached a little just at the thought, her nipples tightening.

Dominic moved fractionally closer. He knew, she thought. He knew exactly what she wanted, and he wanted it, as well. For a moment they stood there, simply looking at each other, and the very air seemed to simmer between them.

Then he stepped back abruptly. “We should keep going. The others will not want to wait too long.”

She nodded woodenly, thinking that it was better this way and yet not liking it at all. He struck out for the top, and Constance followed. The ground turned rockier, and the trees thinned out. Now and then he reached out to take her arm to help her up a steep spot, and she felt each touch all through her.

Finally they reached the top, a rocky cliff jutting out over the countryside and offering a sweeping view of the land below.

“Oh!” Constance drew in her breath sharply. “It’s beautiful!”

Dominic nodded, looking out over the vista. “This was always one of my favorite places. I would sit here and look out and dream…all sorts of foolish things.”

“I am sure they were not foolish,” Constance replied.