Page 21 of The Beast of Beswick
“Heirs?Like the ones you offered to procreate?” His eyes fairly sparked heat, though his voice was silky, making the hairs on her nape stand at nervous attention. Other needy parts of her went soft and molten.
Cheeks aflame, Astrid lifted her chin. “You declined, remember? That offer is no longer up for discussion.”
Tension exploded between them as that golden-hot gaze scorched hers, burning past every defense she could possibly erect against him, but Astrid held her ground. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be nothing but a charred cinder by the time he was through with her.
“I’ve been known to change my mind,” he said softly.
Her mouth nearly fell open, but Brutus chose to rear and snap his teeth in the direction of the duke then, his eyes rolling slightly as if taking offense to Beswick’s suggestion and his mistress’s agitation. Astrid brought him smartly under control with a soothing sound, reaching for the reins. Beswick’s eyes focused on the enormous, skittish horse as if just seeing him.
“You arenotriding that beast.”
Astrid’s eyebrows launched into her hairline, her own tense nerves snapping. “Brutus is mine, Your Grace, and I will ride him if and when I please.”
“He is not a mount for a lady.”
She glared at him. “Don’t order me about. I’m not one of your servants.”
“Aren’t you?” he said coolly.
“God, you’re insufferable!” She turned to lead Brutus away, though not toward the stables as he no doubt expected.
His eyes narrowed as if guessing her intent, once she was out of his reach. “Astrid, I forbid it.”
Oh,no, he did not! Without hesitation, she hopped nimbly on to the low fence where she’d directed the horse and climbed into the saddle. She heard the growl behind her, felt it in the marrow of her bones, but ignored it.
Wheeling Brutus around and urging him into a gallop out of the yard, Astrid felt unburdened for the first time in days. She did not wait, nor did she care, to see how the duke had responded to her dismissal.
Arrogant, controlling man.
Chapter Six
Thane stood stock-still in amazement—that reckless little harridan had just defied him. Swearing a blue streak, he stalked into the stable, making several grooms leap to instant attention.
“Get me Goliath. Now,” he ordered.
He scanned the space for the groom who’d been talking to her, but the redheaded man was nowhere in sight. Lucky for him. When Thane had seen her place her fingers on the man’s arm, he’d been unprepared for the surge of violence that had filled him.
Rage? Jealousy? He hadn’t cared to examine the feelings, only acknowledging the fact that he’d wanted to snap the man’s arm in two.
Seeingherhad been both bliss and purgatory. It was as if he’d been starved for the sight of her. He’d gone to London to deal with the sale of one of his many properties in the city with Sir Thornton. And the minute he’d arrived there, he’d only wanted to leave. And the second he’d arrived back at Beswick Park, he’d sought her out. Though he knew maintaining distance was wise, given his erratic moods where she was concerned, Thane couldn’t help himself.
Goliath was brought forward, and he mounted the thoroughbred with a wince of pain as his fatigued body pulled tight. He usually enjoyed a brisk ride, but not on days when he’d traveled hours in a cramped coach or forgone the daily swimming routines that kept him pain-free and limber.
Thane grimaced, setting his horse after hers. It didn’t take the powerful Arabian thoroughbred long to catch up to her mount.Brutus. The aptly named brute that had tried to take a bite out of him was as unpredictable and as touchy as his mistress.
Looking over her shoulder, she urged her horse on faster, rising into the stirrups. Thane caught wind of what echoed like her laughter, and the sound energized him. He couldn’t help but admire her expert posture and her graceful handling of the massive horse. Or the fact that the split skirts of those indecent trousers flared wide on either side of her, baring glimpses of trim legs wrapped in worn buckskin.
Thane very rarely pushed Goliath to his limits, but he did so now. That stallion of hers had champion bloodlines; any idiot could see that. But then, so did Goliath. He had to admit the ride was exhilarating as he felt the bunching and elongating muscles of the animal beneath him.
Unlike other horses bred of racing stock, Goliath no longer raced. The loyal steed had gone with him to war. Had borne him from danger when he’d collapsed in a ditch and been left for dead. It’d been a miracle that the horse had led him to a tiny hillside village in the Spanish countryside. The doctor there had taken one look at him and summoned the priest. But he’d survived. They’d both survived.
Shaking his head clear of the past, Thane nearly collided with the lady and her horse, perched atop a hillock, acres of Beswick lands spread out below them. Patches of the lush green landscape were dotted with grazing sheep and tenant cottages, the sun climbing into the sky over the hills to the east making the bucolic scene a picturesque one, even to his jaded senses. But it was a windblown and smiling Astrid who took his breath away.
The apples of her cheeks were rosy, and the elegant column of her throat was flushed with healthy color. The bright sunshine turned the tendrils escaping her tenacious coiffure to sun-burnished chestnut, and Thane wanted to sink his fingers in the silken mass of it. He wanted to loosen the rest of it from its pins and bury his face in it.
“Goodness,” Astrid said. “It’s so beautiful.”
“I suppose it’s better than the alternative,” he said, angry at his constant desire where she was concerned. “Fields soaked with blood.”
