After publicly humiliating a suitor, Celeste Armitage
is sent from the ton in disgrace.
Exiled to the country she discovers a sketch book of nude studies and is shaken
to discover the artist is her hostess’s eldest son, Ranulf Charing, Lord
Cadnum. This darkly cynical lord is exactly the sort of dissipated rogue she
most despises – and yet her blood heats at the thought of him!
Ranulf Charing, Lord Cadnum is being blackmailed over
his late brother’s debts. Whilst visiting his mother, he discovers her new
companion, Miss Celeste Armitage, to be a woman of unusual perception and
starts to fall in love. But then the jealous fury of the blackmailer is
unleashed and Cadnum must cast Celeste aside in order to protect her. However,
in underestimating her resolve to clear his name – Cadnum places his true love
in mortal danger…
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Excerpt
So be it.
Cadnum gritted his teeth as he grasped the leading leg and pushed. It was like fighting against a brick wall,
the calf barely moving. A lamb was
difficult enough; how much more so a calf?
Just as he was wondering if one man was strong enough, a shower of
pebbles rattled down the bank.
Concentrating on the calf, he barked to whomever approached, “Don’t just
stand there. Get down here!”
“I
beg your pardon!” a woman’s voice answered.
With
a flash of annoyance, he glanced upward.
A
wide eyed young woman wearing a straw bonnet peered down. “I say, is everything all right?”
“Does
it look all right?” he muttered under his breath. All he needed was some sensitive miss fainting
on him. “Go! Fetch help from the house.”
He
saw her hesitate, biting her top lip.
“But you need help now.”
A
contraction clamped around his arm as the cow’s tail switched across his face,
stinging his eyes like a cat-o-nine-tails.
In
a flurry of muslin and lace, the miss slid down the bank, landing with a thud
in the ditch.
“Ouch.” She rubbed her ankle.
Cadnum
glared back, dark eyes flashing. “You
should have gone to the house.” Damn it
all, she could make herself useful then.
“Hold the tail aside.”
Pulling
a face, she limped over. His gaze
lingered; up close, she merited a second glance. Of middle height with a tidy waist and curves
where God intended them, she appeared quick-witted and bright-eyed. Without further ado, she stripped off her
gloves, throwing them onto a bramble bush.
Long, sensitive fingers grasped the muddy tail.
Practical, he thought, silently
impressed. “Why didn’t you go for help?”
“There
isn’t time.” Her bonnet slipped backwards,
revealing a quirky face with a pointed chin, her lips finely drawn with an
arched cupid’s bow. The sort of face an
artist could lose himself in; all shades of the sea were found in deep emerald
eyes framed by a tangle of chestnut hair.
Cadnum
tightened his grasp and pushed. Sweat
beading his brow. The calf retreated an
inch.
“What
are you doing?” Her voice was gentle and
calm, if somewhat deep for a woman.
He
guessed it would be husky in bed, whispering over a pillow after a night of
passion. Her eyes were on him, deep
green eyes, lively and entrancing. He suddenly
remembered that he was undressed to the waist, her curious gaze on his skin as he
imagined those lily-white hands gliding over his naked chest, her almond shaped
nails digging into his skin. He shook
away the thought, trying to remember her question.
She
watched with innocence and interest, blushing faintly in a charming way; and
yet, he realized, she was no wilting flower.
He shook his head. The woman had
asked a question; damn it, he would answer.
“The
calf is breech,” he grunted. “I need to push her back into the womb to turn her.”
He wanted to shock this stranger, to
test how bold she truly was.
She
stared back, biting her top lip, exaggerating her snub nose. “Ah!” Her
gaze met his.
“Think
of the calf as a carriage in a narrow driveway.
To turn it around, you push it back into the stable yard.”
“What
can I do to help?”
“Nothing,”
he growled.
Throwing
him an angry look, she anchored the tail with a log and scrambled around to the
beast’s head. After a moment’s thought,
she placed her pelisse under the cow’s head, stroking the broad nose and
crooning words of comfort.
“She’s
relaxing.” Cadnum’s arm was numb from
the contractions. He fell forward as the
first leg finally slid back into the womb.
“That helps.” His hair had come
free from the ribbon, falling thickly about his shoulders. He glanced at the woman. She was leaning forward, her bosom straining
a tight bodice, a satisfying cleavage between her breasts. He swallowed hard. She was odd looking, he decided, not exactly
beautiful but eye catching nonetheless.
Her face showed character and determination. Her complexion was too healthy to be
fashionable, all rosy cheeked and peppered with freckles.
The
woman glared at him now, her skin glowing bright pink. Had he been staring? His heart raced as he returned to the
calving.
Timing
his efforts, he used all his strength to push the second leg back. His shoulder felt as if it were being ripped
from the socket. With gritted teeth, he
found a slippery hoof and clung to it, guiding it from the womb into the birth
passage. Grimacing with the effort, he
found the other foreleg, dragging it forward to match its mate. Pulling first one leg, then the other, he inched
them forward.
The
muscles of his back burned as he braced, digging his heels into the damp
earth. He pulled in time to the cow’s
weakening contractions, but as her effort became more feeble, even that
assistance was lost. The beast lay
stretched on her side, head extended, breathing erratically and growing weaker
by the second. It was going to be a
close thing; all the effort would be for naught if he couldn’t pull the calf
out soon.
After
minutes of heaving, two small cream hooves presented themselves. Cadnum sat back on his heels, sweat dripping
into his eyes. So intense had been his
concentration that he’d completely forgotten the woman. But there she was, slightly pale but watching
him intently.
“I
need your help…” It wasn’t so very difficult to say. The woman nodded silently, her face so
serious he almost laughed. “The cow’s
spent, she can’t push any more. I need
you to pull with me.”
Licking
her lips she nodded weakly.
“Come
here. Grasp my waist. Pull when I say.”
She
stood and, with a whisper of skirts, was at his side. As her arms wound hesitantly around his waist,
he suppressed a shiver of excitement.
Her hands where peach soft and cool.
She smelled of lemongrass.
“Hold
tight.”
The
thin feminine arms around the hard plain of his belly made his body ache
unexpectedly.
“Pull
as hard as you can, when I say,” he barked more gruffly than he intended. “Now.”
Digging
his heels into the dirt, his muscles strained as he struggled to keep hold of
the slippery hooves. But his attention
was not wholly on the calf as he became aware of the press of her breasts
against his bare back, of her sweet warm breath against his neck. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could feel her
heart hammering against his ribs.
With
a desperate heave, he pulled the calf and the woman pulled him. The calf moved another few inches, the
forelegs exposed to the wrist joint.
“Again,”
he urged.
Another
pull and half the forelegs were out.
“Stop. I need to check if the calf’s head is coming
nose forward.”
The
woman released him. Glancing over his
shoulder, he noticed her pink tongue darted out of her mouth to moisten her dry
lips.
Turning
back to the cow, he knelt, feeling inside, satisfied that he could feel a
muzzle lined neatly along the forelegs.
“Nearly
there.”
The
woman’s arms circled back around his waist, wiry with feminine strength. This time they fitted snugly, her cheek
against his back. A ringlet had broken
free of her chignon, brushing his skin. His
groin tightened—much to his annoyance.
“Ready?
Heave!” Never had he been more glad of the distraction
from a woman’s unnerving affect on his body.
He noticed her soft mossy eyes and sweetly tempting curves, yet her
bravery and determination excited him most.
Innocent, yet bold.
The
calf slithered free with a slippery suck, sliding to the ground in a flood of
fluid and membranes. Man and woman
rolled backwards. Cadnum landed on her
skirts, pinning her down. Her face was
flushed, her pupils large. He stared
into her eyes, which were framed with thick dark lashes now modestly brushing
her cheek. He noticed her breathing
heavily, a sheen of sweat on her neck, chest heaving.
Neither
moved.
The
temptation to lean forward and claim a kiss was dizzying. It was like looking up at a high church tower
against scudding clouds, making him giddy.
Scowling,
he turned away. When had he become such
a cad that he’d consider taking advantage of an innocent stranger? He deserved to be horse whipped. It didn’t help that the throb in his groin
reminded him of his weakness.
“The
calf?” a small clear voice questioned.
It
was a bull calf, steaming slightly in the cool morning air. Hooking a finger in the calf’s mouth, he cleared
away the mucus.
“The
cord. I need to tie off the cord. Quick, find me something.”
With
a whisper of satin, she held out the ribbon from her bonnet.
“Will
this do?”
When
she didn’t immediately release it, it occurred to him that she was waiting for
him to say thank you. He
acquiesced. With a humph she handed over
the ribbon.
As
he worked, she stood, regarding the newborn with wonder. For some inexplicable reason he wanted to
hold her tightly in his arms and smooth her hair, to kiss that perfect oval of
a mouth. Damn her for distracting him!
Cadnum
rounded on her, squaring his bare chest.
She recoiled, threatened by his unabashed maleness. She shrank back, making Cadnum angry at
himself for frightening her.
“Well
don’t just stand there, now go and fetch help!
Tell them to send men to the ditch between the five acre field and the
hazel copse.” Her presence had become
intolerable, eating away at his self-control.
“Look sharp about it!”
She
jumped and scrambled up the bank with a flash of neat ankle, but not before
giving him on last angry glare.
A
wave of heat washed over Ranulf, who silently gave thanks that her back was
turned. It was not his habit to ravish
complete strangers, especially those so obviously gently born. But for some reason that was exactly what he
wanted to do to this mysterious chestnut haired stranger. Only as she disappeared over the brow of the
hill did it occur to him to inquire who this practical Miss was and what she
was doing on his land.
Grace Elliot leads a double life as a
veterinarian by day and author of historical romance by night. She is
housekeeping staff to five cats, two teenage sons, one husband and a bearded
dragon (not in order of importance)
Twitter:
@Grace_Elliot
