Love At First Bite Part 35

small waist, he wanted to teach her far more than just to ride bareback. Her lips were innocent last night. Lush and ripe and he

thought she might have never been kissed before. At least not properly.

He lifted her easily and she scrambled into the saddle. Merrick walked around her and mounted the black. Like thieves, they rode quietly from the stable, only daring to pick up their pace once they'd gone a distance from the house.

Finding the meadow again, Merrick drew the black to a halt, dismounted, and went around to a.s.sist Lady Anne. She came into his arms perhaps more easily than was wise, then stood before him, staring up. The moonlight bathed her lovely features in soft white light. Her eyes sparkled and her hair hung down her back almost to her hips. He ached inside just looking at her. Ached as he had never ached before. Wanted as he had never wanted before.

"You're so beautiful," he said, staring down at her. "You turn a man's mind to mush and make him forget his promises."

The smile hovering about her lush lips faded. She met his stare and he thought he saw the same hunger he felt staring back at him from her warm brown eyes. Then she shook her head as if to clear it. "You gave me your word. Was I a fool to trust you?"

So it would seem. Merrick had never been subtle about his wants and desires. "I want to kiss you again."

Even in the darkness, he saw color creep into her cheeks. "Then I should demand that you take me back to the stable and end

this fool's errand."

He agreed, but his desire to know her more intimately kept him from saying so or doing what he knew would be best.

"Why do you think doing something you dream of is foolish, Anne?"

Anne had expected him to either try to kiss her or take her back to the stable. She was surprised that instead of doing either,

he'd asked her a question and seemed genuinely interested in her answer. She wasn't used to anyone really caring about her feelings. She wasn't used to anyone really caring about her. Oh, she liked to fool herself into believing her aunt and uncle simply had trouble displaying affection, but she knew that was not the case. And she somehow blamed herself for being unlovable.

"What difference does it make if I learn to ride bareback, or if I ride astride?" she said with a shrug. "Neither are subjects I can discuss with anyone. Neither are skills I can show to anyone. And neither are certainly accomplishments my aunt and uncle would be proud of."

His warm hands closed around her shoulders. "Have you never done anything just for yourself? Just because it pleases you, and to h.e.l.l with everyone else?"

Nothing except her riding, and ladies were certainly known to enjoy a good jaunt, if few might admit they had an interest in all that Anne was interested in. Breeding, racing, all things related to horses. There were men who loved such things, as well, but so far, she hadn't met one who she thought would understand her own love of them.

"It would be different if I were a man," she explained. "Because I am a woman, I must be pleasing. I must be kind and considerate to others. I must want what all young women of my station want. To dream of doing or being something other than what is expected is foolish."

He pulled her closer. "It is never foolish to have dreams of your own. For some of us, that's all we can have. And why do you seem resentful of your life when it seems to me that you have everything?"

"Not everything," she argued, then realized she was revealing too much about herself to him. How pathetic she would sound if she told him she did not have the one thing she wanted most in life. To be loved. Just for herself. "But I sound shallow and unappreciative," she added, lowering her gaze. "You must understand that all that is really expected of me is to make a good match. To be pleasing so that a man will want to marry me. It's a woman's place to make her husband's life comfortable. To bear his children and run his home. At least it is that way for women of my station." Oddly enough, Anne's guardians had not pushed her to marry, had not seemed concerned over her lack of suitors even though Anne was nearly twenty-one.

Merrick suddenly released her and turned his back. "I see what you're saying. I suppose women of my cla.s.s can only aspire to bear a man of your cla.s.s's b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and hope he doesn't die and leave them and the children to scavenge for themselves."

Anne realized she had been insensitive. She must sound like a total ninny to him, whining about her privileged life. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Is that what happened to your mother?"

He turned back to her. "We didn't come here to talk about me. I thought we came so you could dare to do what you've been wanting to do. If you don't have the spine for it, let's go on back. Some of us cannot sleep the day away when we've stayed out too late the night before."

She had wounded him. She had stirred resentment in him. Anne hadn't meant to do either. But he was right. She'd been given this one opportunity to do something just for herself. Merrick had given her the opportunity, and however wrong it was, she couldn't help but come close to loving him for it.

"All right," she said. "Enough talk about matters neither of us can control. Tell me what to do."

Merrick stared at her a moment longer and Anne was afraid he'd changed his mind. Then he sighed and moved past her to unsaddle Storm. Once he'd laid the saddle and blanket upon the ground, he swung up easily onto the mare's back.

"Watch me first," he said. "You have to hold on with your legs. Press them good and tight against the horse's sides. Like so."

Anne watched as he took the horse around in a circle. He walked the mare first, then nudged her into a trot, and then a gallop. Watching him made Anne feel odd again. All achy and feverish, as if she'd come down with an illness. Regardless of his bloodline, Merrick, with no last name, was quite something to look at. Again, Anne couldn't help but feel as if she had seen him somewhere before. Perhaps in her dreams.

Storm was known to be headstrong at times, but Merrick commanded her far better than Anne ever had, and the horse seemed to sense he was a man who would brook no nonsense from her. Anne wondered if he handled all females the same way.

"Are you ready to try now?"

"Yes," Anne answered. "But I believe you make it look much simpler than it is."

He drew the mare to a halt beside Anne, threw one leg over, and easily slid to the ground. "You'll do fine," he a.s.sured her.

"You'll do fine because it's something you want to do. Maybe something you have to do."

Suppression and being a female born in a man's world went hand in hand together. Anne was used to suppressing her wants, her desires, her dreams, even her thoughts. She'd never met a man who encouraged a woman to be daring. It was a refreshing change for her.

"I'll help you up, since you have no stirrups," he said, and bent, folding his hands into a makeshift step.

Anne placed her hand upon his shoulder, feeling the sinewy muscles beneath his shirt. She put a booted foot in his hands and he hefted her easily up onto the horse's bare back.

"Remember to grip her with your legs," he instructed, and Anne tried not to blush in the moonlight.

Legs and gripping anything with them would be considered vulgar for a man to discuss in the presence of a lady. Recalling she

wore men's clothing, Anne decided tonight that neither was she a lady nor was Merrick a gentleman. She nodded and took the

reins draped across Storm's neck.

Anne started out slowly, getting used to the feel of the horse beneath her without a saddle. She walked Storm in a circle a few times before she felt confident enough to nudge her into a trot. The uneven gait nearly unseated Anne and she urged the mare into a smoother gallop.

"You're a fast learner," Merrick called. "You're doing fine."

Concentrating on keeping her seat, Anne called, "Can we go to the moors? Ride across them bareback in the moonlight as I dreamed I would do?" She glanced at him.

He shook his head. "Not tonight, la.s.s. You need more practice before you dare that."

Who knew if Anne would have the courage to sneak from the house again and slip away with the new stable master? She could

come to her senses at any time. Revert to her old ways of being good and chaste and totally boring. Her aunt could suddenly decide the country was too uneventful for her and demand they all pack up and leave for London. Tonight might be the only chance Anne had to realize her dream.

"I'm going," she decided. "Stay behind if you want. In fact, go back to the stable, so if I'm discovered or something happens to me, you won't be held accountable."

Having issued her orders, Anne turned Storm toward the path that would eventually lead her to the moors.

"Come back here, Anne," Merrick ordered. "I said you weren't ready yet."

Anne nearly obeyed simply out of habit. The need to rebel had taken root inside of her now and she wasn't sure she wanted to staunch it. Who was he to command her anyway? Merrick wouldn't tell on her, since he'd been a party to helping her tonight.

Not unless he wanted to lose his position.

Already knowing him a good deal better than she should, Anne wouldn't put it past him to come after her and drag her from the horse's back. Anne kneed the animal into a gallop. Behind her, she heard Merrick swear rather loudly.

The path was easy to follow due to the bright moonlight shining down from above... at least until Anne was deep in the woods. She heard the pounding of hooves behind her and knew Merrick followed. Anne also knew that he would easily catch her if she stayed to the path. In a split-second decision, she reined Storm off the path.

Because Anne had a good sense of direction, she thought she could make her way easily to the moors. What she didn't antic.i.p.ate was the difficulty of maneuvering a horse through the thicker forage or the log in her path she saw too late. Jumping on horseback was a good deal more difficult when the horse wore no saddle. Anne lost her balance and fell.

The fall jarred her to the teeth. The breath had been knocked from her and once she could breathe again, she sat up, trying to determine whether she'd been hurt. She moved her legs back and forth, her arms; nothing was broken. As Storm had been taught, the mare had come to a halt with no one guiding her by the reins. Anne slowly rose from the ground, her bottom still stinging as she moved toward the mare.

Suddenly Storm's head came up. The mare snorted, then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she shied, taking off through the woods as though the hounds of h.e.l.l chased her. Anne wanted to cry. She should have listened to Merrick. He had been right. She wasn't ready to attempt what she had. Now she was afoot, lost in the woods, and alone. Or was she?

The hairs on the back of her neck p.r.i.c.kled. She had a feeling she was being watched. What had frightened Storm? The horse didn't usually shy easily. Glancing around, Anne noticed how much darker it was at night when the trees overhead blocked out the moonlight. She had trouble distinguishing shapes. She also had trouble telling direction. Where was the path? If she moved in that direction, surely she'd come across Merrick in search of her.

She took a step, but movement from the corner of her eye had her wheeling to the right. Anne squinted into the shadows. Another shape joined the first. And then another. Wolves. Her blood turned to ice. So, the legend was true. There still were wolves roaming parts of England.

Anne dared not take her eyes off the still shadows, wondering how much longer they would remain still. She needed a weapon. Glancing down, she tried to make out the shape of a branch, a rock, anything she might use in her defense. A shadow had moved closer when she glanced back up. Anne swallowed hard.

"Don't move."

The instruction was no more than a whisper; then she felt Merrick's heat at her back. Her knees nearly buckled with relief. A shadow crept closer. Eyes glittered in the darkness. Her heart rose in her throat. Merrick stepped in front of her, blocking out the danger, protecting her from her own foolishness, perhaps with his life.

The shadows continued to move in until they were surrounded. Frightened, Anne slid her arms around Merrick's waist and pressed her face against his back. His heart thudded beneath her ear, strong, steady, but not racing wildly the way hers did at the moment. Silence echoed around her; then very soft, very low, she heard a growl. It resounded not from the beasts of the night but from the man who stood before her against them.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Anne didn't know whether to release her grip around Merrick's waist and run or hold tighter to him. She closed her eyes and prayed. How long she stood clinging to him, she did not know. It seemed like an eternity.

"It's all right now, la.s.s. They've gone."

Anne opened her eyes, although the darkness that surrounded them was much like having them closed had been. She didn't see anything in the shadows, but that didn't mean there was nothing there.

"Are you certain?" she whispered. "How do you know?"

"Because I know," he answered, turning to face her. "They've gone and taken their scents with them. They were only curious to begin with. Curious to know what kind of fool walks alone in the woods at night."

A touch of embarra.s.sment mingled with her fear. He was right; she was a fool. Anne might have considered herself boring the day before, but she hadn't considered herself foolish until tonight.

"I'm sorry. You were right," she admitted. "I shouldn't have gone off on my own. It was foolish and dangerous."

He didn't respond, and when she glanced up at him, Anne gasped. His shadow stood tall and dark against the night, but his eyes glittered like those of the beasts of the forest.

"Your eyes," she whispered. "They glow in the dark like the eyes of an animal."

He glanced away from her, as if to shield her from the sight. Anne recalled the low growl he'd issued while she had clung to him in fear. And his scent, the one she smelled on him now. The one that overpowered fear and confusion and attracted her to him even when common sense said she should run away. There was something very strange about Merrick. But perhaps it was only hysteria that made her think so.

"Merrick?" she whispered. "Who are you? I mean, really?"

Chapter Five.

It was a question Merrick had asked himself many times in the past. Who or what? He knew he was different from other men. He did not understand why. He'd been able to read the wolves' thoughts or, rather, sense what they were feeling. He had warned them off and they had gone, no doubt as frightened of the strange human as humans would be if they knew the whole truth about him.

"I'm just a man like any other," he lied. "I simply have some rather odd abilities."

One of those abilities allowed him to see her expression in the darkness. For a moment she had been frightened of him; now her brow wrinkled and natural curiosity took over.

"What sort of abilities?"

The path Merrick walked was a dangerous one. He shouldn't have told her as much as he had. And yet he wanted to tell her. Why would he? It was bad enough that so much already stood between them. Their stations in life. Why would he want to broaden the gap? Maybe to put distance between them. Maybe to simply see her reaction.

"I can see in the dark," he answered. "I see your face. Last night in the stable, I saw you as clearly as if it were daylight, standing in your underwear, rolling your stockings down your shapely legs. Your chemise had a red silk rose sewed to the front of it."

Her eyes widened. She took an unconscious step back from him, and Merrick tried to ignore how much that affected him. "How could you know that?" she asked. "How could you see that clearly in the darkness? It is impossible."

He wished it were impossible. Merrick felt her withdrawing from him. Even if her mind told her it was impossible, her conscience had begun to fear him. It was what he'd wanted, to put distance between them. But it didn't feel like what he wanted at all. No, if he was honest with himself, he'd admit he wanted her back in his arms. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do more than kiss her.