Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 6

Six

“Y ou should have told the woman to do her own sewing.” Calista looked up from her neverending pile of handkerchiefs to see Marianne scowling at her embroidery hoop.

“You don’t have to do this, Marianne,” she said by way of answer. There was no point in explaining for the hundredth time that she didn’t mind, or that she was fine getting through them alone. Though secretly, she was glad she didn’t have to. She’d be up day and night if that were the case.

“Won’t you send your apologies for my At Home dearest?” Marianne changed the subject abruptly. “I still feel guilty for not considering how tired you must have been last night, I don’t want to inflict callers on you today. Especially since Mrs. Faust threatened to bring her list of demands.”

Calista felt her cheeks flush at the mention of last night. It was foolish. A moment of little consequence. But while she’d been singing, her eyes had traveled quite of their own volition, to Lord Tilton. And his face – Calista liked to think she wasn’t vain, but Lord Tilton had looked at her as though, well, as though he were positively enchanted. His eyes had molten silver as they’d gazed at her and she’d felt - unsettled. But in the best sort of way.

“Callie? Callie!”

Calista’s mind snapped back to the present. “My apologies, I was wool-gathering, I’m afraid.”

Marianne frowned in familiar concern. “You over-taxed yourself,” she muttered. “Or at least you will do if you keep up with Mrs. Faust’s insanity. You should have told her that you are a lady of the ton, the daughter of the Earl of Chanton, and would not be playing maidservant to her. I should have told her that and I’ll be doing so today.”

“No, no, Marianne, please don’t make a fuss.” The familiar swirl of guilt and shame awoke inside Calista at her cousin’s worry. “I just, I need some fresh air, that’s all. Perhaps I’ll take a walk before luncheon. Will David and Lord Tilton be joining us?”

The gentlemen had left to go hunting before the ladies had even broken their fast that morning, and if they were anything like Calista’s father, they’d be gone all day, at least until dinnertime.

“Probably not,” Marianne said, confirming Calista’s suspicions. “If the hunt is good, we’ll be lucky to see them before midnight. But you go ahead and have your walk, dearest. I’ll keep sewing until you’re back.”

“Oh, but you don’t have to,” Calista started to argue, but Marianne soon cut her off.

“Stuff and nonsense,” she said. “The sooner they’re done, the sooner we can make our glamorous plans for the ball. Be sure to wrap up warm.”

Calista nodded then hurried from the room before Marianne could do any more fussing. Sometimes it felt as though Marianne saw her as a child still. Someone who needed constant care. But it was no matter. Some fresh air likely would do her some good. Especially if she were to face Mrs. Faust and whomever else would come to call.

It was the work of a moment for Calista’s abigail to fetch her kid boots and exchange her slippers for them. Donning her thick, blue velvet coat and leather gloves, Calista was out the door and heading toward the forest in minutes. A tiny part of her hoped that Lord Tilton would be there again, though that was foolish, of course. He would be off hunting for the day, just as Marianne had said.

Looking up at the darkening sky, Calista recalled Reverend Faust’s warning of a snow storm heading in their direction. She felt a pang of worry at the sight of the thick, heavy clouds. She had intended to perhaps gather more pinecones but it might not be such a good idea to wander too far.

An icy wind gusted through the trees and made up Calista’s mind for her. The very last thing she needed was to be stuck in inclement weather and get sick again. Muttering her frustration, she turned back toward the house just as the first flake of snow drifted toward the ground.

This wouldn’t do. Even hurrying, she would be quite stuck. Still, there was little else for it. Steeling herself for what was sure to be a cold journey, she quickened her pace back toward the house.

But before she took even one further step, the sound of thundering hooves caught her attention. Calista looked up to see a massive, black stallion galloping toward her. Whomever it was controlling the beast was tall and broad and impressively in control of the animal. Her breath caught when she realized it was Lord Tilton.

For a moment, it didn’t seem as though he would stop, but stop he did, and only inches from where she stood.

“Lady Calista, we must stop meeting secretly in the woods.”

Calista tried to glare at him but she was starting to shiver. “I would scold you, Lord Tilton, but I’m far too cold.”

He smirked as he jumped lithely from his horse. “I’ll remind you to do it when you’ve warmed up,” he assured her. “Come along then.”

“Come along?” she asked. “Where?”

“Onto Hades. Otherwise, you’ll freeze to death and if that happens, I won’t get to hear you sing again.”

“You called your horse Hades?” she asked, ignoring the compliment on her singing which made her feel oddly giddy.

“Trust me, he deserves it. Now, up.”

“But what will you do?” she pressed.

His sigh sounded as though it came from the depths of his soul.

“I will swim back,” he drawled. When she merely raised a brow, he conceded with a laugh. “I’ll have to ride with you, my lady. Hades has quite the temperament.”

Those butterflies of hers came back with force. She felt her cheeks heat and hoped that he would attribute it to the cold.

She was vaguely aware of the inappropriateness of the situation and knew that, even if she didn’t want to, she should put up some sort of objection but the moment she opened her mouth, his hands were around her waist.

“Forgive me,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “but I can tell you’re working up to quite the objection and I don’t want you falling ill. So, I’m going to have to lift you onto Hades before you get the chance.”

Calista had mere seconds to feel his hands on her before she was being lifted onto his beastly stallion. The screech she let out was unholy, she knew. And before she could catch her breath, she was unceremoniously plonked into the saddle with over six feet of rock-hard man pressed against her back.

Calista was sure that her heart would race out of her chest, and was equally sure that he’d be able to feel it. But he said nothing, merely wrapped his arms around her to grab the reins. Calista’s breath hitched. Despite the cold, she felt nothing but scorching heat emanating from his body. His arms were so big, that she felt as though she were surrounded by a wall keeping the wind and snow from her. It took everything in her not to sink against him as they raced toward the house.

It felt like hours and minutes by the time they got to the stables. Calista sat frozen atop a panting Hades while Lord Tilton jumped down. A stable hand rushed to grab a footstool but before he returned, Lord Tilton had reached up and grabbed a hold of her waist once again.

This time, when he lifted her from the saddle as though she weighed nothing at all, she could see his face. The swirling silver of his eyes, the curl of snow-dampened hair that fell across his forehead. She could see the strong column of his throat bob as he swallowed and oh, so slowly lowered her to her feet. The top of her head didn’t even reach his chin and she had to crane her neck to keep looking but, Lord help her, she couldn’t look away.

Calista had no idea how long they stood there in silence, simply drinking each other in. Had no idea what was happening. But she knew, somehow deep down she knew that something was shifting between them, something was stirring to life.

This, a soft voice whispered in the back of her head, this is the man you should kiss.

It startled her, that thought. But not as much as the sudden clearing of a throat that had Lord Tilton dropping his hands and pulling away.

“Don’t you need the stool, my lord?”

Lord Tilton huffed a laugh. “No, thank you. We’ve managed just fine.”

Calista didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to navigate this odd, new tension between them, so she took the opportunity of his speaking with the servant to quietly slip away.