Page 55 of A Duchess of Mystery (The Mismatched Lovers #3)

“Give him his head,” she called out, and Richard seemed to take her advice because he stopped fighting to slow his mount down.

With all caution thrown to the wind by their riders, both horses flew along the grassy track, neck and neck, their riders now crouching forward to encourage even greater speed.

Hooves thundered on the turf, and the rapid snort of the horses’ breathing was loud.

Isabella turned her head again to look at Richard, and at the same moment he turned and their eyes met.

His dark hair had blown back from his face, and his eyes were alight with enjoyment, as he bared his teeth in a grin.

But neither of them had counted on the sheep.

From behind a scrappy hawthorn bush, half-a-dozen sheep, disturbed in their peaceful afternoon nap by the imminent arrival of two racehorses, erupted, bleating in panic, to flee away south across the downs.

Isabella glimpsed them a fraction of a second before Sultan did, barely enough time to grasp firmly onto the pommel with one hand as her horse leapt sideways.

Her foot came out of her stirrup, and, for a moment, she she had to cling on as Mercury crashed into Sultan’s quarters in a panic, then they were galloping on again.

Only Richard was no longer astride Mercury.

Isabella found her flapping stirrup and hauled on Sultan’s reins, ignoring Mercury who was showing no signs of slowing.

She had to saw on Sultan’s mouth and swing him from left to right to slow him down, but at last he did.

Ahead of her, no longer encouraged by his friend’s speed, Mercury also slowed to a trot, his broken reins trailing.

She swung her head around to look back for Richard. She couldn’t see him.

Panic seized her. Whipping Sultan around, she trotted him back up the track towards the bush where the sheep had been hiding. Nothing. Where was he?

Then she spotted him. He lay in the grass, on his back, motionless.

Her heart must surely have stopped beating. No. Fate could not be so cruel. The thought that she was being punished by God for her part in Marcus’s death shot into her head and almost made her vomit.

She slid down from Sultan onto legs that didn’t want to support her and staggered the last few yards, flinging herself down on the grass beside Richard, heedless of where the horses went.

He lay quite still, eyes closed, one arm outthrown. Was he dead? Was this the retribution she suddenly feared she deserved? Was fate stacked against her?

With tremulous fingers she felt under his jaw for his pulse.

His skin was warm to the touch, and there, faint but present, she found his pulse.

He was not dead. She heaved a deep sigh of relief, and sat back for a moment on her heels, fighting to quell the tears of relief that threatened to come cascading down her cheeks.

His eyelashes, unfairly long and thick for a man, fluttered on his cheeks.

“Diccon!” She caught him by the shoulders and would have shaken him had she not suddenly remembered it might be a bad thing to do. Instead, she put her hand against his rough cheek, something she’d wanted to do for so long. “Diccon.” Her voice broke with emotion.

His eyes opened and he blinked up at her, at first unfocused, confused. She’d fallen off herself a few times when she’d started riding, so was well aware of how it could affect you. He must have hit the ground very hard.

“Diccon, tell me, does it hurt anywhere?”

His eyes focused, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Bella…” The sound of her name on his lips…

“See if you can move your arms and legs.” She was being practical, but he was gazing at her like a lovesick schoolboy.

Good heavens, could he have feelings for her that she’d never dared to hope for?

The sensation that he might washed over her in a wave of heat that had her putting her hand up to hide her hot cheeks.

Apparently not noticing her discomfiture, he moved one arm then the other, his legs just a little. “All in working order.” He made to sit up, but she pushed him back.

“No. Stay lying down. You’ve had a nasty fall. Does your head hurt? Or your neck?” She’d seen a man fall out hunting who’d moved too soon and been left paralyzed. Well, in fact he’d died within days. That couldn’t happen to Richard. It couldn’t.

“My neck is fine. I think I have a bit of a headache coming, though.”

She sat over him, staring down into his soft brown eyes.

They were almost hypnotic in their intensity, devoid now of any confusion.

Brimming with something that could only be love.

Were hers the same? Did she need to speak or would he read them as she was reading his?

How she longed to bend forward and press her lips to his.

His hand came up to touch her arm, feather light. “You might think this an impertinence, but will you kiss me, Bella? I feel it might improve my head.”

What? Was he a mind reader? She swallowed.

He didn’t move, just lay there, gazing up at her, eyes twinkling with something that might be mischief. Something she’d never before seen in the eyes of a man. “I find that I don’t think I could return to the castle unless you kiss me. I might lie here and die if you don’t.”

She wanted to tell him that of course he wouldn’t die if she didn’t kiss him, but she didn’t. Because, of course, she wanted to kiss him. So badly. And it was most definitely not an impertinence.

Two could play his game, though. “If I do, will you live?”

His lips curled in a mischievous smile, rendering him more boyish than ever. “I think a kiss from you would revive me.”

“Just one kiss?”

He frowned. “I fear just one might not be enough. Perhaps you should try. I have a headache, but I’m sure a kiss from you would cure it.”

Excitement bubbled up in her, mingling with something that had to be real happiness, a new emotion for her, or one that she’d not experienced in years. She leaned over him. “Close your eyes.”

He did as she’d bidden him.

She let herself hover his face as she gazed down at him, taking in the little laughter lines around his eyes as he relaxed, the small scar she’d never before noticed on his chin, the alluring curve of his lips.

Now, at this moment, all resemblance to Marcus had flown.

He was his own man, and she… she loved him.

Yes, she loved him, and not just because he wasn’t Marcus, nor because he’d saved her life.

She loved him for himself, and she was ready to acknowledge it.

Bending closer, one hand on either side of his head, she pressed her lips to his.

Under her pressure, his mouth opened and his tongue stole into her own. She didn’t draw back, though, but instead let her own tongue dance with his, as a myriad of feelings cascaded through her body, the foremost an almost overwhelming longing for this never to end.

As if he’d read her mind, his arms came up and encircled her body, pressing her against his chest as the kiss deepened still further. Her core was on fire, burning for his touch as she’d never burned for a man before. Was this true love? Was this what her life could be, free at last of Marcus?

One of the horses blew down his nose, close by, and she drew back, still within the circle of Richard’s arms, gazing down at him again, as though she’d never truly seen him before. Sultan nudged her shoulder, and she burst out laughing. “He wants to know what we’re doing.”

He cupped her cheek with one of his hands, his thumb sliding over her chin and up towards her mouth.

A little gasp escaped her lips at the intimacy of such a simple touch, and a quiver ran through her to her starving core.

Overhead a buzzard wheeled against the blue of the sky, its mewling call plaintive in the now still air.

The sound of the horses ripping up the grass as they grazed filled the silence.

“You can tell Sultan we’re loving one another,” he whispered.

“Two people who should have met long ago. Two people who were meant to be together, but were kept apart by fate.” His other hand slid down to her waist. The heat of his touch burned through to her skin, and brought another gasp.

How could he be doing this to her? How was he making her feel as though she was wanton enough to spread her legs for him here and now, under the arching blue of the sky with only two horses and a buzzard as witnesses?

Because that was what she wanted to do. Right now.

Something she’d never wanted to do before, but only done out of duty, at the start of her marriage.

“You love me?” she whispered, partly because she wanted to hear him say so, but also because she wanted to be sure. She’d had enough men after her body in the past to be well aware that some men just saw women as conquests. She’d thought all men…

He smiled again. “You need to ask me? Bella, my love, my sweet innocent girl. I love you with all my heart, and I want you to be my duchess. I could marry no one else and be happy. It has to be you. I think I knew it almost from the moment I met you.” He paused.

“Tell me you love me and you’ll be my wife, and you’ll make me the happiest man alive. ”

Her eyes widened. She’d never allowed herself to dream of this.

Not, at least, until the night she’d spent in that cell.

But that had all been nothing but fantasy, a child’s game to keep her spirits up and prevent herself from falling asleep.

A fairy story with a happy ending she couldn’t see.

And now that fairy story was being offered up to her.

Surely there was a trick in it somewhere?

How could she be deserving of a happy ending?

“You wish to marry me?” She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.

“If you’ll have me. If you love me. I could never force you into a marriage you didn’t wish for.”