Ripe for Pleasure

CHAPTER 12   



A fat, lazy bee droned among the hollyhock and pinks, the spring’s bounty too much for even its greedy forging. Viola twitched her skirts aside to avoid its pollen-drunk flight.

She hadn’t been stung since she was a girl, but she remembered it clearly enough not to want to repeat the experience. No more than she wanted to repeat the dizzying thrill of infatuation… but her own feelings, her own memories, were harder to avoid than the bee.

Penthesilea grumbled behind her, breaking into a full-throated bark as a butterfly had the temerity to flutter across her path. Viola shook her head and quickened her pace. She’d caught a glimpse of water from her window that morning as she’d dressed. A pond? A stream? She hadn’t been able to tell, but the promise of shade, cool water, and a peaceful spot to think was irresistible.

She’d woken in her own bed, the memory of Lord Leonidas carrying her there hazy, mixed up as it was with that of climax after climax. It had been a night filled with teasing, with sweet, erotic torture. And when she’d complained that hands and mouths were not enough, he’d simply smiled and brought her to orgasm again.

The path of crushed oyster shell turned to dirt as it meandered into an artful copse of trees. Nuthatch and robins darted through the dappled light. A squirrel dashed up a tree, scolding as it went. Pen sneezed derisively, ignoring it in favor of crashing through the foliage beside the path.

Birds erupted in all directions. Pen woofled, chasing after them, far too slow to catch one but happy to try all the same. She had been pronounced to be, in general, healthy and likely to recover in full.

The local hunt master clearly hadn’t been delighted to minister to Viola’s mongrel, but he’d done so all the same. Undeniably only as a favor to Leo. He’d left with promises of dire consequences if Pen were to interfere with his hounds and general predictions of doom attached to her adoption of such a beast. That Leo had gone with him had been a relief.

The ground rose slowly until the path became a rough set of stairs. Stone steps emerged as she rounded the hill. A stone wall, damp with moss and lichen, rose along one side. A few more steps and then an outer wall began, and then she was climbing into the ruins of a small, square tower.

It was enchanting. A garden folly of epic proportions. She hurried upward, winding past several narrow windows before reaching the top.

A vista of rolling hills, green with grass and dappled with trees, greeted her over the uneven, broken balustrade. The small rise where the tower was built was littered with broken stones. They tumbled down until they met a wide stream that wound through the open field and lapped at the tower’s base. Pen was circling and sniffing among them, rooting in the tall grass.


Viola sat down upon the uppermost edge of stone and stared out toward the ha-ha. Her head ached. Likewise her wrist, but it was the weakness in her thighs that stood out, that reminded her that last night she’d sailed off the edge of the map. The waters here were deep, filled with hidden shoals… teeming with dragons.

The previous evening’s misadventure left her with no illusions. She had attempted to claim the reins and failed. Lord Leonidas had emerged the victor in that particular struggle for power—utterly, completely, delightfully. All that was required now was her complete surrender. But allowing herself to succumb to pleasure, to simply receive, to take was inadvisable and dangerous. Not to mention utterly infuriating, just like the man himself.

“Rapunzel, let down your golden hair!”

Viola nearly fell from her perch as Leo’s voice startled her. He was mounted on his blood bay, the horse’s front hooves firmly in the water. Pen gamboled about them, splashing, whining with excitement.

“Alas, my lord, my hair is red. Not at all the proper color for a princess.”

“Nay.” He smiled up at her, the shadow of his hat hiding the bruise she knew ringed one eye. “ ’Tis gold, with flame running beneath it, just as a princess’s hair should be.”

A smile tugged at her lips. She caught her lower lip between her teeth to hide her grin. Her hair was red, no denying it, though she’d escaped the plague of freckles that so often accompanied such coloring.

He urged his mount forward and abandoned it to crop grass at the base of the tower. Her pulse surged. Lust, ripe and heady, washed through her. Try as she might, she was no more composed today than she had been last night.

Mere moments after he’d disappeared from view, he was pushing in beside her, crowding her, hip balanced against the top of the wall. Did he do it on purpose? Was he even aware that he always dominated a space in such a manner?

“I see you’ve found my Tintagel,” he said, one hand reaching into her hair. He gently pulled a leaf free and stood turning it in his fingers.

“Your what?”

Leo chuckled, the sound rumbling through her. “My Tintagel. My Tower of London. Occasionally even my Nottingham Castle.” He turned and sat beside her, gazing out over the field and stream. “No, to be truthful, it was my brother’s Nottingham.”

“Did your father build it here for you?”

“No, my grandfather built it for my grandmother, but she shared it with us, along with stories of King Arthur, Robin Hood, Cú Chulainn—all the myths and legends that Father and Mother eschewed in favor of truth and history.”

“But the stories are so much more satisfying, aren’t they?”

Leo nodded, still playing with the leaf. “More happy endings anyway. Good wins over evil. Right triumphs in the end…” His voice trailed off, and he tossed the leaf over the edge.

Viola watched the leaf spiral down until it disappeared into the climbing roses that girded the tower’s base. “It’s a beautiful folly. It must have taken quite an effort to create it.”

He ground a weed under the toe of his boot. “It’s a miniature version of the ruins of Kirby Muxloe. Grandmother loved the place. It’s only a few miles off. I should take you to see it. We could ride over tomorrow if the weather stays fine.”

“I don’t ride.”

Leo shook his head, a smile growing on his face. “Honestly?”

Viola shook her head and shrugged one shoulder, wishing madly that she did ride. “This is the first time I’ve ever been to a country estate. Not much call to ride in town.”

“You can’t always have lived in London?” He looked shocked. As though he couldn’t fathom the idea of being born and bred in a city.

“No, but I’ve never lived in the country. A sedan chair is a simpler, and cheaper, option regardless of what city one is in.”

“Not ride.” He turned the concept over, his brows drawn up in disbelief. His eyes took on a familiar spark of devilment. “Well, that will have to be fixed, and what better time and place than this?”

“Oh, nooooo…” She let the word drag out as uncertainty washed over her. “Thank you very much, but—”

“You aren’t afraid, are you?” His eyes were still dancing. “The divine Mrs. Whedon, not ride? It’s an outrage. For heaven’s sake, think of my reputation if you’ve no concern for your own! Lord Leonidas Vaughn, Corinthian, owner of Dyrham, breeder of some of the most sought-after hunters in all of England, to have a mistress who doesn’t ride? I’ll be a laughingstock.”

His feigned outrage set her laughing until she had to place one hand across her stomach, afraid she’d burst her stays like the subject of some rude cartoon.

“You see, even you find it ridiculous.” His blue eye had taken on the teasing nature of his green one.

Viola gasped for air and blew out a long breath. He was going to wheedle and tease until he got his way. She was done for. “Have you ever taught a woman to ride? Do you even have a lady’s saddle here? And what am I to wear for this adventure? I’ve no habit, and I’m certainly not going to attempt to learn in this.” She waved one hand to encompass her simple Chemise a la Rein.

“No, I’ve never taught a woman to ride, but I was present when my sister learned.” He ticked off one finger. “Yes, we have several ladies’ saddles here, as all the women in my family ride.” Another finger bent to his accounting. “Also in consequence of which, I’d be willing to wager that at least one of them has left behind a habit or two you can make use of—and no, you certainly shouldn’t make the attempt to learn in that wisp of a gown.” He made a sweeping flourish with the hand upon which he’d just counted off his points.

Viola wrinkled her nose. “But I’m not your mistress. You said so yourself. So my lack of equestrian skill shouldn’t matter in the least.”

Leo gave a shout of laughter. “Minx. You’re not getting off that easily. Are you afraid of horses?”

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of the horse itself; it’s the fall.”

“Then don’t fall.” He looked perfectly serious. As though it were really that simple.

“You perch five feet off the ground, clinging to a scrap of leather with your knees while the animal it’s attached to moves of its own accord, and then we’ll talk about not falling.”

“Is that a wager?”

Viola narrowed her eyes. “Is what a wager?”

“If I can ride sidesaddle, you’ll learn?” His slow grin set off a burning sense of indignation deep in her chest. If he didn’t already know for a fact he could do it—and she was almost certain he did!—he wasn’t the least bit worried about attempting it.

“If you can do it just as I’ll have to, I’ll attempt it,” she agreed. He wasn’t the only one who could turn a situation to his favor.

A sudden crease appeared between his brows. She saw comprehension flare, followed by amusement and something indefinable that must be whatever it was that prompted men to wager on everything from raindrops racing down a windowpane to who could seduce the latest ballet dancer.

“You mean to put me in skirts, do you, vixen?”

“I do, my lord. I should have to wear them after all.”

“What if I put you in breeches instead? You wouldn’t be the first. Doesn’t Mrs. Bing make a spectacle of herself in them regularly?”

Viola shrugged. “Either way, my lord. Me in breeches or you in skirts.”

Leo grinned evilly. “I think I rather like the idea of you running around in breeches. Such a lovely view of your otherwise hidden charms… but for now, let me show you something you’ll like far more than the folly.”

“It’s hard to imagine that the estate has anything more beautiful than this view to offer.” She pushed herself off the wall and turned her full attention to the vista that spread out from the tower. Rolling hills, speckled with sheep. A group of thatched cottages in the distance. Dense woods beyond them and the gleam of flowing water twisting through it all.

“You’re correct. The view couldn’t possibly be more beautiful.” His voice brought her back to the fact that he was staring at her, not the landscape, as he spoke. “But you’ll like my surprise all the same.”

She eyed him warily. He looked too pleased with himself to trust him entirely.

“Come.” Leo held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment, then allowed him to lead her down the stairs. The warm leather of his gloves slid against her naked hands with a seductive softness. She forced herself to ignore the sensation and the thrill that coursed down her spine. When they reached the bottom, he caught her about the waist and pressed in for a kiss.

His mouth met hers with an urgency that belied how lightly he held her. Viola sagged back against the stone wall for support and Leo followed, hands splayed out beside her, caging her in.

He moved to her jaw, traced a searing path to her ear, sucked hard on the sensitive spot where neck and jaw met. Her hands crept inside his coat, slid around to his back, sliding between the layers of silk with ease.


She—they!—were going to ruin her dress, and she couldn’t find it in herself to give a damn. A gown was a small price to pay. The knowledge that he was every bit as susceptible, every bit as powerless, was priceless.