Sweet Enemy (17 page)

She huffed. “Since I arrived in the library well before you, I couldn’t possibly have followed you there. This morning, however, I shall admit to nothing.” She looked up at him in her direct way but gave him a decidedly mysterious smile that told him he’d been forgiven for his erroneous assumption in the library that first night. “I shall leave you to wonder.”

Geoffrey grinned. He couldn’t help it. “Then my ego shall, of course, believe you are stalking me most shamelessly.”

Liliana ducked her head on a smile. How unexpected.

Satisfaction spread through Geoffrey like a warm salve. Liliana might not want marriage, as she claimed, even to the Earl of Stratford. But she did want him—Geoffrey.

And he was happier about that than he should be.

Still, she hadn’t satisfied his curiosity.

“You’re quite a horsewoman,” he remarked. His eyes roamed over her tawny pants, which showcased long, slim thighs and shapely calves. The flowing white shirt gave cover to her derrière, but Geoffrey could easily imagine the fabric clinging tightly to her.

She followed his eyes, then seemed to remember her
unorthodox attire. She clearly wanted to groan, but good manners won out.

“Thank you,” she said, choosing not to address her apparel or saddle choice.

He smiled at her aplomb and tried a different tack. “Amira fits you well. How did you get Griggs to part with her?” Geoffrey asked, though he had his suspicions. If Liliana had smiled at Griggs the way she did at him, he couldn’t possibly take the stable master to task with good conscience.

Her face flushed. “Is that her name? It means
princess
, does it not?”

“In Arabic, yes,” he replied. “I thought it fitting, as her sire’s name is Sultan.”

“Ah.” Liliana nodded to Grin. “And who is this handsome gentleman? Arabian as well?”

“Close,” Geoffrey answered, tapping his ring finger impatiently upon his thigh. Was she avoiding his question? “Gringolet’s a Barb, a breed similar to Arabian but originally from North Africa.”

“Gringolet?” she inquired, raising an eyebrow. She leaned toward Geoffrey, just slightly, which brought to mind his fantasy of last night. “Fancy yourself Sir Gawain, then?”

Now
he
felt himself flush. “Not quite. The other soldiers in my regiment gave me that moniker, though Gringolet’s name did spring from it.”

Liliana raised both eyebrows this time. “Sir Gawain is portrayed as the consummate ladies’ man. Is that how you earned your name?” she asked boldly, but her ears turned pinkish.

“King Arthur’s nephew was also known as the friend to young knights,” he defended. “I took it upon myself to look after the new recruits. I like to think
that
is what inspired the name.” He wasn’t about to tell her it was likely a bit of both. And how had they come to be discussing him? “Griggs didn’t give her name when he saddled Amira for you?”

Liliana’s lovely features pulled into a grimace. She shifted in her saddle.

“Ah…well. As to that. I—” She wrung her hands, her leather gloves creaking as they twisted together. She took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. “I horsenapped her.”

Geoffrey blinked once, wondering if he’d heard her correctly. Then he blinked again. He couldn’t have been more shocked had she told him she was the illegitimate daughter of Maria Fitzherbert and Prince George himself.

Liliana swallowed, the sound audible only to her ear, she hoped.

Stratford’s head dropped slowly as he fixed her with his intense stare. “You horsenapped my prize mare…?” he repeated.

At least he sounded more confused than angry.

Perhaps she could yet brazen her way out of this situation.

She’d nearly lost her breakfast when Stratford had appeared like a wraith out of the mist. Of all persons to encounter when she’d been so close to returning unnoticed.

But as he’d approached, the oddest thing had happened. Her fear had dissipated, to be replaced by something warmer. Something that prickled her skin and caused her to shiver as fear would, but then settled pleasantly in her middle.

Now, however, nervousness returned. She thought she’d managed the conversation well so far, but what could she say to that?

“Y-yes,” she admitted. “Though I didn’t know she was your prize horse. She was most beautiful, of course,” Liliana praised, knowing men liked to be flattered. “And the most…convenient,” she finished lamely, but didn’t look away.

Stratford sat upon his steed, mouth agape, regarding her as if she’d just escaped Bedlam. She didn’t know if
she’d ever seen such a befuddled look on a man before, unless, of course, she were trying to explain John Dalton’s theory of chemical atomism to them.

An absurd urge to laugh overtook her. She knew it was only her mind’s physiological response to the strain, because truly, this wasn’t the least bit comical.

Stratford closed his mouth, then opened it again. Then closed it like a sturgeon out of water.

All right, perhaps it was a bit funny.

“But why on earth would you feel the need to steal my horse?” he finally asked.

Why indeed. Liliana glanced to her right. She couldn’t possibly tell the truth. Yet Penelope had accused her time and again of being a terrible liar. She should be as honest as she could and pray for the best.

Why
would
she feel the need to steal his horse if not to sneak to the village to ask questions about him and his family?

“I am accustomed to riding every morning,” she explained, able to make eye contact again. That was true, at least. “I did not wish to ask your permission, given we are so much at odds.” She bowed her head and tried to sound contrite. “I do apologize.”

There. She peeped at him from beneath her lashes. A gentleman would accept her apology and send her on her way, perhaps with an admonishment.

Stratford leaned back slightly in his saddle, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “And you hadn’t time to pilfer a sidesaddle, I gather,” he remarked drily.

Liliana’s head came up as she fought off a scowl. She composed herself. She’d stick to as-honest-as-possible answers.

“It is my habit to ride astride,” she stated. “I find it more practical when out collecting specimens and data for my experiments. It is much easier and safer amidst the brambles and bogs I frequent.”

“Your experiments?” he asked, drawing his brows together.

“Yes,” she said. “I am a chemist. And a healer.” Liliana felt her chin rise, expecting him to ridicule her as he had that night in the library when she’d offered him her help.

But he didn’t scoff today. “I should like to hear more about your experiments,” he said, quite shocking her to her toes. “However, before we get to that, I must admit to a different curiosity. I’ve known some first-rate horsemen in my life, many of whom looked no better in the saddle than you. This isn’t the first time you’ve raced through the countryside at breakneck speed,” he guessed.

A laugh escaped her, neither rich nor brittle. It sounded something in between, something bittersweet that she feared revealed more than she’d wanted to.

Blast. She should leave, should whirl Amira around and race back to the stables. But Stratford leaned toward her, his face awash with interest. A genuine interest no man, save her father, had ever shown her, and she couldn’t help answering, “No. Nor do I consider myself a great horsewoman, though I rarely miss a morning. Riding for me is simply…” She searched for the right word.

“An escape,” they both said at the very same moment.

Silence hung between them. What could a rich lord like him possibly feel the need to escape from?

“Escape from what?” Geoffrey voiced her question, but to her.

“From the strictures of my life. From the frustrations of being born a woman with a scientific mind in a man’s world. From being pressed by my aunt to always—” She clapped her mouth shut, shaking her head. She’d shared quite enough, and she wasn’t even certain why. “You wouldn’t understand,” she demurred.

“You might be surprised,” he answered, his voice quiet and solemn and just a touch rough. Her breath caught as well, and she couldn’t look away from him. His eyes held a haunted quality she’d never noticed before—something lurked in their depths that called to her.

And discomfited her, greatly.

She turned her face from him. “That might be true. However, as both of us will be expected at breakfast, we haven’t the time,” she said, grateful her tone sounded brisk. She sat up straight, pulling Amira around. “I am sorry I took your horse without permission, my lord. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t,” he answered as he, too, brought his horse around. “As you now
have
my permission to ride any morning you like whilst here at Somerton Park. I shall have Griggs leave a saddle in Amira’s stall, to make it easier for you to nab her.”

She must have looked stunned, because he smiled.

“I can’t have you shocking my stable boys with your unusual attire.” He hitched his leg, bringing Gringolet even with Amira as they ambled back toward the house. “Nor can I deny such an able rider her morning pleasure.” His voice dipped low, sending thrills of sensation rioting through Liliana.

“Th-thank you,” Liliana stammered. She felt rather off center. Stratford unsettled her. He hadn’t taken her to task for stealing his horse. He hadn’t berated her for embarrassing him in public. He hadn’t judged her for her unconventionalities and was now, in fact, conspiring to enable her. “You are very kind,” she said, and realized she spoke the truth.

How awful. She didn’t want to think of him as kind. She didn’t want to think of him at all, except as a suspect or a relation thereof. Yet increasingly she was viewing him as something more than an adversary, which only complicated matters.

“Miss Claremont?”

“Yes?” She turned her head to look at him. His gaze was fixed out over the lake, his lips pressed together and his brow dipped, as if he contemplated something of great import.

“I, too, ride alone every morning, just shy of sunrise.” He shifted his eyes, and his gaze captured her. “Would you care to join me tomorrow?”

“I…”
Couldn’t,
she almost said. But she’d accomplished little during her foray into the village. Due to the earliness of the hour, only the baker’s shop had been open. She’d thought her search had finally borne fruit when she discovered the other customer in the shop was the maid of all work to Geoffrey’s father’s former valet. He could have been a wealth of information.

Her hopes were quickly dashed, however, when she’d learned that the man, Mr. Witherspoon, was gravely ill and had been unable to receive visitors for many months. Liliana had asked several questions of the girl about his condition on the walk back to the man’s cottage. Then she’d quickly jotted down the recipe for a concoction she thought might help him. The maid had taken it dubiously but promised to pass it along to her mistress.

Liliana held out little hope, however. Maybe she could sneak away one afternoon later in the week to check on him, or to interview other people in the town, but it would be risky.

Liliana chewed her lip. What could it hurt to spend more time in Stratford’s company? He might let something slip. It was more of a prospect than anything else at the moment.

“I would like that,” she answered.

The hint of a smile appeared on Stratford’s face.

This could work, she rationalized. Still, she had the feeling she’d just combined two unknown substances and started a reaction she couldn’t control.

Well, if she were going to give herself up to it…“I should also like it if you would call me Liliana,” she murmured.

Stratford’s smile spread. “Liliana” rolled off his tongue, and he closed his mouth on her name as if savoring a treat. “And I am Geoffrey.”

That feeling that wasn’t quite fear caused goose pimples to prickle her arm.

Enemy, thy name is Geoffrey.

L

And I am Geoffrey.

It had been a mistake to give him leave of her name this morning. His natural response had been expected, yet those four little words had shifted something within her.

Geoffrey.

Not Stratford. Not even Wentworth. But Geoffrey, a man.

The first man to have ever kissed her. She flushed warm with the memory.

It had been easy not to think of that kiss when she’d held no consideration for him as a person. But now…

Liliana splayed her hand across her chest, just below her neck.

“Are you all right?” Aveline inquired, drawing her attention. She turned to the right, where her escort patted a linen napkin to his lips as he glanced at her discarded plate, then at her. Aveline’s green eyes darkened with
concern. “You look a tad overheated.” He handed her a glass of iced champagne. “Take this.”