Amazingly, the viscount actually spoke to her as if she had a brain. It was one of the things she liked about him. They didn't discuss the latest on dit, but matters of importance.
"They'll be starting the play any moment," Nash said as the candles at the foot of the stage were doused. A few minutes later, the red velvet curtain went up and Vermillion settled back to enjoy the performance.
It was late when Lord Nash's carriage returned them to the house at the edge of the city. Aunt Gabriella excused herself and retired upstairs, allowing Vermillion and the viscount a moment in the salon. Claymont would be waiting for Aunt Gabby in her bedchamber, having used the stairs at the rear of the house. It was a silly pretense, done mainly for the servants, but Claymont insisted, and occasionally even Aunt Gabby demurred to certain of Society's dictates.
"I hope you enjoyed the evening, Vermillion." The viscount's deep voice drew her attention. His gaze took in her low-cut sapphire gown with its black lace trim and nearly unobstructed view of her breasts, but didn't linger as another man's would have. "I know I certainly did."
Lee glanced away, finding it harder and harder to maintain her façade when she was with the viscount, a man she considered a friend. She forced her chin up and smiled her Vermillion smile.
"It was a wonderful evening. Mr. Cutberth did a marvelous job as Richard the Third."
"I hope you enjoyed the company, as well."
She thought she caught a glimpse of the desire he usually kept well-hidden. "I enjoy your company very much, Jonathan. I've come to consider you a very dear friend."
Nash drew her closer. Raising one of her black-gloved hands, he pressed a kiss into her palm. "I am hoping for more than mere friendship, Vermillion. In that regard, I've made my intentions perfectly clear. I wish to provide for you, dearest, to see to your pleasure in any way I can."
She didn't miss the faint roughening of his voice. She wished she felt at least some measure of passion for him, this man whose friendship she valued so highly.
Jonathan bent and brushed a kiss over her lips, then kissed her more deeply. A memory arose of Caleb Tanner's kisses and inwardly she prayed to feel some of the fire he stirred. Instead, when the viscount touched his tongue to her lips, she turned away.
"Thank you for a very lovely evening, my lord."
Nash stood rigid, a frown on his face. "I realize you are enjoying the chase, my dear, but I won't wait longer than your birthday. Think what a man of my position can do for you. Think of your future. I pray you choose well, Vermillion."
She moistened her lips, which suddenly felt dry. "I promise to do my best, your lordship."
Turning away, he strode out of the drawing room and Vermillion released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her aunt had made choosing a lover sound simple, as if it were some kind of a game that could be played with the veriest ease. Instead, her nights grew more and more restless and images of Caleb Tanner continued to creep in.
She dreamt of him that night, though in the morning she only vaguely recalled. She thought of him again as she dressed in her comfortable men's clothing and made her way out to the stable to check on the foal. The gangly little colt with the fuzzy, sandy coat grew bigger every day. She smiled as she watched the tiny horse nursing, then laughed when he tugged with determination at his mother's swollen teat.
She was so engrossed in the foal she didn't hear Caleb approaching until he stood directly behind her.
"Up early this morning, aren't you?… Considering the lateness of the hour you returned home last night."
She stiffened at the sarcasm in his voice and turned to face him. He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body, look into his penetrating dark eyes. Even dressed in the simple garments of a servant, he looked big and strong, and more handsome than any other man of her acquaintance.
"What business is it of yours what time I returned?"
"Why, it's none of my business in the least," he said blandly, but disapproval formed a tight line around his lips. "It isn't my business where you go or when you return or whom you decide to kiss, though I would refrain from doing so in front of the windows if I were you. Might upset one of your other admirers."
Her temper inched up. "And if I were you, I would refrain from playing the role of Peeping Tom. It scarcely suits you, Caleb Tanner."
"You want to know what suits me?" His gaze raked her from head to foot. "Dragging you down in that nice clean pile of straw, tossing up your skirts, and doing what every other man you know wants to do—that is what would suit me. I shall, however, restrain from doing so, since I can hardly afford to lose my position."
Her face must have been scarlet. "You are rude and ill-mannered. I should have dismissed you for your insolence long ago." She glanced down at her breeches. "And if you haven't noticed, I am not wearing a skirt!"
Dark eyes slid over her hips and down her legs, and the edge of his mouth barely curved. "So I see. But if you're interested, I'm willing to make the adjustment. I find the notion of making love to a woman in breeches in some ways even more exciting."
For a heartbeat, she didn't move. Images of lying naked in the straw with Caleb Tanner floated round in her head. All of her suitors went out of their way to play the gallant, yet none of them could excite her with a single word, a single hot glance, the way Caleb could.
What would it be like if instead of Andrew or Jonathan, Caleb were her lover?
She let her gaze roam over his tall, broad-shouldered frame, the narrow hips, and long legs. Trying to gain control of the moment, she cast him the sort of seductive smile Vermillion would use on one of her admirers.
"If you're serious, perhaps I'll give it some thought. It might be amusing to consort in that fashion with a groom."
Those dark eyes glinted. "Make no mistake, Vermillion. The role you play for the others holds no appeal for me. The woman I want helps to birth kittens and rides like the wind. And I don't give a damn what she's wearing."
Then he bent his head and kissed her.
Oh, dear God! It was a searing, reckless, soul-stealing kiss and it set her on fire. She swayed toward him and her hands trembled as she reached up to grip his shoulders. They felt like steel beneath her fingers. He teased her lips apart and she felt the hot, damp slickness of his tongue. Caleb's arms came hard around her. He hauled her against his chest and deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth until she was utterly breathless. Then as suddenly as he had started, he stepped away.
Lee swayed unsteadily, reached out and gripped the top rail of the stall for support.
A corner of Caleb's mouth faintly lifted. "Shall I saddle your horse, Miss Durant?" Though his voice was cool, his eyes remained hot, filled with promises of the pleasure he could give her.
Lee swallowed, tried to calm the tremors coursing through her. "Yes… thank you. I believe I'm in need of a little fresh air."
One of his dark eyebrows went up. "Perhaps you would like some company. I could also saddle the—"
"No! I mean… no, I should rather go by myself, thank you." She tossed her head as Vermillion would have done, determined to put some distance between them. "The sun is shining and I need some time to myself." Careful not to look at Caleb, she walked out of the barn and into the cooling breeze, hoping it would sweep away the unsettling emotions his scorching kiss had stirred.
Knowing deep down even a North Sea storm could not succeed.
As Lee had feared, the ride through the fields gave her plenty of time to think, but she wound up feeling even more confused. Sitting in her bedchamber later that afternoon, she watched Jeannie fussing over the gowns spread out on the big four-poster bed and thought of Caleb and the way he made her feel. Even Andrew couldn't stir her to passion the way Caleb could.
"I think you should wear zee turquoise silk," Jeannie said in her thickly accented English. "It will bring out the color of your eyes." Jeannie Fontenelle was ten years older than Lee. During her years as lady's maid to the Countess of Essex, she had been married to a footman, but he had died of an influenza just months after the two were wed. Jeannie had been summarily dismissed, too tempting a morsel to dangle before the countess's roving-eyed husband.