Claiming the Courtesan

She thought she caught fleeting concern in his eyes. Then she dismissed the impression as the kind of wishful thinking she’d abandoned with her chastity so many years ago. Anger with herself added extra edge to her retort. “Of course I’m shaking, you great oaf.”

He laughed again, the heartless bully, confirming that his brief moment of compassion had never existed. “You’re giving Angus and Andy great entertainment. They’re convinced all Sassenach women are mad.”

“I don’t care,” she muttered.

She was shivering violently by the time Kylemore stopped in front of the lead pony, an evil-looking dun. In spite of everything, she shrank against her tormentor.

“Please, Your Grace, put me down.” Not even the most sympathetic ear would hear anything except a mewling plea in her words.

Of course he didn’t relent. He’d snatched her from her home to torture her, after all.

She braced herself for mockery, but instead he spoke with a quiet steadiness that penetrated her dread as surely as a knife through soft butter. “I didn’t think you were afraid of anything, Verity.”

I’m afraid of you, she admitted despairingly in her heart, then gasped as he dumped her unceremoniously in the sidesaddle. Only with the greatest effort did she keep herself from screaming. She froze into trembling stiffness.

The horse wasn’t large, but she felt a dizzyingly long way from the ground. She sucked in a deep breath to control her roiling nausea and clutched at the saddle for balance.

“Angus!” Kylemore shouted to the nearest giant as the horse showed every sign of bolting under its awkward burden.

The giant grabbed the reins and spoke soothingly to the heaving demon beneath her. Kylemore placed his gloved hands on either side of her. His looming nearness melted the icy paralysis that held her motionless, and she tried to slide off.

“Stop that,” he said softly, leaning in to keep her in the saddle. “You’ll frighten the horses.”

His effrontery penetrated even her all-pervasive panic. How she loathed him. Terror and hatred fought for dominance in her quaking soul. If only she’d wrenched the pistol from his grasp in Whitby and put a bullet through his black heart. She whipped her head up to glare at him.

“I’ll frighten the horses?” she repeated in outrage.

“Yes. They’re simple creatures. Hysterical women unnerve them.” Firmly, he hooked her feet into the stirrups and adjusted the length. He placed one hand on the small of her back to hold her upright. She tried and failed to ignore the warm support. “You’re as stiff as a board. Relax.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she said resentfully while remaining as still as she possibly could.

How was she to cling on when the cursed beast moved? She would fall and its churning hooves would smash her to pieces. She closed her eyes and swallowed another surge of nausea.

Kylemore sighed and gently began to stroke her. Every nerve in her body focused on the circles his hand made on her back. Despite the shudders of fear that wracked her frame, she adopted a more natural pose.

“I can’t take you up with me,” he said gently. “My pony will barely hold my weight as it is. And the going is too rough and uneven for us to ride Tannasg.”

She felt what little color she had left in her cheeks drain away. Opening her eyes, she looked across to Tannasg, the duke’s huge gray gelding tethered nearby, who seemed to loom at least ten times larger than the denizen of hell beneath her.

He must have read her expression. “Exactly. Now, be brave. We’re going on with the ponies.” With his free hand, he loosened her fingers from where they hooked into the front of the saddle and placed them in the animal’s coarse mane. The pony shifted restively under her.

Kylemore whispered Gaelic reassurances to the horse. Verity was mortified to hear exactly the same tone he’d used to convince her to stay in the saddle. She was even more mortified when the animal proved just as pliant as she under his persuasion.

“I can’t do this,” she said unevenly.

“Yes, you can. I’ll lead you. You’ll be quite safe. Just hold on and pray if it makes you feel better.”

“Nothing will make me feel better,” she said with a trace of sulkiness.

He reached out to touch her cheek. “Take heart, Verity. You’ve never lacked courage before.”

The uncomplicated friendliness of the gesture astonished her so much that it took a few moments to comprehend something even more amazing. He’d just complimented her on something that had nothing to do with Soraya’s sultry beauty and everything to do with Verity’s sturdier qualities.

And he no longer seemed to think of her as Soraya first and Verity second. That deep voice had spoken her name without hesitation.

By the time she’d come to terms with that startling realization, their small caravan had lurched into motion, and she trailed meekly in Kylemore’s wake.

Beauty bit sharper than any blade. No matter how Kylemore tried, he couldn’t stop it slicing deep into his heart, making mockery of the armor he’d built up over years of absence.