Vanquished

She swallowed heavily. It was difficult to speak about that day, for not only had she been young, but the shock and grief had nearly sent her to her knees. “It was the spring about five years ago. She had been traveling back from the village to visit one of our sick tenants. The rain had been coming down steadily all day, but it suddenly turned into a downpour. The coachman’s eyesight had been failing, but he was loyal to my father, so he remained in our employ. That day he didn’t notice that the bridge had washed away until it was too late. He drove off into the river and they were swept away with the current.” Her vision was glossy, her mind haunted by the traumatic events of that day. “Neither of them survived. Not even the horses were spared.”

There was another heavy pause. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely. “But ye should know that such a tragedy doesn’t happen all the time. Ye’re actually safer in a high perch than a carriage that can trap you inside. At least if my phaeton tries to roll, I have enough time to jump to the ground.”

“But why take the risk?” she countered hotly. “What do you have to gain from it?”

The depth to his gaze in that moment was enough to take her breath. “The chance to cheat death.”

She snorted. “Death comes to us all.”

“Yes, but if I win a race and survive, the victory is that much sweeter.”

She refused to see the other side of this argument. “Until you find your spine severed someday and unable to move. Would it be worth the peril then?”

His eyes flashed. “It’s always worth it, lass. Anything worth risking in this life is.”

“Even love?” They both stilled, for she was as surprised as he seemed to be for asking such a bold question. But now that it was out in the open, it wasn’t as if she could retract it. There wasn’t anything to do now and wait for his response.

“Hmm. Love.” He shoved off the tree and walked slowly toward her. “Now that is another thing entirely, lass. True, it can be dangerous, but it seldom ends well. At least in racing I have a chance to win, whereas love doesn’t allow victory to either party.”

She resisted the urge to step backward when he paused directly in front of her. “It sounds as if it’s something you know a lot about, as if you’ve had your heart broken.”

“Aye, lass,” he whispered. “Several times over.” He reached out and ran a hand lightly up the side of her exposed arm, along the section where her gloves ended and her cap-sleeved dress began. “Which is why I focus on the pleasure now.”

“The… pleasure?” She hated how breathless she sounded, but every time he touched her, she was reduced to a lump of melting butter. And just as warm inside.

“Aye.” He lowered his head, and she held her breath, knowing that he was going to kiss her again, and yet, unable to stop it from happening. “A kiss is a good example.”

When his lips touched hers, her toes instantly curled in her slippers. He wound his arm around her waist and dragged her closer, until only their clothes separated them. Delilah gasped, giving him the chance to slide his tongue into her mouth and mate with hers. Her head swam with the intoxication of such an intimate act, as though she’d drank too much wine.

She knew she should tell him to stop, to push him away, because she knew that an association with him was dangerous, but perhaps that was what he wanted to prove to her, that pleasure was a risk, and yet, it was worth every scandalous minute in his arms.

When he pulled away from her, she nearly moaned at the loss, but then she realized that he wasn’t leaving. Instead, his mouth trailed a path along her jaw to her ear, where he playfully nipped at her lobe. A shiver coursed through her, even though the sun was beating down with its warm rays.

He made his way down her neck, offering tender little, teasing bites as he went, and then he continued even farther to her exposed collarbone. She arched her back on instinct and caught her breath when his palm slid upward to cover her breast.

“What I wouldn’t give to rip this dress off of ye and take ye right here.” The dark statement should have shocked her, but the warmth that she had been feeling earlier began to pool in her midsection. The heat between her legs pulsed and she had to press her thighs together to ease the ache that he was causing.

“I want to touch ye, lass. Will ye let me?” He started to pull down a section of her bodice and Delilah was so lost to the moment that she might have let him do whatever he wanted, if it wasn’t for a sudden intrusion that doused her ardor like cold water being dumped over her head.

“Delilah! You’ll never guess who—”

As Francesca appeared, Delilah broke away from Conor with a harsh gasp. She pressed the back of her hand to her lips, as though she might be able to hide the evidence of their tryst. Likely the guilt was written all over her face by the way it burned. Her friend’s eyes darted between Delilah and the Irishman. “Er…”

It was the first time Delilah had ever known the girl to be at a loss for words.

To save them both, she reached out and grasped Francesca’s wrist. “Let’s head back, shall we?”

She didn’t even offer a farewell to Conor, nor engage with her stunned friend until they were nearly out of the park. Only then did the blonde dig in her heels and look at her with wide, impassioned eyes. “Delilah! What was that all about?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but since she didn’t have a ready explanation for her behavior, she just said, “Please don’t tell Papa.”