He heard his name…upon those dratted, perfect lips. Again.
Chapter Five
Will had never been unseated. Not in the entirety of his life. But Beatrice, it seemed, was bringing a myriad of firsts into his existence.
For as he turned to catch sight of the owner of that voice, his thoughts and hands went in two entirely different directions.
And poor Pericles, who was galloping apace, came to a sudden halt.
The force and gravity were such that he found himself soaring through the air with a predictable downward trajectory.
Thoughts too terrible to be given breath passed through his head as he rushed toward the dubious water. Ducks quacked in alarm and took flight, a feat he wished he could manage at this moment.
Alas, he could not, and so, he crashed through the surface and wondered, yet again, how the hell Beatrice had managed such a thing.
As he flailed for a moment in the disturbed water, he knew there was only one answer.
She had bewitched his horse.
It was the only logical conclusion. For surely, he could not have been so struck at the surprising sight of her that he had allowed himself to be flung from his saddle?
He could hear exclamations of horror and a far more forceful voice giving instruction.
He knew exactly whose voice it was.
Lady Beatrice would never exclaim in horror.
Oh no. Through the water clogging his ears, he could hear her ordering him to put his feet down.
He was tempted not to in a pique of defiance.
But gentlemen, especially dukes, did not give in to fits of pique.
He did as bid and stood.
For the second time in the span of an hour, cold water sluiced down his frame. Only this time it soaked his clothes to his skin.
With a barely muted curse, he stood for a moment, then wiped the water from his eyes in one swipe and drove his hand through his hair, shoving it back.
When he was able to focus, he spotted Lady Beatrice.
Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was ever so slightly open.
The morning light caught her dark brown hair, casting it with golden highlights.
Though he should have reached forward a few feet and dragged her in with him for startling him so, he could only gaze upon her, all reasonable thoughts vanishing, much like his horse.
She looked positively sublime.
Some people looked quite terrible in the morning, but not Beatrice.
She looked fresh, alive, and ready to meet the world with the power of an army. Yes, it was really the only way to describe her. A glorious being ready to wage battle on anyone that came into her presence.
He could not see himself as Theseus to her Hippolyta. Though there was a war between them, it seemed, he would never conquer her. He did not wish it. Taming? It was not for the likes of a creature such as Beatrice. He was loath that any man should try such a thing with any woman.
He admired her wildness far too much—though it drove him senseless—to try to take it from her.
Besides, she might win.