Man of Her Affairs

1816

Early Morning.

Hyde Park lay shrouded in mist, the ghost-like vapor hanging undisturbed as the first streaks of dawn began to paint the trees a luscious pink. Not a soul, or rather, not a human soul, stirred the quiet scene.

One would think that this landscape lay in the deepest recess of the countryside, and not in the middle of a bustling capital; a metropolis that plays host to all the depravity and ecstasy committed and received by members of the ton, a community that delights in the social whirl and scandal almost as much as they enjoyed a good Hunt.

Yes, thought Miss Charlotte Grey with a wry twist of her full lips, one would definitely be forgiven for such...tame thoughts. But not she, oh no, not Miss Grey. The only reason she was even contemplating this tranquil scene was entirely due to a simple fact:

She was lost.

All right, she admitted to herself, she wasn't lost, but the groomsman she'd been forced to take with her didn't know that. Presuming he ever caught up with her, that is.

She'd lost him within only five minutes of arriving in the park. Only stopping to shift to sit astride, Charlotte kept a careful eye out for the groom.

Pure silence greeted her, the tranquil scene of the park helping to soothe the ire that had built within her over the past week. This was one of the first times she had been alone. Truly and wonderfully alone.

With a strange sense of glee, Charlotte kicked her horse Saber into a gallop, delighting in the way he surged below her and how the biting wind snatched at her hair. Urging Saber on, she exalted in her freedom.

'At last! If I had to spend even another minute pretending to embroider...' she muttered as the park whipped by her.

As she galloped over low hills and meadows of yellowing grass, trees clothed in deep reds and burning oranges turned into streaks of colour. Some times she rejoined the formal paths, but preferred to choose her own way. She came across no one, the lack of traffic testament to the ridiculous hours kept by the ton. She was under no disillusions. Soon those of the lower classes would begin to occupy the pathways, and her short bout of freedom would come to an end.

But not now. With fresh determination to enjoy her few minutes alone, she kicked Saber to charge up a hill, rising from her seat as he crested the rise and plummeted into the meadow bellow. A spontaneous laugh burst from her lips, only to be cut short by a resounding CRACK!

Abruptly, she found herself struggling to hold on to a violently rearing horse.

*

Lord James William Arthur Rochester, Marques of Earlsford, coldly surveyed the meadow before him. The light was only beginning to touch the treetops, a false promise of the day's warmth to come. The brightening sky helped to reveal the two men beside him, as well as the small group that stood huddled across the field.

James exhaled irritably, the breath clouding inches from his tense face. This was not the way he had planned to spend his morning. In fact, the entire preceding eight hours had not been spent in any manner that he had enjoyed, which left him in a very bad mood. A very, very bad mood.

He was broken from his contemplation by a strong slap on the back. 'Oh cheer up, Earlsford. It looks like you're about to murder someone!' Richard Darnsford, Earl of Burnsdale, was grinning from ear to ear, obviously finding his cheery comment highly amusing. 'It's not everyday you get to trounce one of the most irritating men in society.'

James did not deign to reply.

'I think, Darnsford,' whispered Michael Trent Ridgley, Earl of Dentworth, sotto voice, 'our dear friend the Marquess here does not share in your enthusiasm.' He raised a brow in mock seriousness, his face held remarkably straight.

'Oh, perish the thought! Why, I just know that under that hardened exterior there is a bit of him just loving every moment of this.'

'You mean to say, behind those golden eyes that smoulder like coals in dark, as the ladies say, and beneath those luscious dark locks that are softer than all the silks of India, as the ladies say, there lies a secret spot of mushy feeling?' Ridgley gaped in comical horror. 'Are you sure? This is the Marques of Earlsford you speak of, the Marques of Midnight, Rigid Rochester, Earlsford the -'

'Ridgley, Darnsford, shut up. This is no laughing matter.' James continued to stare straight ahead towards the group across the field, having shown no reaction to his friends ribbing. 'Besides from honour, a man's life is a stake today.'

The two Earls looked at each other, then back at James, identical expressions of disbelief on their faces.

Michael sighed, a hand raking through his sandy hair. 'James, we both know we're only here as a formality, the only thing we're actually here for is to hold your bloody gun.'

'Michael's right, James. You don't need us to tell you that you've got the best shot in London, perhaps the best in England! Sure, you could kill the man. But then again, we're the only two people who know that you won't.' Richard draped his arm around James' shoulders and continued in a voice far removed from his former, jovial tone. 'You've done all the killing you'll ever need to do. Now, I know Sidwell Barnsby is just about soiling himself over there. Do what you came here to do and what you've been planning to do from the start. Walk your paces, shoot faster than he can blink, graze his arm so you can claim first blood, retain your honour and give Barnsby a good reason to piss himself.'

Gripping his friend by the shoulder, Richard gave him a little shake. 'Now, stop with all the glowering. It's nearly time. Besides, Ridgley and I want to get to bed.'

Finally, James allowed a slight smile to grace his lips. 'What would all the Meddling Mamas say if they knew you two rakes needed as much beauty sleep as any fop?

'What would all the lying scumbags say if they knew the Marques of Earlsford wouldn't kill them if they cheated at cards?'

The slight smile turned into a rueful grin. 'I'll keep your secret if you keep mine.'

Richard chuckled in reply.

'James, I think Barnsby is ready,' said Michael, who had been looking towards the opposing group. The other two turned to watch Barnsby and his second walk towards the middle of the field. Nodding silently, James went to join them. Richard, acting as his second, joined him while Michael walked a few paces behind. He would serve as the official for the duel.

As they approached, Barnsby turned to face them.

'Earlsford.' The man seemed nervous, his eyes shifting from side to side. James noted how he surreptitiously wiped his hands on his breeches. Frowning, he gave the man one last chance. 'We don't have to do this Barnsby. Just admit and apologize so we can all go on our way, and nobody has to get hurt.'

The idiot just shook his head. 'I didn't cheat with that hand, Earlsford. It is you who has behaved dishonorably. I would never, ever cheat at cards. To even suggest-'

'I think the lady doth protest too much.' Richard interrupted quietly, his eyes never leaving the now sweating man's face. Barnsby flushed red. 'How dare you-!'

'Enough!' James barked, his bad mood coming back with force. The ton was made up of idiots like this one, and it seemed his fate to deal with any which one decided to try his luck. This was the third time he'd been on this field in the past month! 'Michael, if you would care to instruct us in the proceedings.'

Not that he needed to be instructed. Dispassionately, he allowed routine to take over. Internally, he forced his mind into a numb calmness, a void into which he fed all his focus. It had helped him aim true in the war; it would help him now. He hardly heard Michael's instructions, mutely taking the gun he was proffered and began walking the required paces to the rhythm of his friends voice.

Approaching the end of the required distance, he was broken slightly from his concentration by a slight rumbling that seemed to be coming from beyond the hill he was facing. Determined to ignore the distraction at such a crucial moment, he pushed the noise from his mind. He took his final step.

CRACK!

He had a split second to see Barnsby drop to the ground, clutching his arm, before the terrified whinny of a very large horse forced him to spin around. What he saw struck him dumb.

The aforementioned horse was truly a superb beast, gleaming midnight black in the strengthening light. Eyes wide, nostrils flared, it towered above him as it reared, obviously frightened by the gunshot. But it was its rider who caught James' attention.

A woman sat astride the animal, riding boots and calves bared beneath a deep blue velvet riding habit. Clearly caught unawares, she struggled to maintain her seat, tendrils of her copper hair wrapping around her face as her unbound locks swung with her movements.

For a terrifying moment, James thought the horse would fall backwards. A bolt of fear shot through him as an image of the woman's broken body flashed through his mind. Suddenly, however, the rider threw herself forward, towards her horse's neck, forcing

it back down to the ground. The beast hit it with a resounding thud.

For a few more moments it moved nervously around, one hoof pawing the ground as it whickered softly, its huge head lowering and rising slowly, looking for any threat. James could now see it was at least sixteen hands tall.

The woman remained in her seat, petting and whispering softly to the horse, slowly helping it to calm down. James couldn't see her face as the curtain of her hair shrouded it. Unexpectedly, anger washed over him in a crashing wave. Yes, this was not the way he had planned to spend his morning at all. But he was no longer in a bad mood. He was in a rage.

*

Charlotte took a deep, steadying breath as she patted Saber. He was beginning to calm down, the small tremors that had shivered across his body starting to slow.

'Shhh, Saber. It's okay, my dear. Shhhh, everything is alright.' This was not the first time he'd reared with her on his back, but it had never been so unexpected. That exploding sound had been right in front of them. She straightened immediately. That sound! Swiping her hair out of the way, she searched for what had frightened her horse. What met her gaze made her pale.

She was at the end of a long field, which was currently occupied by two groups of very surprised men, looking at her in open amazement. All of them were still in their evening clothes, except for two who had removed their coats.

And those two were carrying guns.

Well, in all truth, one was carrying a gun and one was on the ground, clutching his arm, his weapon lying useless by his side. Charlotte felt her eyes widen. She had obviously just stumbled across a duel and had come very close to being shot.

'Just what do you think you're doing?!'

Jerking her gaze away from the injured man, Charlotte looked down to see an extremely elegant man walking furiously towards her. From her position astride Saber, she couldn't judge his height but he stood proudly and walked with an air of power. His features were striking, high cheekbones and strong jaw adding to the harsh planes of his face. His hair was black and cut short, closer to the scalp on the sides than on the top, adding to his air of quiet austerity. He exuded power and he looked as if he knew how to wield it.

As he came closer, she could clearly see anger written across his face. It was only when she looked into his eyes did she become truly worried.

They were smouldering; smouldering with rage.

In a blink of eye he was beside Saber.

Looking up at the woman, he was surprised by her unexpectedly beautiful countenance. Her hair was in a wind swept mess, wisps of hair ghosting whimsically across her face in a fiery halo. The cold morning had brought a sharp contrast to her complexion, her cheeks and lips the rosy pink of sensual womanhood. But her eyes...her eyes were a stormy blue that caught his gaze with a confidence and power he had never seen in a woman before.

Unexpectedly, he felt heat swamp his body as his muscles clenched. An errant thought crossed his mind as he took in her straight-backed posture astride the sweating horse. I wonder if she'd ride me just as hard. He banished the thought with some difficulty. This mysterious woman was clearly a lady of the ton, and he did not dabble with those.

Incensed, not just with the woman but his lapse in control, he jerked the reins from her surprised hands. 'Madam, this is not the place for one such as yourself!' He turned to sweep his gaze across the field. 'Where is your chaperone?'

The soft staccato of a gun being cocked caught his attention.

Instinctively, he whipped back round and brought his gun up. The sight of a small pistol being leveled at his head stopped him cold, however.

A pistol that was held by a suddenly very determined and very dangerous woman. Where the hell did that come from? James didn't know much about women's clothes, except on how to take them off, but he was sure there weren't many places one could hide such a weapon.

The woman regarded him frostily. 'I order you to let go of my horse's reigns, sir.' Her eyes flicked to his own gun. 'And to drop your weapon. I dislike having guns pointed at me even if they have just discharged their last shot.'

For a moment he retained his position, staring hard into those stormy eyes. Finally he stepped back, making a big show of putting down his gun and dropping the reigns. She relaxed her hold on the pistol. He struck.

Charlotte's lips parted in surprise as her gun was expertly twisted from her grasp. She had a split second to gasp before she found herself being forcibly removed from her saddle, strong hands grasping her waist to hoist her through the air and onto the ground. She landed with a bit of a thump.

Affronted, she looked up at the man, noting somewhat reluctantly that her eyes only met his shoulder. 'How dare you!'

'I dare quite easily. You see, I don't like guns pointing at me, neither.'

'It was a natural response to your actions!' The stranger didn't reply, except to stare down at her stonily. Raising an eyebrow, she gave him her haughtiest look. 'Kindly remove your hands from my person, sir.' She felt the heat from those hands seeping into her skin through her clothes, his strong fingers still gripping her waist in a strangely intimate manner. From somewhere in her chest, an unexpected, warm tingling began to fizzle. Yes, his hands definitely had to be removed. Now.

'First answer me this, milady,' his voice was deep but forceful. 'What the hell do you think you're doing galloping around Hyde Park at this godforsaken hour and without a bloody chaperone?'

Charlotte felt her temper rising at his tone. 'That is none of your business, sir. I don't answer to you or any man. Now, I asked you once and I won't ask again: let me GO!'

She wrenched herself away and managed to take a couple of steps towards Saber before she was jerked to a stop and hauled backwards. With a soft thump she found her back pressed up against a solid wall of muscle. Strangely, she heard a soft groan from behind her.

Dear God, why did she fell so soft. He had just meant to restrain her, but holding her close to his body like this had not proved to be the best idea. He stifled a second groan as she shifted against him, trying to wriggle from his grasp. Instead, she did a better job of grinding her bottom against his hardening arousal.

Breathing deeply to control his growing desire, he grasped her shoulders and spun her around, giving her a quick shake. 'Stop it. Do you not understand the danger you put yourself in? Not to mention the lives of others.' James went cold. Cursing, he realized what could have happened. 'Because of you, I could have killed a man!'

He looked back to where Barnsby and the others had been standing. The men that had accompanied Sidwell were helping him onto his horse, and as James watched, the small group began to depart into the dissipating mist. Ridgley and Darnsford had collected their own mounts and were starting to make their way towards him. His horse, Duke, followed them silently.

A delicate snort drew his attention back to the woman. She did not seem to appreciate the gravity of the moment. 'And here I was, thinking that the actual purpose of a duel was to shoot one's opponent dead before he did the same to you.'

'That's not the way I do things,' he snapped back.

'Clearly.' Was she smirking?

James felt his jaw tense in irritation. When had he begun to feel the need to explain himself? 'Madam, whether or not I planned to kill the man is not the point. The point is that you are clearly far from where you should be, and even further away from where you should ever be allowed to be.'

Both her brows shot up at that. 'And by that you mean...?'

'Public places, milady. You are a danger to society.'

'Strange words, indeed, sir, considering that this little dawn meeting of yours is outlawed through out Britain.' Her eyes narrowed dangerously. 'Besides, I was not the one planning to kill a man.'

James exhaled angrily. 'I was not-'

'Why, James, who do we have here?' Michael and Richard were standing not two meters away and, James suspected, had been enjoying watching their friend being riled up by a yet unknown woman. He could see by their amused and somewhat bemused smiles that he was not acting according to his usual behaviour.

And he wasn't. James found himself surprisingly on edge, the conflicting emotions of anger and desire causing his breath to come out in sharp bursts of irritation, while his body thrummed with adrenaline.

To top it off, he had lost count of how many times he had sworn in front of this woman. Looking at her, he realized he was still holding onto her shoulders. Abruptly, he let go.

Stepping away, Charlotte began to straighten out her skirts. The two men who had approached seemed to be good friends with the man she'd been arguing with. The three of them were all quite tall, their builds lean and athletic. The one who had just spoken had light brown hair, which he habitually ran through with his fingers now and then. His face was lit by an easy smile that reached his warm blue eyes that where framed by long eyelashes.

If he seemed to be a woman's perfect dream of a romantic poet, his companion would be that woman's secret and unchaste fantasy of the sultry seducer. Dark brown hair fell past his face only to be caught up in a roguish cue at the base of his neck as large, brown eyes ringed in green twinkled with a mischief that was already present in his half smile. The tallest of the three, he also seemed to be the one with the most effervescent personality.

His friends, however, did not overshadow her stranger. Though she'd only laid eyes on him several minutes ago, and those minutes had been some of the most ire filled of her life, when she looked back at his hard face she felt he stood out from his friends. There was strength in him that was missing from the others, a strength that went beyond muscle and bone. It was in the way he walked, how he stood and how he looked at a person. She had a feeling that with that strength came a great deal of control.

I wonder, she thought as she watched him scowl at his friends, what would happen if he lost control. A shiver ran through her, and she felt herself tighten down there. She couldn't stop the irrational hope that she would somehow be there when it happened.

Unfortunately, that stern face was now turned to her and looked a fair bit more than annoyed. Charlotte blinked. He had the look of someone waiting for an answer. Oh dear. 'Excuse me?'

'I was just explaining to my companions that you had yet to grace me with your name.'

Really, he was quite imperious. Looking up at his austere face, something came over her then, and all the anger she had felt at this stranger's high handedness melted into mirth. Suddenly, she was fighting to keep a smile off her face.