Claire Tremaine, the widowed Marchioness of Derebourne, wears leather breeches, trains horses, and helps the damaged ones find their lost spirit. Her husband has just passed away, leaving her with no place to live.
Chastain Warren, the Earl of Kensington, Chase to his friends, isn't pleased when he learns he's inherited the title of Marquess of Derebourne. Having recently lost his beloved wife and child, the last thing he wants is to be caretaker of Hillcrest Abbey. Nor does he want to be attracted to Derebourne's widow, but he is. This woman who wears breeches isn't anything like the ladies he's waltzed with in the ballrooms of London.
It doesn't take Claire long to realize she wants this man, and when he resists, she comes up with a plan she calls The Training of a Marquess and works her horse-whispering magic on Chase.
Page Count: 332
Word Count: 86292
“I asked if you have come for another kiss.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He spread his legs. “Come here then.”
Thank you, she wanted to say, but it seemed silly. She stepped into the embrace of his body. Heat enveloped her as muscled arms circled her waist. She laid her head on his chest. His heart pounded in her ear, and it thrilled her to know it beat rapidly because of her.
His hands pressed against her spine and she snuggled closer. He curled her hair around his fist, gently pulled her face away from his chest and peered down at her, his eyes the blue of an agitated ocean—dark and stormy.
“Claire,” he murmured as he lowered his head.
His mouth moved over hers in a playful tease. Wanting to taste him, she licked his bottom lip. A low hum vibrated deep in his throat, and the teasing turned into a kiss so deeply carnal her legs lost their ability to support her. His arm tightened around her back, the only thing holding her up.
He broke the kiss, picked her up and carried her to a lounge partially hidden by several tall potted plants. Claire slid her arms around his neck and buried her face against his skin. The scent of bergamot, milled soap, and the male musk that was him drugged her senses.
No words had passed between them since he had whispered her name, but none seemed needed to identify this fire burning inside her. Did he feel it, too?
For tonight, he would belong to her.
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