Free Christie by Veronica Sattler Page B

breeder of fine horses. Garrett had found him intelligent, canny, and personable, a combination rarely found in one of his immense wealth and station. And he was self-made, a fact Garrett particularly admired and respected, for was he not himself largely the product of his own making? Yes, this had been a productive trip, sure to lead to equally satisfying future dealings, and he was no longer begrudging the time it had cost to make it. He lit a couple of candles in the elegant silver candlesticks dotting the room here and there, and then a cheroot, before stretching out comfortably on the big tester bed that filled one end of the warmly appointed room.
    Even the accompanying social involvements had proved to be—interesting. He paused briefly over an image of Christie Trevellyan as she had appeared on the terrace this afternoon. He smiled softly to himself as he recalled the stunning picture she had presented, her dewy, fresh face dominated by those large turquoise eyes, at once open and captivating in what their greater depths promised. . . . She had worn an unadorned white gown that by its very simplicity had emphasized the slender beauty of her young body. And that face of unbelievable perfection and innocence . . . Innocence! Aye, there was the rub! She was innocent—a protected, sheltered virgin, if he'd ever seen one, and, with an annoyed flick of his cigar ash into the nearby ashtray, he reminded himself of what he'd come dangerously close to forgetting. Christie Trevellyan was off limits, not only because she was the adored daughter of a man he'd come to like and respect, but, as he reminded himself for the dozenth time, or more, because dalliances with young, inexperienced females were not a part of his style. He had more sense and scruples than to be involved in the business of deflowering wide-eyed virgins!
    Now, willing, experienced women were another matter entirely. His thoughts turned toward Laurette Mayfield. She had made no secret of her attraction toward him; he'd seen that look too many times before. And their encounter on the terrace had confirmed her ready availability.
    He picked up his watch from the small candle stand beside the bed, where he'd placed it. Nine o'clock. It shouldn't be too long now. She'd come. She had said it would depend on whether she could get away unseen from her bedchamber at the house, but he knew she would. Women like her always managed.
    His mind drifted in anticipation of the coming tryst. Laurette would be a tasty enough little morsel. Her figure was nicely rounded and she had a beautiful face. Her eyes had told him what their later embrace had verified. She knew her way around men! His lips curled into a self-satisfied smile and his eyes half-closed in lazy anticipation of what lay ahead. It had been awhile since he'd had a woman. The timing on this was just about right. From time to time a man found it necessary to relieve the ache in his groin!
    Christie made her way noiselessly from the stables as she walked the path leading back to the house. The moon was almost full tonight, affording plenty of light to see things clearly, but even if it had been moonless, she would have had little trouble finding her way, so familiar was this route.
    It must be late, she realized, as she passed through the apple orchard that stood near one end of the compound where the guesthouses lay. She hoped Almeira hadn't become concerned regarding her whereabouts. But that was unlikely. Mistress Debbs had seen her take the sugar for Thunder; she would have told them where she was likely to be—as if they, anyone in the household, wouldn't be able to guess where Christie was when she disappeared for a while like this! Hadn't Aunt Celia made a regular habit of complaining about her constant attentions to Thunder?
    Suddenly she stopped still in her tracks as she spied something moving across the shadows thrown by the great oak trees that stood like sentinels along the walk leading from the main