Free Yankee Earl by Shirl Henke Page A

bits, she would not have to marry him. But of course, that was utterly ridiculous. Guiding Reddy up onto the bank, she blinked the water from her eyes and beheld a sight that made her blood run cold. Jason was on the ground with both dogs on top of him! ‘Oh, please, God, no,” she murmured, then jumped from the gelding's back, shrieking at the mastiffs. “Venus! Helen! Come!”
           Then it dawned on her why they had not obeyed her commands. Jason's laughter echoed across the clearing. The accursed man was playing with her girls! They were rolling and flopping about like a pair of puppies. Striding up angrily, she stood over them, glaring as Jason got to one knee, casually thumping Venus on a haunch.
           He looked up at Rachel with a big grin splitting his face. “Now, be good girls and sit.” When they both obeyed the command, he could see her bristle with anger.
           Smothering a good hearty laugh, he turned his attention back to the mastiffs, saying, “You are beautiful young ladies but too forward by half. Rolling about on the grass with a strange man is simply not the done thing, I'm given to understand.” He tsked scolding at them, and they obliged by falling on their sides and fawning adoringly at his feet.
           “Next time I shall bring Adonis and Paris instead of these two worthless beasts,” she said sweetly. “I doubt you'd charm them quite so easily.”
           He raised one eyebrow at her and answered, “No, not males of any species…but as to rolling about on the grass with a beautiful female…” He eyed her appreciatively, enjoying it when she looked down with horror at the way her sheer white linen shirt had molded to her breasts.
           Rachel realized that she was once again at a disadvantage with the lout, thanks to Reddy. Her shirt and britches were soaked, and her hair had come unfastened from its plait in her headlong gallop from the woods. Great masses of damp brown curls hung down her back and spilled over her shoulders. She started to smooth her shirtfront and tuck it back into the waistband of her pants, but caught herself just in time. Instead she tossed her head, sending the heavy hair flying backward as she said, “If you had whispered that lewd comment to me at the ball, I should have been well justified in dumping champagne over your head.”
           “A pity I didn't think of anything half so improper,” he replied.
           “My sister is convinced that you're a fearful lecher and that my father should break the engagement at once.”
           “She's correct about my lechery. Perhaps you could cry off. But then, do you think it possible that your father would make another match, with some fellow even more odious than I?”
           Rachel started in surprise. That probability had plagued her for weeks before she'd met the Yankee. He was quite bright even if he was an insufferable sap skull. “Although I am loath to admit it, there are men in London worse than you—but only one or two,” she quickly added.
           He found it difficult to concentrate when she reached up to plait that magnificent chocolate-colored mane. The wet cloth of her shirt clung lovingly to the curves of her breasts, leaving little to his imagination—and Jason had a most excellent imagination. “Men such as Forrestal?”
           She blinked and pinned him with those clear hazel-green eyes. “What do you know of Etherington's heir, other than that you are the better fencer?”
           Jason shrugged. “Only that he offered for you and your father turned him down. A wise move that. Forrestal gambles to excess and is so deep in dun territory 'twould take your whole dowry to pay his vowels.”
           “How fortunate that my father and your grandfather concocted our match instead,” she said ironically. Of course, it would never occur to Jason Beaumont that any man would want her for aught but her