The Wedding Dress. Kimberly Cates

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СКАЧАТЬ a few rocks was no big deal.”

      “You thought?” Butler took a step toward her. Damn if she was going to back away. She leaned deeper into his personal space instead, scowling back with Jade’s take-no-prisoners glare.

      “Yes,” Emma said crisply. “I thought. I do it all the time.”

      “Well you’re not doing it here. Do you hear me? No thinking. You do what you’re told, when you’re told. If I put up a sign that says jump, you ask off which cliff. And there is no ghost. Got it? I don’t give a damn what kind of Hollywood candy floss you want to stick all over this story. These are historical figures you’re dealing with now. Real people who deserve some respect.”

      “Respect?” Emma echoed in mock astonishment. “Are you sure you know the definition of that word or did they forget to ask that question on your way to getting your Annoying Genius badge in Boy Scouts?”

      “I wasn’t a Scout.”

      “Pity. It’s been an amazingly civilizing influence on my cousin Will. Scouting just might have taught you manners. And as for there not being a ghost at the castle, that’s something I’d love to remedy. You’d make a great ghost, Butler. One little trip off the cliff and my problems would be over. Then I could just have you exorcised or banished—or whatever psychics do to make ghosts disappear.”

      The corner of Butler’s mouth curled, so smug she wanted to slap him. “Priests exorcise demons. And psychics are a load of codswallop.”

      Be careful, Emma, a voice inside her warned. Don’t let him guess…what? That she’d spent last night imagining a ghost? That part of her would always believe in magic. Even now, after her marriage lay in ashes, she wanted to believe in a love so powerful that even centuries couldn’t kill it. She wanted a happily-ever-after for the remarkable woman who had once lived in this castle.

      Why couldn’t she keep herself from asking? “You don’t believe in ghosts?”

      Shrewd green eyes flashed. “I’m a scientist. What do you think?”

      “I’m not supposed to think, remember?” she reminded so sweetly she hoped Butler would get tooth decay. Rotten teeth. That was the perfect way to defuse the magnetism of Butler’s criminally sexy mouth.

      White teeth flashed, his smile all crooked. It was flawed, damn it. Asymmetrical. She knew people in L.A. who would have raced to a plastic surgeon to have something like that corrected. Butler should have looked awful. Instead he looked like an X-rated dream.

      There’s nothing you like about this man, Emma, she told herself. Remember that. Not one thing.

      Except that libido-blistering smile.

      Damn. Butler was watching her as if he knew what she was thinking. Those penetrating eyes swept her from head to toe.

      Emma fiddled with the small gilt dagger at her waist. “Don’t smirk at me,” she warned. “It’s irritating.”

      “Give me a few hours and I promise you’ll be too tired to care. Let’s go saddle up the horses.” Butler leveled Emma an arrogant look. “You can ride horses, can’t you? In the paper-work you filled out for the audition, you said you were an experienced rider.”

      “That depends.” Emma pressed her hand to her heart, delighting in pulling his chain. “Experience can mean so many different things to so many different people.”

      “I’m keeping the question at a five-year-old’s level since I’m still not convinced you can read.” Butler kicked the metal sign with the toe of his boot. “Can you ride? Yes or no?”

      “What do you think?” Emma challenged, hands on hips.

      “I think I’m in hell.” Butler stepped over the chain with his long legs. “But by nightfall I’m going to make bloody sure you’re right there with me.”

      Chapter Four

      THE BARN WAS DESERTED. The rest of the horses boarded at the nearby stable dozed in the morning sun as Jared tacked up Falcon, the black Andalusian stallion he borrowed to ride in mock tournaments and the dainty gray mare the studio had leased to play Lady Aislinn’s beloved Morgan le Fay.

      Jared regarded Emma with a mixture of smugness and irritation. Wary, she hung back just a little, struggling to mask her trepidation, acting nonchalant, but betraying her nervousness in tiny ways. Fidgeting with the end of her girdle, swallowing hard when she thought he wasn’t looking, nibbling at her rosy bottom lip as she thrust out a hand for the mare to sniff.

      “Don’t let her bite you,” Jared said. “She’ll think you’ve brought her a carrot.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I…Because horses are forever hopeful and I can’t have her nipping off your fingers. The studio wouldn’t like it.”

      “I wouldn’t like it either.” Emma curled her fingers back into her palm. “I faint at the sight of blood.”

      “We’ll try not to spill any then.” He glanced over toward the long canvas-wrapped bundle he’d brought with him, then figured he’d deal with it once he got the duchess up on her horse. Emma would undoubtedly need a few minutes once she was up top to remember how to breathe. “Mount up,” Jared ordered.

      “M-mount up. Right. I just put my foot in that metal thing and…”

      “It’s called a stirrup. I’ve already got it set to about the right length for your legs.”

      Emma sucked in a deep breath and then edged toward the mare.

      “I’m playing the role of groom,” Jared said. “He’d help you get up on the horse.”

      “I can—can do it myself.”

      “Sure you can. But we’re going to pretend we’re in the fourteenth century.” He closed the space between them, too close for comfort. Her hair smelled delicious, like cinnamon. He linked his hands and crouched so she could put her foot into the cup his palms formed.

      “Now just let me boost you up.”

      Obviously uneasy, she did as she was told, gripping his shoulder in a fingers-of-death hold. Her breast was inches from his face, her hair brushing in silken strands across his stubbled cheek.

      Damn good thing they hated each other. Because if they hadn’t, they might never leave the barn. “Ready?” he asked.

      She nodded.

      “One, two, three.” He straightened, half suffocating in the folds of her gown as she tried to scramble onto the horse’s back.

      She gave a nervous squeak as she fought for balance, the mare sidestepping as Emma’s arms and legs flailed like a snarl of Slinky toys, limp and useless, her body listing perilously. She seemed ready to slide off the opposite side as she grabbed the leather reins—completely by accident, Jared figured.

      Smug as a cat with a mouse in its teeth, Jared started toward her to keep her from breaking her neck. But a split second before he could reach her arm, she nabbed the stirrups with her feet, leaned СКАЧАТЬ