Page 5 of Barbarous

Ramsay’s smile faded and his full lips parted; for a change, nothing came out. It was as if the possibility of a compliment from Daphne’s late husband—a man with whom Hugh Redvers’s disagreements had been legendary—had robbed him of speech.

This breach in his confident façade made Daphne feel considerably less flustered, which was what she’d been feeling from the moment he’d entered the clearing and caught her crawling around in the grass with her coat gaping open. She had looked a bloody, ragged mess while he’d sat on his fairy-tale horse with his good-looking face and big, gorgeous body and . . . Well, suffice it to say, she could not help enjoying his discomposure, no matter how petty that might be.

“I am gratified to hear your papa had at least a few fond memories of me.” Ramsay’s tone was light, but Daphne heard the tension beneath it. He looked from one twin to the other and smiled. “I must admit I’m pleased to discover two such fine cousins.”

The boys flushed with pleasure.

Ramsay’s green eye slid from the boys to Daphne. “Two fine cousins and an aunt.”

While Daphne might have no experience with handsome, virile men below the age of seventy, even she could see the sort of man he was: a dangerous one. At least to women like her—serious, unsophisticated matrons; women who could be of no possible interest to him.

Whatever he saw on her face brought back his piratical smile and twenty years disappeared in an instant. Daphne was once again an awkward little girl afflicted with an enormous case of hero worship. It was beyond maddening; it was humiliating.

She pulled her gaze from his mesmerizing person, her face so hot that steam was probably rising from her head, and noticed everyone’s plate except hers was empty; she latched on to that excuse like a sailor clutching his last pint.

“We must be getting back,” she said, getting to her feet. She ignored the disappointed noises both boys made, brushing crumbs from the crumpled, grass-stained skirt of her habit, looking anywhere but at Hugh Redvers. She needed to put some distance between herself and the man—even if it was only a few feet.

While Daphne repacked the hamper, Caswell and Ramsay helped the twins re-saddle their ponies. When they’d finished their respective tasks and were ready to mount, Ramsay tossed Lucien into the saddle with an ease that left the boy breathless with laughter. Richard had already led his mount toward a tree stump, so Ramsay turned to Daphne.

“Auntie?” His single green eye contained enough wickedness for six eyes and she scowled up at him, hating that being called auntie made her blush. After all, Daphne was his aunt, although she was over a decade younger and there was no blood relationship. So why—

Two huge hands slid around her waist and lifted her into the saddle, expending as much effort as an average man might use to hang a picture. Daphne was just as breathless as Lucien—but mercifully did not giggle—when Ramsay handed her the reins. And then winked at her.

Heat bloomed in her chest and she opened her mouth. He smiled up at her, his eyebrows raised, and she realized he was expecting—indeed, anticipating—some scandalized response from her. She closed her mouth.

He chuckled and turned to his horse. He grasped the pommel of his saddle with his left hand and then swung his six-and-a-half-foot body onto the massive shire in a motion so easy and graceful, Daphne couldn’t be sure she had actually witnessed it.

Her sons cooed and murmured in awe. “Can you show us how to do that, Cousin Hugh?”

Ramsay had to look down at least two feet to meet Lucien’s eyes. “Of course. But you’d need to keep your pony a bit longer—I couldn’t teach you to mount a hunter, at least not yet.”

Both boys appeared to absorb that information, their identical faces serious and thoughtful—and more than halfway convinced.

The baron didn’t smile when he looked at her, but Daphne could feel his smug amusement at having quashed the tedious subject of hunters so easily.

She ignored him. “Lead on, Caswell.”

The groom put Richard in front of him and Lucien behind before heading out of the clearing.

“After you, Lady Davenport,” Ramsay said when Daphne tried to maneuver her horse into the rear. His voice was a sensual purr even though his words sounded innocent enough.

Daphne shook her head but didn’t bother to argue. The winking, the sly looks, what did they mean? Was he flirting with her?

Surely not.

Still, never having engaged in such frivolity herself, Daphne was hardly adept at recognizing flirtation. Not that she had ever wanted to flirt. Even if she’d had the inclination to indulge in such a vapid activity, she had never had the opportunity. She’d been seventeen when she married the Earl of Davenport. And before that? Her hand tightened on the reins. Well, before her marriage there had only been Malcolm.

Her mare’s ears twitched at the tension in her body and Daphne forced herself to relax. She would think about Malcolm and his demands later. Right now she had her hands full with the man behind her.

It didn’t matter if he was flirting with her or not. Daphne might be woefully inexperienced when it came to the opposite sex, but even she knew better than to engage in flirtatious banter with a man who’d been a hardened rake at the tender age of twenty. Flirtation was probably as natural as breathing to the odiously attractive man.

Daphne would just have to ignore any lures he cast toward her—and he’d lose his charming smile and friendly twinkle when she eventually confessed the truth to him.

She shuddered at the thought of that particular conversation. Just how could she return what was legally his without destroying her sons’ lives in the process? How?

She was still brooding on the calamitous subject when her horse crested the rise and a fantastical scene drove all other thoughts from her mind.

Chapter Two