In The Devil's Stables (Spirited #1)

Chapter 17

Greyson groaned, his face tilted towards the darkening sky. He was cursed.

It simply had to rain hours after they had left the inn. And not a sprinkling drizzle. No, it must be a monsoon of epic proportions that sunk wariness into his bones, and at the same time plastering his greatcoat to his chest, causing goose flesh to dot his arms. He shifted his hips, cursing when his breeches tightened abnormally against his lower body. It only worsened with the steady clop of his horse, making his body shift forwards in a rather uncomfortable manner, indeed.

It would be a bloody miracle if he didn't find himself a soprano by journey's end.

He glanced over his shoulder towards Charlie, barely hearing the hoofbeats of her horse over the rain. The last thing Greyson needed - but one he was prepared for - was his unwilling servant giving him the slip.

Instead, another vision entirely greeted him. The bloody chit was grinning like a heathen.

Greyson's breath lodged in his chest when the daft creature tilted her head back, opening her mouth as if to catch the meandering droplets. She giggled, her hands lightly clenching the reins of her horse, as she galloped at a quick pace beside him. It about took ten years off his bloody life.

Greyson's eyes narrowed as he thought back to last evening. Make that twenty years off his life.

"Do be careful, will you?" Greyson called back, trying to making his voice as nonchalant as possible when he wanted nothing more than to throttle the reckless action of the madwoman behind him. "I would hate for all my tiresome troubles over the last few days to be wasted and not get my dutiful servant because you broke your bloody neck."

The lady laughed.

Laughed!

Her chin swept down, rain dancing merrily about her. Strands of dark hair appeared black as they plastered themselves to the paleness of her face. Her eyes squinted against the plunking of drops that landed on the tip of her nose and upon the curves of her cheekbones. She grinned at him, one hand clasping her hat firmly atop her head. "You have been caterwauling all morning, my lord. What? Are you not a fan of the rain, then?"

"I don't caterwaul," Greyson said, shouting to be heard over the storm. His body stiffened in affront at the very idea. The chit laughed at him again, her bright eyes alive, sparking like the lightning that chose that moment to flash across the sky. I am simply not used to being plagued unnecessarily by deuced challenging women! But what he replied instead was, "Besides, who would like the rain when it logs down my clothing and slows down my bloody journey. I feel like a damned drowned rat."

But, truth be told, his vile mood had begun much earlier than this morn.

It had been sharing a bedchamber with this woman, her intense eyes on his person, equal parts curious and embarrassed. The first ten minutes it had been an exercise in control. Her eyes had shifted away only to continue their minute inspection. This, Greyson had been sure, was what a caged animal felt like.

He had thought it would be a simple business. Get ready for bed, ignore the chit and sleep soundly.  After all, he had barely slept a wink thanks in large part to the woman currently in his rooms. Greyson had used the washbasin, as per usual, scrubbing with lukewarm water the traces of dirt and grime and sweat that had bled into his skin.

The water turned muddy and gray before reaching for the cloth to pat his face dry. The stubble gracing his jaw made him wish for soap and a razor.

Greyson had looked up then, feeling that consuming blue-green gaze, and his eyes had clashed with hers. The bloody woman hadn't even looked away. No. The lady had licked her lips. An innocent gesture he was sure, one she wasn't even aware of making. Greyson found his muscles pulling taut, nevertheless. He had clenched the edge of the basin as if his very life depended upon it. Closing his eyes, he had sought divine intervention.