The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords Book 3) by Tracy Sumner

Author:Tracy Sumner [Sumner, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-03-01T23:00:00+00:00

He liked her too much. Had the hellion ever considered that?

Sebastian cursed and raced across the field after her, damned glad he’d been forced as a lad to learn to ride, and ride well. His demanding tyrant of a father wouldn’t have accepted less. Because if Sebastian was suited to the saddle, Delaney was magic. Agile ease he’d never seen in a woman, not even Countess Dellucci, who’d learned to ride during her girlhood in France and was the leading female whip in London. Among other things.

Maybe Delaney’s agility was due to her petite frame, which allowed her to bend so low over her mare’s neck they were one. Or the way she intuited her horse’s rhythm, letting the beast stretch its legs, then move into an all-out gallop that tore up the earth without missing a beat.

He only discerned that, aside from her raging intelligence, her gentle joy and boundless daring, her equestrian skills pushed him over the brink.

Left him wanting to touch her—more than he’d wanted to touch anyone in years. Hell, ever.

His mind crawled into a masculine cellar full of images like the jiggle of Delaney’s breasts as she cleared a shallow ditch in one elegant leap; the thick length of inky-black hair that had come loose from one of her frivolous knots and streamed behind her like the tail of a flag; the pert bottom popping the saddle in time with her mount’s hoofbeats.

That last one, especially, was having a debilitating effect on his senses.

He was only human. A human who greatly appreciated a taut derriere.

In close pursuit but wholly distracted, Sebastian was unprepared for the shot that rang out from the north parklands, a dull discharge that echoed through the air. He reached blindly into his satchel and yanked out his pistol while bringing his mount around with a hard press of his thighs, a fierce effort to keep his body in the saddle atop a startled horse.

He turned in prancing steps, and his heart fell to his knees, his fingertips tingling until he knew, he knew, a blaze was going to start raging around them.

Delaney’s mount was riderless, reins dangling as the mare tore across the meadow. Squinting, Sebastian spotted a splash of yellow fabric amidst the high, green grass. Leaping from the saddle, he crossed to where she lay in five panicked strides, telling himself to control his gift as his fingertips blazed.

She was on her back, motionless when he reached her. Cheeks covered in grass and dirt, a bruise coloring her jaw. “Delaney,” he said and dropped to his knee beside her, jamming his pistol in his waistband. His hand quivered as he gently touched her shoulder, afraid to move her, should she have broken a bone.

“Tremont,” she whispered, her lids fluttering.

He rocked back, so relieved he had to drop his head to clear his dappled vision. Damn this reckless, rebellious chit. Drawing a staggered inhalation, he began to trail his hands along her arms, checking for injuries as he had with his soldiers in the field.

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