Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 (6 page)

“Masks? Interesting. Did they have one particular leader?”

Closing his eyes, Arthur fought to remain calm and unaffected, but the memory of that woman made a snarl twist his lips.

“Hey, easy.” Cole gripped his arm in a comforting squeeze that shouldn’t feel so good. Arthur didn’t deserve the man’s help after what he’d done to him, but this time, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “What did she look like?”

“They called her Corbus and she always wore black. Her mask was a horrendous black beak with so many feathers that I couldn’t tell what color her hair was. She’s the one who…hurt me. The most.”

“Anything else you can think of?”

Arthur shook his head but didn’t move away from the man’s steadying touch. “I was only there for a short while. Most of it is a blur, like a bad dream that I know was horrible but I don’t want to remember.”

“I’ll let Her Grace know what you’ve told me. She’s going to invite some mistresses to a gathering in a few days. Let us know if you recognize anyone.”

Arthur nodded despite the chill sweat trickling down his spine. He wasn’t afraid of any of the auction house cronies.
I’m afraid the Duchess will put me down as soon as I try to kill someone on Blackmyre grounds. Because so help me God, I’m killing Corbus as soon as I lay eyes on her.

“Can I give you one last piece of advice?”

Arthur dared a direct look into the other man’s eyes, braced for accusation. Instead, Cole gave him a playful dimpled grin that he found alarmingly attractive.

“If I were you, I’d start talking to Her Grace posthaste. Your refusal is a challenge she can’t ignore. It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. She’s determined to dig in and lay siege until you surrender. Everything.”

Arthur scowled. “She’s welcome to try.”

Cole laughed. “That’s what I was afraid of. Good luck, my friend. I’ll enjoy watching the battle.”

Chapter Five

Dressed in breeches and a plain linen shirt, Violet sank into the welcoming, familiar routine of the ring. She needed this as much as Cole did. Once he found a mistress who could satisfy his need to run as a pony, then she’d take to her bed and let nature take its course. Hopefully the disease would progress quickly, because the knowledge that Cole was running for someone else would kill her as quickly as losing the ability to breathe.

Today, they also had a visitor. Dottie had nagged her into sitting in on a pony session. It made Violet a little nervous since she didn’t know how the new man would respond. He might still be too violent and raw to settle into a calming routine, which wasn’t a good way to introduce anyone to the pleasure that could be had between a pony and his mistress. Now that he was physically healed, she needed to see how much damage had been done to his mind and his potential as a pony.

The whip in her right hand was an extension of her arm, her silent signals to Cole conveying her will. She didn’t have to touch him with it and no sharp crack of pain was needed to send him plunging in the opposite direction. He kept a careful eye on her in the center of the ring, reading her will through her body language and the subtle movements of her arm.

She’d chosen to lunge him without any reins, just the pony and the mistress and the whip. He preferred their play to be as simple and natural as possible, so while he wore no clothes, neither did he wear fake booted hooves or elaborate harnesses. She’d rubbed him down with oil until every inch of his lean, tight body gleamed. The only pony accoutrements he wore were a bridle and of course, his tail. Made from horsehair as close to the same natural sandy brown as his hair, the plug fit him firmly, providing him with a full, fine tail. He never pranced so much as when his tail was in place, which never ceased to amuse her.

The idea had both revolted and titillated her when he’d first broached the subject. Now, she’d expect nothing less than his tail swishing the backs of his legs when they played. It gave him an authenticity they both enjoyed.

Even if she hadn’t heard the door open, she’d have known they had company by the faint flicker in Cole’s attention. His gaze wavered toward the door just a moment, skin and muscle shifting just like a horse would signal with his body. He too knew they had an audience. A very important, delicate audience that interested Cole immensely.

She waited for the same pulse of jealousy at the thought of another mistress replacing her, but she felt nothing but intense interest. She wanted to see exactly how rough Arthur took him. If he was as wild and vicious as she suspected.

Cole arched his neck more and blew out a deep snort, drawing her attention back to him. The glint in his eye spoke of both determination and amusement, as though to say,
Let him see me at my best, Mistress.

She smiled and snapped the whip in the air, just a pop that sent him trotting more energetically about the ring.
Indeed, my boy, let’s give him a damned fine show.

“Welcome to Lady Blackmyre’s private stable,” the man said in a low voice, motioning Arthur inside. “I’m Dain, a friend and colleague of Her Grace. This is the only entry to this part of the stable, and I’m locking the door behind you. No one else has a key but Lady Blackmyre and myself. What happens here stays within these walls.”

Arthur hoped his eyes weren’t bulging from their sockets and that his mouth was appropriately closed instead of slack while he gaped like a fool. Dain was clearly a horse master, dressed in riding clothes as Her Grace. He gazed at Arthur with the same calm, steady appraisal that he’d devote to a new horse at market, as if he didn’t need words at all to access his wellbeing and comfort.

“Come, Arthur, I’ll show you to your seat.”

In a daze, he followed the man, trying to see everything all at once. The high roof soared above the ring and boxes had been built in two concentric rows, just as a small theatre. She might have meant him to sit and enjoy the scene, but he paused at the rail, unable to look away.

Cole ran—no, trotted—about the ring completely naked. The recent mauling Arthur had given him was evident in an angry-looking bruised bite mark on his shoulder. The man wore a simple leather headpiece…er, bridle. And a tail. That part made Arthur swallow hard, though he couldn’t look away. It looked authentic. The way Cole carried himself…

Head high, neck arched, he picked his feet up quickly and smoothly with a little sashay that sent that tail swishing back and forth across his thighs.

Arthur could almost feel the prickle of long hairs down his legs, and he wondered… God help him, he wondered exactly what it would feel like for his arse to be filled up while he trotted, moving about the ring, with that hair tickling his flesh.

At least now he knew why Cole had been oiled that night. He must have come straight from the ring to Arthur’s room.

He swallowed hard again, his throat aching, and he clenched his hands on the rail. The longer he watched, the more he felt like he was sinking. Drowning. Losing himself into the steady slapping of the pony’s hooves on the ground, the gentle flicker of the whip, and the cool, still mistress at the helm.

Blowing hard, he backed away from the ring. From her. The vision of the pony—
Cole! His name is Cole!
—sucking him under, rolling him down to deadly depths. A place of darkness.
I’m losing myself.

“Steady now, boy.” Dain slapped him lightly on the shoulder, a sting of comfort that shook some of the suffocating fear away. “This is a place of safety. No one’s ever hurt or terrified here.”

You don’t understand
, he tried to cry out, but his throat was locked shut. He was afraid if he tried to speak at all, only a desperate whinny would escape. It wasn’t pain he feared. Pain would drive him to the killing rage that would ground him back in reality. He feared losing himself, all sense of humanity, all decency, all pride, forever.
God help me!

“Watch her, boy. Look at the way Cole responds to her. They’re one, woman and horse. He’s so fully under her spell that he’d try to stop breathing if she willed it.”

Exactly.
Arthur tried to squeeze his eyes shut against the sight but since the man, the master, had ordered him to look, he found himself unable to disobey. It was a burning compulsion. A need to respond and comply, a bone-deep urge to sink further into their seductive world.

She raised the whip straight overhead and every muscle in Arthur’s body went rigid. Now she’d hurt him. They’d all see what happened to fools who dared play such a depraved game. He trembled, waiting for the crack, the whinnied scream of terror, but it never came.

Cole swung around to face her, waiting for her signal. The tip of the whip touched the ground and he moved toward her. He dropped his head, bending down to press his forehead to hers. Her hands slid up either side of his face into his hair. Mane. Whatever. He made a low sound of affection rather like a nicker and she laughed softly.

A sound that curled around Arthur like warm silk.

Still casually gripping a handful of his hair, she walked Cole over to the side table. She lifted a dipper of water for him and he drank deeply. Then she began brushing his hair and gliding her hands over his body.
Grooming him, that’s what it’s called.

There wasn’t anything sexual in it. She didn’t force him to pleasure her. She didn’t try to arouse him. In fact, the more she rubbed him, the more Cole drooped in more ways than one.

“This time is important,” Dain said softly. “It’s comforting to them both. It brings Cole down out of the place she took him so he’s no longer a pony but back in his skin, solid and real as a man. It’s a time of affection and safety. She’s grounding him back in reality before she removes his bridle.”

“When—” he cleared the sandpaper rasp out of his throat, “—when does she fuck him?”

“She doesn’t.” Dain’s voice chilled, his manner less gentle and harder as though he was disappointed in the question. “Not unless he wants it. Lady Blackmyre would never take a man against his will. That’s not her way, nor mine.”

Arthur didn’t care if he’d earned the man’s disdain. He was too focused on the couple in the ring. He strained to hear their conversation, but their words were too low, too soft. She stroked Cole and he nuzzled her cheek affectionately, still horse-like despite their words.

She gripped the tail and Arthur tensed along with Cole, as though his entire body rejected the idea of slipping back into his humanity. Reluctantly, the plug slipped from his body and Cole transformed. The way he held his shoulders changed, the angle of his head shifted, and he was a man. Less, somehow, and more at the same time because of the transformation.

Arthur couldn’t put his finger on exactly what changed but it was monumental. Fundamental. In a way he couldn’t quite grasp even while every cell in his body burned to experience that same fiery shift of reality.

His fingers ached. Only then did he remember to release the death grip on the rail. Fighting to stay and watch? Or trying to keep himself from leaping over the rail and demanding the bit for himself? He burned, his skin damp and hot as though fever raged through his body, his shirt plastered to his body.

Worse, his cock thudded, furious at being trapped in his trousers, a hungry, desperate thing that demanded attention.

He didn’t want Cole. Not this time.

He wanted
her
. And that scared him more than anything.

“Blackmyre!” Dain called out a warning but she was already turning to face Arthur as he flew over the railing and charged toward her. She’d been aware of him hovering in her peripheral vision like a storm cloud, so dangerous that she daren’t turn her back on him fully.

From her viewpoint in the highest box, Dottie screamed.

Violet said nothing nor did she move other than shifting to face him fully. Cole cursed beneath his breath and scrambled forward as though to put his body between hers and the approaching threat. “Cole, out.”

He froze immediately but hesitated to obey her command fully. “Mistress…”

“Get out, pet.” She softened her voice and used her most rare term of endearment for him so he’d know she wasn’t upset with him. He’d only get hurt and then she’d be obliged to send Arthur away before he hurt someone again. “I don’t need any protection from him.”

Arthur slid to a halt just a pace away, breathing hard and loudly like a defiant herd stallion. His eyes glittered with malice, his nostrils wide, his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. But it only took a quick glance to confirm that he was aroused. He’d liked what he’d seen. Perhaps too much.

Cole sidled closer, trying to insinuate himself between them. “Are you sure?”

“You’re competition,” she chided gently, sparing a touch to his bare shoulder without looking away from the threat. Arthur let a low growl rumble from his chest and he lowered his head even more, teeth bared and shoulders straining. “See? He’s jealous. You’ve had your time. Now let him come to me of his own will.”

She’d hoped her jibe at jealousy would draw Arthur to speak to her if only to deny his supposed interest, but his will in this regard refused to be swayed. Relinquishing his protective stance, Cole strode toward the side exit while Arthur glared and huffed at him every step of the way. It was amusing in a way, to see the new horse in the herd, so to speak, so possessive when he despised her so vehemently, but she kept that amusement hidden. She waited until Cole was gone and Arthur’s attention swung back to her.