Taming the Duke (5 page)

When he approached the stall, Dalton noticed the bar across the door had been removed. Irritation rushed through him. It wasn’t like Ulger or the staff to be careless and leave Bashshar’s stall unlocked! Dalton eased the door open.

Alicia stood alone beneath the overhead lantern, barely a few feet from Bashshar. The stallion lowered his head, not making a sound. Dalton wanted to rush to her, protect her in case Bashshar reared. Instead, Dalton hesitated, afraid to make a sudden movement that might startle the horse.

She was dressed in a pristine nightgown, with white lace circling her neck. Her unbound auburn
hair shimmered like liquid fire beneath the lamplight. The white wool shawl draped around her shoulders did nothing to prevent his imagination from visualizing what she’d look like naked.

My God, she looked like an enchantress!

He was reminded of the scene painted across the ceiling of the hunting lodge. Potnia, the auburn-haired mistress of wild animals, cavorted in naked splendor among the clouds, surrounded by lions, griffins and deer.

Alicia turned to look at him, her fingers stroking Bashshar’s neck. The stallion raised his powerful black head suddenly, as though showing his master the strange interloper in their midst.

Dalton couldn’t believe his eyes. In one brief visit, Alicia had soothed the animal more than the other handlers had done in the past month.

How vulnerable and alluring she appeared in the soft lantern light. Gone was the stubborn glint in her large brown eyes. Now, those soft, velvety orbs were filled with compassion for Bashshar.

Perhaps it was appreciation that filled his heart. She had put aside her anger to come to the estate to aid a wounded animal. Just watching her with Bashshar gave him hope that this strange young woman might accomplish what the horse experts had said couldn’t be done.

Were you in love with Justin Sykes?
he wanted to ask. Then for a split second, Dalton didn’t care. He wanted her. Desire charged through his veins like molten lava. He wanted to be the man who would tame her haughty spirit.

“You’re staring at me.” She bit her bottom lip as she studied him with an innocence that nearly undid him. What the hell was the matter with him? He forced the incredible idea from his mind.

Maybe his strange feelings were the result of learning the details about her fall from grace. When was the last time he’d heard of another human being, with nothing to gain, performing a sacrifice for him?

Sacrifice, hell! Even though Alicia had refused Cinnamon Rose, more than likely she knew that her father would insist upon the mare as payment.

Suddenly Bashshar whinnied, tossing his head, his ears back. Dalton leaped forward, grabbing the stallion’s bridle, holding the horse firmly. “Perhaps it’s best if you return to your cottage.”

“Bashshar has a right to express himself when he wants,” she whispered, not wanting to excite the horse.

Express himself? Dalton turned to stare at her. “Bashshar isn’t your common, tea-party-variety horse, Lady Alicia. He’s injured and he’s not responsible for what he’s doing. Besides, he obeys only me.”

Alicia pulled the shawl tightly around herself and lifted her chin in that stubborn way Dalton was beginning to recognize. “Then give Bashshar the orders, not me. For I don’t obey you, your grace.”

Dalton couldn’t help but laugh. “Then consider it a suggestion rather than an order. Return to your cottage, my lady. I had a good reason for wanting you to wait until morning to see the horses. Many
guests wander into the stables, eager for a midnight ride. What would they think if they found an angelic beauty wandering half-clad among the stalls.”

She patted at the folds in her nightgown. “And what are you doing here, so late at night?” Her tone made him feel as though he were the trespasser. “Are you planning a midnight ride?”

“No. I always look in on Bashshar before retiring. Regardless of what you might think of me, I care about Bashshar.”

“Tell me how Bashshar was injured. You’ve frightened your stable boy so badly that the lad is afraid to speak of the incident.”

“You’ve been questioning my servants?” He smiled and folded his arms across his chest.

She glanced at Bashshar. “I’m here to try to heal your horse.” Her aloof expression faded to one of compassion. “I need to know the truth about the accident.” Her voice softened and there was no trace of her earlier rancor.

Dalton studied her. As she gazed at the stallion, goodness illuminated her face. When she looked like that, he felt he could trust her completely.

“It was late afternoon,” he began. “I was returning from exercising Bashshar, when a shot rang out from the nearby gaming fields. We were almost on top of the man when the second gun fired—the shot that struck Bashshar.”

“Did you see the shooter?”

“No, he was too well hidden in the hedgerow.”

“Then why do you think the shooter was a man?”

Surprised, Dalton hesitated. “The idea that it might be a woman never crossed my mind.”

Alicia’s eyes flashed. “Really?” Her lips twitched. “You’ve never given a woman reason to shoot at you?”

He chuckled. “You bring up an interesting point.”

Alicia’s expression turned serious. “Were you injured, too?”

“No.”

Alicia touched the horse’s cheek. “Since the incident, you haven’t found out any more about the shooter?”

“The authorities are still examining the matter.”

She nodded, as though satisfied for the moment. “I believe I understand Bashshar’s fear.” She stroked the length of the animal’s nose with a feather touch.

Dalton studied her delicate hands. For an instant, he could almost imagine those cool, soft, healing fingers upon his brow. “What is it you do? Do you see into the animal’s mind?”

She shook her head, her gaze fixed on the horse. “No. I can’t see things. I only sense things. Usually only fragments. But with Bashshar, I felt his panic before I opened the stall door and saw him.” Her eyes brightened. “I also sensed that he wanted me to help him.”

Bashshar was accepting her more readily than Dalton thought possible. What was there about this young woman that filled him with hope? Maybe he only wanted to believe that Bashshar might be saved? “How do you heal the animals?”

The question caused her to turn and smile at Dalton. How lovely she looked when she smiled. Or was it that she seemed, for the first time, to be at ease with him?

“It’s quite natural, really.” Her eyes shone. “First, I must gain their trust. Although this takes time, I begin by filling my mind with a sense of peace. Perhaps the animal senses that if I’m serene, then I won’t harm it.” Her cheeks brightened with a pink tinge, as if she expected he might ridicule her explanation.

Instead, Dalton was enthralled. “Who taught you this skill?”

“My grandfather taught me about horses and their training.”

“Your mother’s father?”

“Yes, the earl of Longworth.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Dalton said, amazed that he hadn’t made the connection between Alicia and her well-known grandfather.

She smiled when she recognized his admiration. “My grandfather built Marston Heath on land he had inherited from his father. Grandfather was an expert horseman, who had developed a fine stable of racing stock before he died.”

Dalton felt overwhelmed with curiosity. He wanted to know everything about her. “What did he teach you about horses?”

She chuckled. “It would take months to answer that question.” She glanced at Bashshar, her face becoming serious. “My grandfather had translated and studied the work of Xenophon, the Greek, whose
training of horses in the third century, B.C., advocated kindness rather than cruelty.” Her eyes sparkled with the memory. “My grandfather taught me Xenophon’s techniques, which I’ve used with success on most animals.” She brought her gaze back to his and smiled faintly. “I think you would have liked my grandfather, but he died six years ago.”

“I would have considered meeting him a privilege,” Dalton said, gazing into her immense brown eyes. Standing in the golden lantern light, in Bashshar’s stall, she looked so natural, as though she were at home with the animals.

“The way you look just now, reminds me of Potnia, the Greek goddess of wild animals,” he said. “In the hunting lodge, there’s a ceiling mural of her, standing in the forest among lions and deer.”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “She is also called the Sweet Virgin, and she’s usually shown with her magical griffins, which are thought to protect her.”

He lifted a black brow in amazement. “You’re familiar with Greek mythology?”

She smiled. “My grandfather was also a scholar, who believed in the unpopular notion that women should be educated. My mother and her sisters were much too proper to care for books, but I loved to read. My grandfather taught me French, Latin and Greek, which came easily to me. He taught me history, literature and art,” she added wistfully.

He realized again how truly amazing she was. She was nothing like his mother, or Elizabeth or the practiced lovers he had known. Alicia appeared
to have a stronger inner strength than his sister, Olivia, but maybe Alicia’s pride gave that impression. All he knew was that the more he learned about Alicia, the more he wanted to know.

“This sense of peace,” Dalton said. “How do you manage it?”

She blushed becomingly, and, if he didn’t know better, he’d have thought her shy. “No one has ever asked me that.” Her gaze remained on the horse, her left hand petting the powerful neck.

Dalton was aware she hadn’t answered his question, but he decided not to pursue it. Instead, he took her free hand and placed it against his chest. “What do you feel now, Alicia?”

Her dark eyes widened as he felt his heartbeat pound beneath her fragile touch. “Surely if you can behold a horse’s spirit, you can behold a man’s?”

A sudden spark ignited between them. He felt it through his fingers. Or had he imagined it?

Alicia curled her fingers into her palm and withdrew her hand. She stepped back, as though he had never asked the question. “I’ll provide you with daily reports of Bashshar’s progress, your grace.” Her voice held no emotion.

What had happened between them? For the briefest of seconds, he knew that she’d sensed it, too. Dalton stepped back, suddenly needing to break away. “If you require anything, ask Ulger, the stable master.” Dalton’s voice held steady, despite his sudden unease. “Ulger has been instructed to tell the servants to protect your privacy.”

Dalton opened the door and allowed her to pass
in front of him. “I’ll drive you to your cottage in the carriage. It’s too dark for you to walk the long distance alone,” he added, returning the bar across the latch. He watched the deep crimson strands of her hair shine like live coals when she walked beneath the lantern. She hurried through the long building until the main entrance came into view.

Outside, he handed her into the carriage. “I hope you found your quarters to your liking.”

“Yes, thank you.”

He noticed she was trembling. Was she suddenly afraid to be alone with him? Dalton wondered. Or was it his earlier remark that at any hour, a member of the ton might enter the stables?

When they finally reached the cottage, he helped her down and bowed as gallantly as if she were debutante of the year. “Good night, Lady Alicia.”

Before going inside, she waited until the carriage wheeled along the path and disappeared into the night. “Good night, your grace,” she whispered when her breath finally returned.

The morning’s sunlight bathed the snowy marble walls of the horse stables with gold rays. Alicia checked over her charge. Bashshar stood patiently, showing no sign of his past nervousness. Sensing only mild apprehension in the animal this morning, she felt pleased and relieved that the stallion was accepting her so readily.

Oats brimmed from the grain bucket, fresh hay and water had been carried inside and fed to the stallion. If no one could handle Bashshar except
Dalton, that meant the duke must have performed the chores himself, leaving before daylight.

“So, you’ve already seen your master?” She grinned when Bashshar tossed his head. “Then you won’t mind if I leave you for a bit.” She smiled when the stallion hesitated, as though listening to her words. “I’ll look in on you, later.”

She moved at a snail’s pace toward the door, doing nothing that might startle the animal and break the thin line of trust they had established.

Alicia found a shortcut through the woods to the cottage. The walk was shorter but, more important, the trail was more isolated from the chance meeting of strangers along the bridal path nearby. When she heard footsteps outside the cottage door, she peeked out the window. She was surprised to see a gentlewoman standing at the door with her maid. The lady, a lovely, fair-haired woman, was dressed in a green riding costume and matching feathered bonnet.

“Good morning, Lady Alicia,” the woman said when Alicia opened the door. “I’m Lady Olivia Seabrook, Dalton’s sister.”

Alicia invited her inside, then suddenly realized how she must look. “Forgive my appearance, my lady, but—”

“No need to apologize, my dear. You look lovely.” The maid remained outside while Olivia removed her gloves and took a seat by the window. “Last night, my brother confided the circumstances of your visit.” She smiled, and Alicia sensed that her kindness was sincere.

“Thank you, Lady Olivia. I believe I’ve made the beginning of a fragile truce with Bashshar.”

“I understand that you’re duty is foremost to Bashshar, but I’ll not let you spend all of your time in the stables.” Olivia paused, as though expecting Alicia to object. “I was on my way to ride this morning. My favorite mount is Mischief, the high-spirited roan in the east wing of the stable. Why don’t I have Mischief saddled for you, then you can join me on my ride? I’d like the chance for us to get to know each other.”

“But I thought—”

“It’s much too lovely a morning to waste inside.” She smiled, revealing deep dimples, just like Dalton’s.

“Thank you, Lady Olivia, but no. I’d rather remain out of the way of the other guests, if you don’t mind.”