Unbefitting a Lady (14 page)

Bram stroked Warbourne’s muzzle. ‘Have you picked out the races
you want to try him at yet?’ Another man would have argued with her audacity but
there’d be no stopping her. Only Phaedra would stop Phaedra.

Phaedra gave a small shake of her head. ‘I’ll go straight to
the Derby with him. There’s really no time to do otherwise.’

Bram nodded. The days were passing. In the southern part of
England, the early-spring race season was under way at Newmarket. Up here in the
north, there wouldn’t be any great meets until the end of the month. ‘Don’t
leave it too late, we still have to find a rider.’ She had to know finding a
rider might prove to be the biggest obstacle of them all. The Jem Robinsons of
the world wouldn’t be lining up to ride Warbourne. That calibre of rider was
likely already claimed by the big breeders like Egremont and Grafton. The Duke
of Grafton, both father and his son after him, had owned the Derby winner more
times than not and had the trainers and riders to keep the streak up.

Phaedra slid off Warbourne in a graceful motion and shot him a
condescending look. ‘I know. First things first.’

‘Where are you taking him?’ Bram fell into step with her.

‘Down to the track. It’s a good morning to see how he
runs.’

Bram shot her a surprised look over the horse’s muzzle. ‘So
soon? You just mounted him.’ When she’d mentioned it, he’d not understood it to
be quite so immediate. A queer sense of foreboding took up residence in his
stomach.

‘There’s no time like the present and time is slipping away.’
Phaedra reached up and patted Warbourne’s neck. ‘Besides, he knows what to do.
He’s just been taking his time remembering. Right, boy?’

The Montague track was an oval three furlongs in distance not
all that unlike the training tracks at Newmarket. Bram had learned from Tom
Anderson that Giles’s great-grandfather had designed the track in the early
1700s as a testimony of the Rothermere wealth. But recent generations hadn’t
shared his extreme love of the turf and little had been done with it beyond
using it as a place to exercise.

‘Give me a leg up,’ Phaedra said once she’d walked the track
and made sure it fit her specifications for safety. Bram cupped his hand for her
boot and tossed her up. Phaedra settled into the saddle while he adjusted her
stirrups and checked the girth. He checked the girth twice, unable to shake his
apprehension.

Bram gave Warbourne a pat of approval before moving away. ‘Not
too fast, Phaedra, just see what he can do, see what he responds to.’ She was
going to bark at him for that and then she was going to forget his advice. Bram
pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open, prepared to be ignored.

‘I know what I’m doing,’ she said tightly. Phaedra steered the
horse onto the track, gathered herself and then with a kick she was off, her
body poised in perfect form over the saddle and Warbourne’s neck, Warbourne’s
dark mane flying.

Heavens, the horse was beautiful, the very personification of
speed. Whatever else could be said of her, Phaedra had a good eye for prime
horseflesh. Warbourne was the epitome of the modern thoroughbred. Bred for
speed, he was taller through the withers than the previous generation of racers,
and stronger, able to exert great speeds at a shorter distance. Bram shot a
glance at his watch. For raw speed and an amateur rider, Warbourne was doing
well. With a trained jockey on board who knew how to navigate a course, who knew
how to get every last ounce from a horse, Warbourne could approach record
speeds.

Warbourne was flying and Phaedra was flying with him. For a
moment everything was perfect and then it went terribly wrong. In an instant,
controlled perfection morphed into chaos.

Chapter Fourteen

B
ram saw it all in slowed motion.
Warbourne’s stride broke from its collected rhythm, his muscles bunched, his
ears went back and he was off in a bolting gallop. They flew past Bram on their
second lap, Warbourne clearly out of control, a full-blown runaway. For an awful
moment he watched the reins slip out of Phaedra’s hands and his stomach fell. It
would only be a matter of time before she was thrown and he was helpless to stop
it.

A fall of that magnitude could be deadly unless by some miracle
of strength, the miracle of simply being Phaedra Montague, she could hang on
long enough to outride the colt’s spook. If she’d been in the riding house she
could have run him into a wall, the tried and true method for stopping a bolting
horse. Out here on the open track there were no walls. Bram cursed his
oversight. He should have saddled up Merlin. If he’d brought a horse to act as
an ‘outrider’ he could have ridden after them and perhaps pulled Warbourne
over.

Still, Phaedra’s form was magnificent. Her hands fisted in
Warbourne’s long mane, her thighs clenched tightly around his barrel, her only
remaining point of real contact with the horse. But Warbourne continued to
surge. It would have been an impressive display of stamina and speed if Bram
hadn’t been so worried about Phaedra.

Then it was over. Bram watched in amazement as the muscles of
her thighs went slack and Warbourne slowed to a trotting halt. The crisis had
passed. Bram ran onto the track to take hold of Warbourne’s bridle as if he
could hold back a thousand pounds of horseflesh single-handedly.

Phaedra laughed, a little breathless, atop her sweating steed.
‘He won’t bolt again. He’s well-spent.’ She leaned down and patted Warbourne’s
shoulder. ‘I thought that might happen.’

Bram gave her an incredulous look. ‘Don’t tell me you enjoyed
that?’ It had been torture for him watching Warbourne dash around madly with her
on board and she’d been having fun?

‘It’s the clenched thighs,’ Phaedra explained, showing no
desire to dismount. Most people he knew would have jumped off that horse
straight away. But now that the crisis had passed, admiration was warring with
his anger. She’d been extraordinary and he couldn’t help but appreciate it.

‘Care to explain?’

‘Tightening your thighs signals him to run. The tighter the
thighs, the faster he goes. It’s why he’s thrown his jockeys at the starts.’

‘How did you know? How did you guess?’ It had been risky to
give up her last point of reliable contact. If she’d been wrong, she would have
been thrown most definitely.

‘His dam’s grandsire, Brave Warrior, had the same problem.’
Phaedra gave him one of her smug grins. ‘He turned out great foals but had a
checkered racing history himself because of his little problem. Oh, look, here
comes Giles.’

She waved to someone behind him and Bram turned to see Giles
Montague approaching.

‘Did you see him, Giles?’ Phaedra called out.

‘I saw some of it,’ Giles said with a tight smile. He leaned on
the railing beside Bram. ‘He’s magnificent, Phae. You’ve done a good job. No one
will be able to touch him at the October hunts.’

Bram thought for a moment Phaedra might contest the omission of
racing but Phaedra simply smiled and moved away from the railing. Warbourne was
still pulsing with adrenaline from his run and needed some light work, which was
just as well. Whatever Giles Montague had come down to say, Bram would prefer to
hear it first. He hoped news of their indiscretion hadn’t reached Phaedra’s
brother.

‘Were you the one who taught her to ride like that?’ Bram asked
casually. If they’d met at a club in London, he and Giles might have been
friends. Right now, the perceived differences in their stations prevented that
familiarity. Giles wouldn’t get too close, or too friendly, with an itinerant
horse handler.

‘No, I can’t take credit for that. I think growing up, Jamie
and I were more like uncles to her than brothers. She was so much younger. I was
off to school and into the military before she was ten. It’s mostly Edward’s
fault. He was around the house longer and, being the two youngest, they were
close.’ Giles’s jaw tightened. ‘It should be
you
on
Warbourne. He’s not Isolde. It’s one thing when you’re riding breakneck on a
horse you know. It’s another when the horse isn’t as familiar.’

‘Better my neck than hers, eh?’ Bram paraphrased bluntly.
Phaedra would not like that verdict.

Giles gave him a sharp look. ‘She’s all I’ve got left. I don’t
know if you’ve looked around my family lately, but it’s in tatters. There are
too many people I’ve failed to save. My baby sister won’t be one of them.’

Bram heard the protection there, heard the concern and the
affection. Phaedra wouldn’t. She would see only a curtailing of her
freedoms.

‘She’s not a baby,’ Bram ventured, meeting Giles’s gaze evenly
as if he had a right to such a frank exchange with a man his superior. ‘Sisters
grow up. They marry, they start families of their own. Be sure you don’t mistake
protection for suffocation. Phaedra’s wild. She won’t take kindly to being
reined in.’

‘You mean Lady Phaedra,’ Giles corrected with an assessing look
full of speculation.

‘Yes, my mistake.’ Bram looked out over the track. He’d gone
too far there.

‘Make sure it’s your only mistake, Mr Basingstoke. I’m a man, I
know how men think. I’ll tell you right now, she’s not for you. She’s a duke’s
daughter.’

Giles paused and fixed him with a gaze of stone. ‘She refused
to go to London. Did you know? I believed at the time it was on account of this
horse business. Now I’m starting to wonder, Mr Basingstoke, if it had anything
to do with you? I hope not. I would be very disappointed to learn it had. Her
aunt and I are hosting a party tomorrow for the express purpose of giving her a
chance to meet eligible young men.’

‘You mean
suitable
young men,’ Bram
corrected.

‘Yes, I mean suitable. Are we clear? She’s not meant to throw
herself away on itinerant horse handlers, especially those who will only be here
for two more days.’ Giles’s grey eyes were hard. He would brook no argument,
certainly not from a groom, although he needed to be argued with. Giles Montague
was making a huge mistake.

The man meant well but he didn’t know his sister at all. His
attempts to protect her would only result in firing her rebellion. The last
thing either he or Giles needed was an angry Phaedra storming off in the middle
of the night and taking her colt with her out into a world where neither of them
could protect her from the scandal that would inevitably follow.

‘When she brings the horse in, tell her Aunt Wilhelmina’s
dressmaker is waiting for her up at the house.’ Giles turned on his booted heel
and headed back to the house.

* * *

Phaedra stood still, arms held out to her sides, aching
while the dressmaker gave the gown a final look-over. She’d spent the morning
holding Warbourne accountable with those arms. Holding them out for the
dressmaker all afternoon was sheer torture. She knew it could have been worse.
Giles could have heard about the island, or any of their numerous indiscretions,
and come to force some ancient code of justice on them. Or he could have come to
tell Bram his services were no longer needed.

Phaedra turned on command and distracted herself with thoughts
of the workout. Warbourne had speed aplenty but it was one thing to run on an
empty track devoid of horses, another to run in a field of twelve or twenty.
Epsom was known for its large fields of contenders and the track wasn’t an oval
either. Nor was it six furlongs, the distance she’d raced Warbourne today on his
tear. The Derby was a mile and a half of ups and downs.

Still, that didn’t undermine the day’s successes. She’d stayed
on! With Warbourne’s reputation for throwing riders, she’d fully expected to
spend much of the day in the dirt and much of the evening in a soaking tub.

‘Shall we add some of the lace to the bodice?’ Aunt Wilhelmina
asked. The dressmaker held up a length of the Brussels lace.

Phaedra had to protest. ‘Any more trimming and I’ll look like
one of Monsieur André’s fondant cakes. We have quite enough lace.’ All she
wanted to do was get back down to the stables. She had a map of the Epsom course
somewhere down there. But she was kidding herself if she believed that was her
only reason for wanting to go back. Bram was there. She’d be looking for him as
much as she was looking for a map. He’d become her port in the storm. She wasn’t
quite sure how she’d let him go when the time came but she sensed that time was
coming. She’d known from the start that it would but there was little
consolation in that.

Phaedra didn’t make it to the stables until after dinner, which
had turned into an awkward affair full of pronouncements made by Giles, none of
which she was planning to adhere to. She wasn’t giving full training and riding
of
her
colt over to anyone simply because Giles
thought Warbourne was too much horse for her at this point.

Phaedra made her way towards Warbourne’s stall. The colt could
always raise her spirits. She reached Warbourne, glad to see the colt was still
awake. He came to her, his nostrils seeking out any treats. Phaedra laughed
softly and stroked his muzzle. ‘Sorry, boy, I don’t have any treats
tonight.’

‘What about me? No treats for me either?’ Bram materialised
beside her, leaning on the half-door of Warbourne’s stall. He was dressed in
shirt and breeches, a jacket thrown on against the chill. His words were light
but his tone wasn’t. Something unpleasant lurked beneath the words. Phaedra
stood in silence, stroking Warbourne’s muzzle, and waited for Bram to speak.

‘I spoke with your brother today. He thought Tom Anderson could
use an extra hand for the party and all the guests’ horses but he’d like me to
leave afterwards.’

It wasn’t really a surprise but hearing the words spoken out
loud made it all so much more final. Phaedra swallowed hard. She tried to
discern Bram’s reaction. Was he disappointed? Or was he glad to be moving on,
glad not to have to be the one to break this off? It was easier to lay this
decision at Giles’s feet, their affair a result of circumstance.

‘Is that satisfactory to you?’ Phaedra summoned her old
hauteur.

Bram’s hand covered hers where it lay on the door. ‘It’s not an
issue of being satisfactory or not. We both knew the limitations and we both
know I cannot offer you anything more than the time we’ve had together, no
matter how much we might want that to be different.’

She looked at him. ‘Do you want it to be different?’

‘Phaedra, honey, you of all people know if wishes were horses
beggars would ride.’ It wasn’t an answer but perhaps it would be best not to
know. She preferred to believe she wasn’t in this relationship alone, that it
meant something to him too.

He elbowed her, some of his usual playfulness returning. ‘But
that’s two days from now and two nights.’ Bram’s hands were at her shoulders,
turning her so that her back faced him. His strong fingers kneaded the tight
muscles of her shoulders. The pressure of his hands felt wicked and wonderful
all at once. His hands moved to her neck and she gave a little moan of delight.
The tension began to seep from her. She laid her head back on Bram’s shoulder
and let his arms come around her, enfolding her against the strength of his
chest.

She let her eyes flutter shut, let Bram kiss the curve of her
jaw, his hands rising above her ribcage to take her breasts in his palms.
Phaedra gave a soft sigh, her tension gone, replaced by something else,
something primitive and wild that wanted only this, only Bram.

‘Give me pleasure, Bram.’ Beggars couldn’t ride, and neither
could they be choosers. If she couldn’t choose, then at least she’d take her
last pleasures where she could. Phaedra turned in his arms, taking his face
between her hands and kissing him full on the mouth. She kissed him again, this
time slowly, her hands in his hair, breathing in the scent of him, the taste of
him in her mouth, the hardness of him against her stomach. It was not enough.
She wanted release. She hitched her leg at his hip, letting her skirts fall back
and his hand slide up, warm on her bare thigh.

* * *

He wouldn’t last long at this rate. He’d hated telling
her the news tonight, hated not being able to tell her he regretted leaving as
much as she did. But he didn’t dare say anything for fear of giving her false
promises. He knew better than she that she was better off without him. His hand
was at the core of her, finding her slick and ready.

‘Touch me again like you did on the island,’ Phaedra whispered,
her head thrown back, her neck exposed to his mouth.

‘You liked that, didn’t you?’ Bram murmured.

Suddenly Phaedra froze against him. Her eyes riveted on
something past his shoulder. ‘Oh, Lord! Bram,
stop
!’
That was not the typical response. Usually it was,
Don’t
stop. Then he heard the reason for her urgent whisper.

‘Touch her again in
any
way and
I’ll see you dead on the duelling field.’ Giles stood in the aisle, arms crossed
and angry. ‘Now, who would like to tell me exactly what is going on here?’

Phaedra stepped away, her hands pushing wildly at her skirts in
a belated bid for decency. Instinctively, Bram moved in front of her, a shield
from Giles’s wrath, the primal instinct to protect surging strong within him.
Whatever Montague wanted, the man would have to go through him. The best he
could do for Phaedra was to get her out of here until Montague’s anger had
cooled or been directed towards him instead. He’d welcome it. He wouldn’t mind
explaining a couple of things to Giles Montague even if it had to be done on the
knuckle end of his fists.