Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 (3 page)

“This
pony
,” Jemm replied just as carefully, “hadn’t been sold yet and was putting up a good fight at the auction. His handler might have gotten a little out of hand.”

“An auction,” Violet drawled, leaning forward. “Now that’s something I’d be interested in. I’m always on the lookout for good horseflesh.”

“I thought as much.” Jemm laughed and rubbed his hands together as though he could already feel the heavy weight of her gold in his hands. “Perhaps my boss will extend an invitation to our next private auction if Your Grace is interested.”

She pushed one of her calling cards across the glossy desk toward him. “Indeed, I am. Please do extend my regrets to your boss about last night’s unpleasantness. Given the dreadful condition of the pony we recovered, I’m afraid I can’t in good conscience let him be returned. How much would it take to compensate your losses?”

He quoted a sum that made her arch her brow, but quickly amended, “But since he’s been damaged, as you said, perhaps you’d consider half the price?”

“Agreed, on one condition. The handler who abused him must be terminated immediately. I’m appalled at the way this poor pony was treated.”

“I’ll pass your recommendation on to the boss, Your Grace. I don’t have any say in the business dealings between her and the handlers.”

“Perhaps she could arrange a tour at your next auction so I can see the training procedures. I would surely regret having to call the sheriff if I find any more ponies being mistreated.”

“You can take that up with the boss.” But the way Jemm shrugged indicated his opinion on how welcoming she’d be to the inquisitive. “I doubt you’d care to have the sheriff digging around in your stable now, would you, Your Grace?”

She smiled, icy and so damned hard her face felt like it would shatter. “Indeed, Benton’s most welcome to tour my stable anytime she wishes. Any mistress—or master, for that matter—knows that ponies can have delicate constitutions. A beating is inhumane and uncalled for.”

“I hope you still think so once that bloody stud kills one of your people. He’s done that, Your Grace. He tore one of the handlers apart the first night we acquired him. Watch yourself around him, or you might find your pretty face shattered by his…er…hooves.”

“Perhaps he didn’t like your method of acquisition.” She stood to indicate an end to this unpleasant interview. “I’d have gleefully killed the bastard who did such damage to him last night. It’d be a shame to have to castrate such a fine stud due to your negligence.”

It galled to pay a man who’d at least been a witness to that kind of torture on another human being and done nothing to prevent it, but Violet had no choice. At least she’d hopefully secured an invitation to a future event where she could see the auctions firsthand. If they were as appalling as she feared, she’d have no choice but to put an end to the business once and for all.

As the man left clinking his gold, the sheriff sighed. “I have a feeling that this isn’t the end of some very unsavory business. I don’t know what kind of mischief you caught that man in, Your Grace, but I don’t like him. Not one bit.”

“Me neither, Benton. We might have to get Her Majesty involved if his business is as bad as I fear.”

“I’ve never said anything bad about the Blackmyres.” Benton met her gaze unflinchingly. “Some gossiped that the late Duke had too much interest in his stable. I don’t know exactly what that means nor do I care. People have a right to privacy as long as there’s no wrongdoing involved. I just wanted you to know, Your Grace, that I disapproved of the late Dowager Duchess’s treatment of you. Everyone always said she’d married so far beneath her that it shamed the family name, but I say she had no one to blame but herself. Taking her regrets out on her only child was not only wrong but ridiculous, in my opinion. Your father might have been lowborn compared to Her Grace, but I’ve never met a finer man. If you gained your interest in horses from him, then more power to you. If you need law on your side, you can count on me.”

Before Violet could shut her mouth and frame a reply, Benton tipped her hat and strode out the door. She’d laugh out loud if she didn’t have tears pooling in her eyes. Some of her fondest memories of her father were with horses. When Tiernan Kelly Meacham had walked into the stable, every single horse would nicker a welcome. He’d spoken to the horses like they were people and she’d sworn they’d understood every single word.

Some gossiped that the late Duke had too much interest in his stable.

Which is exactly why Mama hated him—and me—so much.

Chapter Three

Jerking awake in a cold sweat, Arthur seized whoever hovered nearby and prepared to rip the attacker apart.

“You’re safe,” Cole whispered, albeit raggedly since Arthur had his throat gripped in his hand. “You’re dreaming.”

If only the past weeks could be just a bad dream. If only he hadn’t returned to Britannia on a short but necessary leave. If only he hadn’t admitted his secret desires to anyone. If only…

Releasing Cole was surprisingly difficult. The non-threatening human contact was warm, safe and comforting like nothing he’d known in years. Even if from another man.

“Are you in pain?” Cole asked.

He closed his eyes. He hurt all over, but the worst was the constant throb in his groin that kept him on the knife’s edge of rage every single waking moment. “No.”

The man smelled faintly of straw and leather, a lingering testimony to his work in the stable, both as a man and pony.
Maybe that’s why he feels so familiar and safe. I can’t see another pony ever harming me.

The mattress dipped beside him, making him tense. He fisted his hands, fighting to ignore the fire spreading through his body.
I’m a man, not an animal. I can control myself. I can!

Cole’s palm touched his forehead and cheeks as if he was searching for a fever. Even such an innocent, nurturing touch made Arthur’s blood simmer. It’d been too long. After days—weeks?—of torture with sexual need, he couldn’t ignore the desire pulsing through his body. Sweat poured off him to soak the sheets. At least it was dark, so the man couldn’t see his erection. “You do feel warm.”

Arthur bit back an unpleasant laugh.
I’m burning up with need, slowly slipping into madness like a rabid dog. No one’s safe with me. God help me, I’ve killed people with this rage.

That dangerous hand slipped down to touch his chest. “You’re sweaty.” Fire spread with each touch as Cole touched fingers to his throat. “And your pulse is rapid. Let me give Dr. Miles a ring—”

Cole started to get up. Without thinking, Arthur seized his arm and hauled him back down. His bare arm. Muscle moved beneath his palm, warm and alive. He couldn’t help but remember the damnable pleasure of the man’s gentle care that first night. Those strong, soothing hands.

He trembled, fighting to keep the tide of lust contained. Cole might be a man, not a slim slip of a woman like the Duchess, but he was still smaller. In a fair fight, he wouldn’t have a chance against Arthur. The memory of pounding with his fists, tearing at his tormenters, the screams, the vicious need searing his mind, driving him insane…

I can’t risk it. Never again. I’m too rough, too big, too—

Cole made a low, delicious sound, somewhere between a husky laugh and a pleased sigh, and it was too much to deny. Arthur rolled the man beneath him, pinning him facedown on the mattress. Skin and flesh beneath him, hot and hard and surprisingly naked. What kind of man slept naked in another man’s room? Let alone a crazed man who’d been tortured with desire until he’d lost his mind.

Even worse, the man was slicked with oil, enough that Arthur imagined it would be very easy to sheathe himself in that lean, wiry body.

He dropped his head against Cole’s shoulders and fought to control himself. Imagining ropes and chains looped about him, holding him back, didn’t help. It only made his lust worse. He loved the fight, the pain, the rage that filled him when someone tried to stop him.
Let that bloody Duchess find me ravaging her man and see if she can stop me.

Cole didn’t fight or even protest. In fact, he arched his back, rubbing himself against Arthur on a low moan that broke his last restraint. He tried to thrust deep, but even slippery with oil, the man’s body was too tight, the angle too strange and new. Fumbling only made him more frantic. Awkwardly, he rose up enough to guide himself, forcing his way inside. Every gasp and cry made him more desperate, more brutal. Cole’s voice rose to a scream, but he couldn’t stop. He sank his teeth deep into the man’s neck, gripping him close while he savaged him.

The climax blew off the top of his head but he still thrust as hard and fast as he could. Pleasure roared through him, cresting into another, higher wave that pushed him down to the darkest, deepest pit of hell.

Exactly where I belong.

Pulling her wrap tight, Violet paced back and forth inside her bedchamber. Nights were the hardest time for her to be alone. In the wee hours before dawn it was easy to let fear close in. The growing tightness in her chest fueled that nagging fear.
It’s too soon for me to die. I have too much to do.

Pacing only reminded her of her body’s failings. Her knee began to ache after such relentless activity without the rest her body so desperately needed but refused. Even nightmares from the old days came back to haunt her, the explosions and screams of war she hadn’t suffered in ten years or more.

She missed Cole’s warmth beside her. The soft sigh of his breathing, the sweet way he tucked his face against her neck. It wasn’t intercourse that she missed, but the intimacy. His arms wrapped around her, his hands gliding over her back, the sleepy, tousled smile in the morning. She ached to hold him while she whispered the truth about why she’d freed him from her collar and command.

Why I kicked him from my bed when I need him the most.

A slight noise outside her door drew her attention. If she’d been asleep, she never would have heard it. She strode over and opened the door, unsurprised to see Cole hunkering down like he intended to sleep on the floor.

He straightened immediately, but couldn’t meet her gaze. He was dressed in plain clothes, not his livery, shirt untucked and loose at the neck. Barefoot and rumpled, he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and tugged on the nearest clothes for an emergency in the stable.

Silently, she held open the door and he came inside, moving slower, with a catch in his step like he hurt inside.

He’s been with Arthur. He must have left the ring with me and gone straight to him.

Staring down at the floor, he whispered, “I didn’t mean to wake you, Your Grace.”

“It’s all right.” She kept her voice light despite the heaviness in her heart. In all the years he’d been in her service, he’d never refused to look at her. She’d freed him against his will, and he’d found Arthur on his own. But that didn’t mean Cole still didn’t long for what they’d had.
As I long for him, forlorn without him beside me.
“I couldn’t sleep either. I might not be your mistress outside the ring, but am I not still your friend? There’s no need for formality in my bedchamber.”

Finally, he lifted his gaze to hers, his face etched with guilt and misery.

She hated that look in his eyes. Immediately, she reached out to him, and he sagged into her embrace, burying his face against her. “Did he hurt you?”

“I’m just sore.” His hands trembled on her back. “Violet.”

Her name came out a plea, quivering with pent-up regrets and unspoken need. It probably should have upset her that her ex-lover had come to her after finding pleasure in another man’s bed, but she couldn’t fault Cole for doing exactly what she’d told him to do. He wanted Arthur; that had been obvious from the beginning.
I can’t be all he needs. It’s better this way.

Yet cruel talons still shredded her heart. From his tears, Cole was feeling the same agony. She ought to have ceased their activities in the ring when she’d taken back her collar, but she hadn’t been able to bear the misery on his face. He
needed
to be a pony and right now, she was the only mistress he had. However, each session in the ring made it harder for them both to make good-bye final.

Without pushing for details, she drew him to bed. He needed comforting, as did she. She stroked his back until his hands ceased shaking. He’d bathed, but she caught the faint scent of the other man on his hair. Images seared her mind. She didn’t have to ask Cole—she knew full well how Arthur had taken him. He was all stallion, wild and untamed. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—have been gentle. He probably needed help reining himself in to maximize his partner’s comfort and pleasure.

I could…

Stricken, she clutched Cole tighter and he made no protest.
I can’t. I can’t help Arthur control himself because I may not live long enough to even see Cole safe and happy.

“I’ve never bottomed before,” Cole whispered, his voice hoarse and muffled against her throat. “He was rough. He used me hard. Thank God I was still oiled up from the ring.” He let out a wry laugh. “He gave me exactly what I wanted.”

She pressed her lips to his temple, letting her words become a caress. “But?”

“I don’t know. I knew it wouldn’t be the same. But it wasn’t… I don’t feel…complete.”