Simply Forbidden (2 page)

“That’s the one I’d pick.”

“You have a good eye, sir. That’s Thunderbolt, his lordship’s pride and joy.”

“Then I doubt he’ll be selling him.” Gabriel searched the other horses. “What about the gray?”

“That’s Shadow. He’s a three-year-old and also very promising. I’m sure his lordship would be more than happy to tell you all about him.”

“Good.” With one eye on the rapidly approaching ladies, Gabriel gestured back at the stables. “Shall we go and look at the older horses?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gabriel managed to avoid the chattering women and took his time peering into all the stalls as Mr. Green told him about each horse. At the end of the second row, he found a horse he liked, a big chestnut-colored gelding. He nodded his approval at Mr. Green.

“Is it all right if I go into his stall and take a good look at him?”

“Of course, sir. That’s Wellington. He’s got a nice temperament, that one; he’s not scared of much.” Mr. Green unlocked the door. “Take your time, sir, and if you want me to get him saddled up for you, just give me a shout.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I need to go and be civil to the ladies and stop them scaring my horses with all that squeaking they like to do.”

Gabriel went into the small stall and put one hand on Wellington’s rump so that the horse knew he was there and hopefully wouldn’t kick out. He walked around the flank of the horse, noticed the way its ears flicked toward him with interest but without fear. He ran his hand along the horse’s withers and up his long neck until he reached his face.

“You’re a nice lad, Wellington, aren’t you?” The horse whickered back and appeared to nod his head. Gabriel scratched under the horse’s chin, produced a carrot top Mr. Green had given him, and held it out on his palm. “Here you go, boy.”

Nice manners, a soft mouth, and an intelligent face. Gabriel slid his hand down the horse’s front leg and checked his tendons, and finally his hoof. Then he repeated the process on the three other legs. As he crouched down in the straw, he heard girlish laughter and stayed where he was. Hopefully the ladies would pass by without noticing him.

To his dismay, they seemed to stop right outside the stall door.

“I’m sure Mr. Green said Lord Swanfield was around here somewhere. I wonder where he has gotten to?”

“If he has any sense, he’s probably running back to the
house as fast as he can. No man wishes to encounter a large group of ladies while he’s talking horseflesh.”

Ah, Gabriel recognized that second voice, the slight hint of a French accent, the sharp intelligence behind every word. It was Miss Ross, but who was she talking to?

“Well, I’m disappointed. I wanted to begin my campaign to get him to ask me to dance at the ball.”

“As I said, he probably won’t still be here by then. He doesn’t strike me as a particularly sociable man.”

“But I
want
to dance with him. He is an earl and he is so tall and handsome.” Emily sighed. “I wish I’d gotten to see him in his uniform.”

Gabriel grimaced as the unknown voice described him. She epitomized exactly what he disliked about the women of the
ton
. All she cared about was his title and his looks. And God knows, he had no illusions about his scarred appearance, and his title was a sham.

“Lord Swanfield is also far too old for you.”

“He’s not. Father says he’s only just turned thirty.”

“And you are only eighteen, Emily.” Miss Ross laughed, but there was no malice in it. “Think how old he’ll be when you are twenty-five, positively ancient!”

There was a slight pause. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“And five years after that, you’ll have to push him around in a bath chair and take him to Tunbridge Wells for the waters.”

Despite himself, Gabriel grinned. How clever of Miss Ross to point out all his potential failings as a husband rather than outright forbid the younger girl to think of him.

The girl named Emily sighed. “Well, I suppose we should go back. The others will be waiting for us.”

“Yes, indeed, we should. Maybe you can capture Lord Swanfield’s interest at the dinner table with your sparkling wit and conversation.”

“What an excellent idea. I’m sure I can win our wager and get him to promise to dance with me before you can.”

“Perhaps you will.”

Gabriel’s smile disappeared as the two women made their way back along the row of stalls to the exit. Miss Ross had entered into a wager, had she? He discounted the younger girl, knew he would have no problem disappointing her in short order. But Miss Ross? Watching her try to exert herself to win his favor might be amusing.

Gabriel stood up and brushed the hay from his breeches. Perhaps he would stay on until the Hunt Ball after all.

S
o far Miss Ross had disappointed him. She had made no effort to ingratiate herself with him at dinner at all. In truth, she’d sat as far away from him as possible, and allowed the gushingly youthful and chatty Miss Emily to claim all his attention. He reckoned she had hardly spared him a glance but to laugh at his efforts to deflect the younger girl’s incessant questions about his life in the military.

He drank one obligatory glass of brandy, discussed horses with his host, which was no hardship at all, and excused himself from joining the ladies. He had no desire to sit between the debutantes and listen to them giggle all night. After his incarceration in Spain, he hated being shut in and hated the thought that he had to do anything to please anyone else at all. He’d rather be with the horses and breathe the clean, quiet air of the English countryside.

As he walked away from the house, he turned his face upward and inhaled. His cravat seemed too tight and he pulled at the carefully arranged folds until it came loose. The evening
light was golden, the sky tipped with pink-edged clouds, and the horizon a hazy blurring of light and impending darkness. Gabriel lit one of his narrow Spanish cigarillos and headed down to the stables. The smell of warm oat mash and manure didn’t bother him half as much as the overperfumed and often underwashed bodies of his fellow guests.

“Now, please be a good horse and stand still.”

He halted by the stable, drawn to the sound of a now familiar French accent. What the devil was Miss Ross doing back here? He walked as quietly as he could up to the stall and peered over the door. She stood with her back against the wall, one hand reaching out toward the horse’s neck. She’d discarded the low-necked gown she’d worn to dinner, in favor of a simple blue dress and stout boots. Her hair was drawn back from her arresting face in a single long braid.

“May I help you, Miss Ross?”

She jumped so violently that the horse followed suit and almost knocked her over. Instantly, Gabriel joined her in the stall and used his voice to calm the frightened animal, his hands to soothe and placate.

“You frightened me.”

He glanced over at her, but kept his hand on the horse’s rope halter, his attention on the high-spirited mare. “You frightened the horse. Don’t you know any better?”

“The horse was perfectly fine until you came along.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He wanted to smile at the indignity of her tone, but kept his expression bland. “You could’ve been trampled or kicked.”

“I know.” She swallowed hard, and he noticed the pallor on her face, the terrified look in her hazel eyes.

“Miss Ross, if you are afraid of horses, why are you here?”

She looked directly at him then, as if trying to convince him that her fear meant nothing. “Because I am determined not to be.”

“So you wander into any stall and scare the living daylights out of the poor animal?”

“I didn’t scare her! You did.”

Gabriel gave the mare one last reassuring pat. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion outside.” He opened the stall door and waited for Miss Ross to move past him before checking the latch was secure. She lingered in the narrow cobbled passageway between the stalls, her arms folded across her chest and her cheeks flushed. She looked far younger in her plain clothes than in her dinner finery, and far more vulnerable. He found himself intrigued by the contrast.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well, what?” She glared at him and he was reminded anew of her ability to disconcert him. “I do not have to explain myself to you.”

He closed in on her and deliberately blocked her exit. “That is true.”

She sighed. “But you will not let me pass until I do.”

He nodded and settled his shoulder more comfortably against the cold stones behind him. Eventually she looked at him.

“My father loves horses.”

“Aye, he does.”

“And I’m afraid of them.”

Gabriel frowned. “Did you have a fall recently? Have you lost your nerve?”

“Lost my nerve? I’ve never had it.” Her smile was derisive. “I’m simply an appalling rider.”

He studied her from the tips of her boots to the top of her head. “I find it hard to believe your father would have allowed that. He must have set you on a horse as soon as you were able to stand.”

“I’ve only been riding for three years.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t grow up here with my father. I grew up in France.”

It was none of his business where she had grown up or how she had been raised, but Gabriel found himself wanting to ask anyway. It seemed they had more in common than he had imagined: both displaced as children, both trying to overcome unusual circumstances in their lives. He curbed the unusual impulse and concentrated on the problem at hand.

“I could teach you.”

“Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “Because the idea that anyone is too scared to ride appalls me. And it will give me something to do with my time rather than hiding in my room avoiding the other guests.” He motioned back at the stalls. “Is that the horse you normally ride?”

“Yes, that’s Sugarplum. I was trying to reacquaint myself with her before the hunt at the weekend.”

“Then meet me here tomorrow morning at five, and we’ll begin.”

She stared at him for a long moment and he stared right back, felt his body tighten and respond to the surprise in her hazel eyes.

She nodded. “All right, I will.”

He bowed and started to turn away and then remembered something important. “Borrow some breeches. I’ll teach you how to ride astride first.” He didn’t wait to see if she protested. If he was to teach her properly, he needed to see her legs. He smiled into the darkness and imagined those legs wrapped around his hips as he fucked her.

It was a long time since he’d been inspired to fantasize about sex, and his cock responded far too enthusiastically. Miss Ross was an unusual woman. Beneath her charm and ability to appear as empty-headed as all society women obviously lurked a keen mind and a sharp tongue. He found himself excited by the contradictions she presented and far too ready to take her on.
Unfortunately, as a protected upper-class virgin, Miss Ross was unlikely to share his lusty enthusiasm for a quick roll in the hay. He sighed as his shaft started to throb. Tonight he’d simply have to make do with his imagination and his hand.

Lisette glared after Lord Swanfield’s retreating figure. Why on earth had she agreed to meet him on the morrow or believe that he would help her? Something about the way he had calmed the horse and his softly spoken words had lulled her into a state of security. He seemed far more at ease with Sugarplum than he was with her, or with any of the other guests.

She sighed and started back up the slight slope to the house after him. He could at least have waited and escorted her inside, but that might have caused comment, and he avoided notice like the plague. She’d watched him surreptitiously over dinner, how he’d flinched at every loud noise and every slight brush of Emily’s hand.

Had he suffered during the war? He was certainly physically scarred by it. Perhaps beneath his silence lay unimaginably awful experiences. When she got back to Town, she would inquire of her army friends as to exactly what Major Lord Gabriel Swanfield had gotten up to in the recent conflict. Perhaps that would help her understand him better.

She’d always enjoyed a puzzle and Lord Swanfield was certainly a challenge. Having caught her at a disadvantage, he’d seen her at her most vulnerable, stripped of artifice, and he hadn’t seemed to mind. In truth, something in his brusque manner encouraged her to be just as blunt, which was almost refreshing.

The house, ablaze with light, welcomed her, but she avoided the main entrance and turned toward the kitchen door. She didn’t want Christian to know she’d been out or guess whom she’d met; he was far too astute not to notice her interest in the enigmatic Lord Swanfield. And she was interested. She could no
longer fool herself that she wasn’t. His unexpected appearance in the barn, and his surprising offer, had intrigued her.

Was he worth taking up Emily’s wager for? Lisette smiled at the direction of her thoughts. Surely not. All
she
had to do was get up early the next morning and see if he really was a man of his word.

Gabriel checked his pocket watch and muttered a curse as he looked up at the house. There was no sign of Miss Ross, and it was now two minutes past five. She’d probably played him for a fool and was sleeping happily in her bed, laughing at him in her dreams. He stuffed his battered watch back into his pocket and turned toward the elegant lines of the impeccably kept stables.

His stupid impulse to help her had been exactly that: stupid. He should know by now that society ladies were far too shallow and frivolous to actually keep their promises. More fool him for imagining that Miss Ross was somehow different. He let out his breath and started toward the stables. Since he was up, he might as well take Wellington out and try his paces.

“Good morning, my lord.”

Gabriel stopped walking and looked back over his shoulder. Miss Ross had appeared on the path, her cheeks flushed as if she had been running. He took out his watch and checked it again.

“You’re late.”

Her eyes widened at his tone and her chin went up. “Hardly.”

“Almost five minutes late.”

“And it makes a difference because?”

He scowled at her. “Because I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

She kept walking until her boots were lined up in the gravel with his and poked him in the chest. “I’m not one of your men and this isn’t the army. If you have other things to do, I’ll wish you good morning and go back to bed.”

He looked down at her for a long moment and grudgingly admired the lack of fear in her eyes and the way she stood up to him. “Don’t be late next time.”

“Yes, sir.” She pretended to salute him. “Now, are you going to teach me how to ride properly or not?”

“Aye. Your horse is already saddled and I’ve spoken to Mr. Green.”

“Good, then shall we cease wrangling and be off?”

He bowed and gestured to the mounting block by the old red-brick wall. “Wait here.”

She did as he asked and climbed up the three steps to stand on the top of the old stone step. From this angle Gabriel had the perfect view of her long, shapely legs encased in tight buckskin. She looked well, dressed as a man. He immediately wondered whose clothes she had borrowed, imagined her wearing just his shirt instead, her legs riding his hips….

“My lord?” A young voice interrupted him and he found himself staring down at the gap-toothed stable boy.

“Thank you, lad.” He took Sugarplum’s reins from the stable boy and led the horse over toward Miss Ross. “I want to see you mount up.”

She paused, one hand on the horse’s saddle. “Why? I can manage this part.”

“I’m sure you can, but I want to see your seat and check your stirrup position.” He waited until she swung herself into the small saddle and pushed her booted feet into the stirrups. “Ah, the stirrups are too long. Let me fix them for you.”

He slid his hand under Miss Ross’s knee to release her foot from the stirrup. She jumped and the horse sidestepped and threw back its head. He realized her calm demeanor was a sham. “It’s all right, lass.” Instinctively he smoothed his hand down her shin and back up over her knee in an endless caress until she stopped shaking.

“Are you talking to me or the horse?”

Her tremulous question made him look up from her boot to her pale face. He stared into her eyes and couldn’t look away. The mixture of courage and fear in them was one he was so familiar with, he could almost taste it. “Both of you.” He squeezed her ankle. “You both need to relax.”

She sighed and he felt the vibrations all the way through his fingers. “I
was
thrown recently. I was very lucky not to be trampled to death.”

“That’s enough to scare anyone.” He patted her knee and let go of her ankle. “I’ve changed the stirrups. I’ll mount up now. Will you be all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

He admired the lilt of her voice even as he doubted its validity. “Perhaps you can show me a nice level field or piece of ground away from the house where we can practice undisturbed.”

She nodded and gathered the reins the stable boy held out to her. She pointed down the hedge-lined row to the right of them. “There is a field down by the stream we can use.”

He clicked at Wellington, enjoying the way the big horse responded so easily to his commands, and backed him up to join Miss Ross. “We’ll walk the horses down there. I want you to concentrate on relaxing in the saddle and keeping your balance.”

Without repeating himself or checking to see that Miss Ross was attending to him, he squeezed the reins lightly and set off. Wellington’s long, even stride was a pleasure of effortless ease compared to some of the horses he’d been forced to ride in the treacherous mountain campaigns in Spain. He remembered his last desperate ride, his fear as the mule lost its footing and slithered down the rock pile, the pain and blackness descending over him.

“My lord?”

He forced his thoughts back to the present. “Yes, Miss Ross?”

“Do you want me to get down and open the gate?”

“I’ll do it.” He sounded far too blunt, but during his captivity he’d gotten out of the habit of speaking. Speaking led to punishment and he’d had enough of that to almost kill him. Much better to stay silent and endure. It had also infuriated his captors immensely.

He opened the gate and led Wellington through, waited for Miss Ross to join him, and then shut it again. Once remounted, he turned to face her.

“Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Take your feet out of the stirrups; tie your reins onto the saddle and cross your arms over your chest.”

By the time the stable clock struck six times, Lisette was halfway between wanting to kill Lord Swanfield and kiss him. He’d made her perform endless tasks to perfect her balance and help her regain her confidence. In truth, she felt much more secure on the horse than she ever had before. But she also felt sore and close to tears as he ordered her around like a scullery maid, his moments of approval so rare she found herself trying hard to earn the slightest hint of a smile.