The Only One (8 page)

Chapter 12

Apparently, races often took place, and Nathaniel Hardcastle felt the need for adding a racecourse on a large section of his property. Giles scanned the crowd at the Hardcastle plantation. Eager participants and energetic steeds waited for the race to begin. Meanwhile, several gentlemen bickered and haggled, bets were made, and many crowed for their preferred horse.

Sam was racing his favorite. Being the smallest of the brothers, he’d been the favored choice to ride—not to mention he claimed to have the fastest horse. The others decreed him the best at racing. Several declared he seemed to have a camaraderie with every horse he greeted.

James quibbled with men he knew, and Giles made a few wagers of his own. He almost expected Alex to enter her black stallion in the race, but there was no sign of her. Either she didn’t know about the race or her father denied her permission to join the men.

Sam pushed his way around a group of gentlemen. He looked flustered and rushed to his father’s side.

“Something is wrong with Brusor.”

“What do you mean, something’s wrong?” James asked.

“He’s not behaving normally. At first I thought it was his hoof. He paws the ground. I don’t have time to figure it out before we start, and I don’t want to race him if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Did you check his leg?”

“I did. It appears fine. He seems fit.” Sam took off his hat and combed his fingers though his hair. “I just have a feelin’, Pap.”

James put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You know best, son.”

“Does this mean you won’t be in the race?” Giles asked.

“Like I said, Brusor seems fine. But, no. I’m not willing to take a chance.”

“Sam’s instincts are spot on with horses,” James said to Giles. “He talks to them. He understands them.”

“Speaks their language,” Nathaniel affirmed. “Never seen anything like it.”

“He’s trying to tell me something. I won’t be able to race flat out if I have this on my mind.”

“That’s too bad, Sam,” Giles added. “I was looking forward to collecting some winnings. I heard you were the one to keep an eye on.”

“Well, now.” Nathaniel rubbed his hands together in enthusiasm. “Dancer has an even better chance of winning.”

Sam stepped closer to Giles. “I have an idea, if you’d agree to it.”

“What’s that?” The youngling seemed anxious.

“Gent. After what you told me about him catching Alex’s stallion, I think he could win this race.”

“You do?” Giles pondered the idea and decided he’d rather not race on unknown terrain with a newly acquired horse. “No matter how tempting, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Just hear me out.” Sam held up a hand. “I looked him over. Had a chat, so to speak. If the idea is agreeable to you, I’d like to ride Gent. I want to give it a shot. But I need an answer fast. So I can get him used to me being on his back before the race.”

Being a good judge of character as well as making tough decisions in short order, Giles delivered a quick response. “Looks like Gent will be entered in a race.”

Sam’s face lit up, making Giles glad he could help out. Together, he and Sam hurried to Gent. Giles felt the steed should know Sam had his owner’s approval. Sam pressed his face to Gent’s ear. After a discussion between horse and rider, Sam pulled on his gloves, grabbed the reins and nodded in thanks. Then, he led Gent over where the horses were kept before the race.

“Make me proud,” Giles called after them.

He joined James in the spectator area. Viewers watched as each horse and rider made their way to the starter line. Sam leaned forward and stroked Gent’s mane.

“Even as a youngster, the boy talked to horses,” James said.

Giles studied the pair. If the boy had any ideas of keeping Gent for himself, he best get the notion out of his head. Giles had taken a liking to the beast and planned to take him home to England.

The blast of a gunshot signaled the race was on. One gelding spooked, jumping into Gent. The horse showed his mettle. Seemingly unaffected, Sam quickly got Gent under control. With one hand on the steed’s golden mane, Sam lowered his body, and Gent leapt forward in a burst of speed. With their coattails flying, men bellowed, compelling their horses to a faster pace. Sam’s white shirt stood out amongst the other riders.

Steeds bolted down the road, around the pond, and pushed through the tree line. In a mere matter of moments a rider broke through the trees with news of who was in the lead. A man waited at every checkpoint to assure the rules were met by each contender.

The excitement of the crowd was contagious. Giles cheered along with men he didn’t know. Wagers were placed, pledges were made, and stakes heightened as each chap brought news from his checkpoint. Ale flowed freely, men chewed cigars in anxious expectation—a good time to be had by all.

Pride filled his chest when news came his horse had caught the others. Gent proved to be a favorable investment. And with Sam in the saddle, the two had a remarkable chance of winning. Someone slapped him on the back, and he nearly spewed a mouth full of ale.

“Lookie. Here they come.”

Three horses abreast of each other, tearing down the road, with several stragglers behind. Sam crouched low and Gent’s legs stretched out a full half-length beyond what Giles could comprehend. Magnificent creature. Beautiful lines. With graceful strides, Gent surged forward, overtaking the other two.

Riding hell for leather, the middle rider slashed his whip on his horse’s flank, prepared to overtake the third man. All the while, Sam inched farther ahead. Shouts and curses filled the sky.

Sam claimed the finish line.

The crowd roared. Cheers so loud, Giles might never recover his hearing. Backslapping and foot stomping commenced.

“Lost by a nose, Nathanial.” James pounded his neighbor on the back.

Nathanial jerked his hat off his head and threw it on the ground. “Dad blame it. I got eyes. Half a length is more’n a nose.”

“Come now, Nathanial. No need to get all riled up.”

“Ain’t riled, James. Your boy knocked the spots off Dancer. Thought I had you this time. Especially with a newcomer, since Sam didn’t ride his own horse. Who owns that steed?”

James nodded toward Giles.

“That would be me.”

“Let me shake your hand.” Nathaniel grabbed his hand with a firm grip. “Fine animal.”

“Thank you. I bought him at Hudson’s auction.”

“Never saw him up on the block.”

“He wasn’t. I met a man who needed a bit more blunt for the animal he wanted to bid on. The gold gelding caught my eye and we struck up a deal.”

“Well, you got the better end, I’d say.”

Giles grinned. “After today, I think so, too.”

Nathaniel turned back to James. “Here’s your ten dollars, James. Don’t go spending it. I’ll get it back next race.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Nathaniel.” James gave a hearty laugh. “Well now, Giles. Looks like your horse won the purse.”

“I believe Sam had something to do with that. As for the purse, it belongs to Sam.”

“Mighty generous of you. Proud of my boy.” James glanced to the finish line. “Would you look at that? A smile big enough to show all of his white teeth.”

Sam slid off Gent’s back among a bellowing group of congratulating enthusiasts. His smile damned near split his face.

“Not generous at all. He earned it. I must say I’m impressed with his skill. Not racing, but knowing his animals. Sam has a gift.”

Chapter 13

As the midday sun climbed to the middle of a blue streaked sky, Giles stood on the veranda staring beyond the courtyard. With a leisurely stride, he made his way down the curved staircase and took the path behind the stables. Chrysaor, the white stallion, danced along the fence line of the enclosed meadow. Breathtaking. There was no other word for it. Pranced as though he were on exhibition. A prideful animal. Well deserving. Morgan would love to get his hands on this stallion. But he had Pegasus. And Carmichael had been adamant about not selling Chrysaor.

How relevant, the animals had been named after a winged horse in Greek mythology. With his mane and tail in the wind, the magnificent stallion appeared as though he were flying.

Restless, Giles headed for the stables. Yesterday he’d spent the day with Carmichael, touring more of the man’s plantation. James had a grand and lordly life. Such ethnicity caused Giles to long for his homeland. As soon as his business concluded, he’d make haste to his ship.

So why had he not already departed?

A movement from the corner of his eye snagged his attention.

He ignored the leap in his pulse.

“Good afternoon.”

“Spying again, Alex?”

“Nope. Just thought maybe, since Papa is busy, you would like to go for a ride with me. But, please don’t expect me to ride sidesaddle. Those things are atrocious. And I am wearing a proper riding outfit.”

“So you are.” He studied her. She presented the appearance of any debutante. Although riding with a young woman sporting blind adoration in her eyes might not be a good idea, he had nothing else to do.

“I thought we could head over to the west end. Papa hasn’t taken you there yet. We could visit the stud farm.”

If the little minx wanted to visit studs, he’d just have to oblige her—for now. When the animals did their mating, he’d embarrass the stockings off . . . well the hellcat probably didn’t wear any stockings. Even though she had donned a dress. At least for today.

He tugged the front of his hat. “Very well. Lead the way.”

“Are you game for a race?” She broke out in a smile that could equal the luster of the shining sun. Excitement added to her allure.

His heart’s rhythm lurched with unbidden enthusiasm. He needed to watch his step.

Alex gathered the reins around her gloved hand and spurred the black with a light kick of her riding boots. The horse shot off at a furious pace. Good God, the girl would break her neck, yet. But her experience as a horsewoman showed by the way she handled the stallion. The two raced as one with astonishing swiftness over the field of grass and clover. What a sight they made.

Gent tossed his head in an anxious bounce, determined to be away. With a firm hand, Giles urged the horse faster as he sprinted to catch Alex.

In a matter of moments, Giles gained ground. When they reached a grassy knoll, Alex pulled back and eased into a walk alongside him. Fresh spring air blew the silvery tendrils hanging in front of her tiny ears. Exhilaration seemed to encompass her in waves as the shiny black stallion pranced and snorted with pride.

“I’ve been proven wrong. You can ride.”

“I love to ride.” Alex turned her arresting smile on him.

His insides warmed. “I noticed.”

“He’s preen as any peacock strutting his feathers.”

“It’s difficult to say who is more proud of his performance. You, or him.”

When she flashed her self-assured smile, again Giles felt more pleasure than he dared admit. He admired her spirit, nothing more. An excellent rider, he granted. As though she were made to be on the steed’s back. She seemed so carefree.

“I love the freedom and I feel his energy.” She beamed as she patted the horse’s mane.

Giles heart softened.

When they topped the hill, she pulled at the reins. “This is a good place to give the horses a rest.”

Giles dismounted. When she remained atop the black, he arched a brow.

“Well?” She waited.

A sound much like a groan escaped him as he mumbled under his breath, “Impertinent scamp.” Reaching up he gently grasped her beneath her arms, the pads of his hands touching the sides of her breasts. Sensations as sharp as hot coals burned his palms.

She smiled—the teasing minx. He could wipe the grin right off her face in an instant. A slight turn of hand, a quick squeeze of her breasts—shock the little baggage. He swallowed. As tempting a thought, he feared the action might be too enticing for him to ignore.

She leaned over and placed her hands on his shoulders. He lifted her with ease and as she slid to the ground, her breasts brushed against him. Bloody hell. Caught by his own stratagem.

Naughty and full of guile, she flirted as well as the most practiced lightskirt in England. Where had she learned to be so bold? He set her on her feet with a jar. That ought to rattle her teeth a mite. He quickly dropped his hands and stepped back, damning his body for responding to the unexpected contact.

Instead of shrinking away, she looked him in the eye and grinned. If she were any other woman . . . God’s blood, she was his host’s daughter. He could hardly throw her to the grass and have his way with her. Even if she were curved in all the right places. Even if she did smell sweet and feel lissome in his arms.

He swallowed a groan.

She tossed that mane of glorious hair over her shoulder, took a step forward, and stumbled in a hole. Shock slashed her face, but she quickly recovered. She thrust out her chest, put a hand on her hip, and gave him what she must have thought was a come-hither look.

Giles couldn’t help it. He opened his mouth and laughter burst out.

Her heated gaze quickly changed from allure to anger. God, the woman was beautiful with her stubbornness. A heightened sense of awareness strummed along his nerve endings. When had he started thinking of the blasted girl as a woman?

Her eyes went all warm and glazed over. The lush petals of her mouth opened slightly and the tip of her tongue teased their fullness. The termagant wanted him to kiss her. And blast it all, he wanted to do just that.

Hell and damnation.

The chit thought she knew what she was doing. She had no idea she played with fire. And even if he burned, he refused to take a virgin barely out of the schoolroom. Grabbing Gent’s reins, he took a few paces forward.

“We could sit for a while,” she offered.

“I prefer walking. Besides, you don’t want Blackie to run off again.”

“Blackie . . . I really hate his name.”

“Why haven’t you changed it?”

“Well, I want to.” She quickened her pace to keep up with him.

He seized the subject as one to keep the chit’s mind off an inept seduction. “Have you thought of any names?”

“None I’m satisfied with. Horace thinks I should call him Black Devil.”

Giles stopped, then glanced over his shoulder at the black. “Is there a reason behind his suggestion?”

“Blackie wasn’t very friendly when he first arrived at his new home.” Alex patted the horse’s mane. “But he took right off to me. He’s adjusted well. He’s the most splendid horse I’ve ever seen. He deserves a better name, just as beautiful and as proud as he.”

“What do you like?” Giles turned and started walking again.

“Well, I think he is magical,” Alex said as she kept in step with him. “He’s special. I just can’t decide.”

“All right. Let’s see. To get in the spirit of things, Demon runs along the line of Devil.” He made a motion with his hand. “I consider Angel to be too mild for this spirited creature.”

“All right.”

“Hmmm. Magical . . . Witch and Warlock sounds more like Demon. When I think of magic, I think of fairy dust.”

Alex came to a halt. Her eyes blazed with determination. “I’m not calling him Fairy.”

Giles burst out in laughter. “I should think not.”

“I thought along the line of something dark, like the night.” She fell back into step. “I could call him Dark Night. It’s still not right. Too . . . ordinary.”

“There are stars in the night sky. Maybe Night Star.”

“Too familiar. Someone else could pick the same name. You mentioned fairy dust.”

He stopped in shock. “You are not going to call such a manly beast Fairy Dust.”

“Heavens, no!” She laughed. “But something intrigues me along that vein.”

“How about Stardust? You’ve got the stars in the night sky along with a little fairy dust.” He smiled, pleased with his idea.

“That’s it! Stardust! I love it.” She jumped with joy, making the stallion rear in surprise. She soothed the black, calling him by his new name. “Stardust. Stardust you shall be.” She stroked his mane, smiling in delight. “Stardust. I think he likes it.”

His gaze followed Alex’s hands, as they stroked down the stallion’s neck. Soft gentle hands, yet strong enough to handle the black with expertise. His breathing grew labored as he stared at her fondling caress.

Fondling?

Abruptly he realized where his thoughts had gone. He’d become envious of the damned horse.

The dinner hour came and went without Giles in attendance. After his eye-opener this afternoon, the best course for him lay in any direction other than Alex Carmichael. He leaned a hip on the stone wall of the veranda sweeping from one end of the massive wing across the full length of Carmichael’s house. Giles lifted a cheroot and bit the end. With a flick of his wrist, he scraped the match stick against the stone. Flame flashed on the end. Torching the tobacco, he drew deeply, watching the cigar fire a luminous red glow.

A thousand stars sparkled like diamonds in a blanket of black velvet. The night was cool even without a breeze. He took a deep breath, hoping the quiet night would calm some of the restless energy bouncing about on the inside. Floral fragrance wafted to him from the baskets of flowers hanging over the balustrade. A night for seduction, if one had such a notion.

Alex’s image popped into his mind. He recalled how she’d stroked Stardust, and he imagined those hands stroking him in the same fashion. Her long, delicate fingers slipping down the side of his neck, curling in his chest hair, gliding over his ribs and down farther between his legs.

He’d never had trouble controlling his lust. Why he was having these lascivious thoughts about a girl half his age, he couldn’t fathom. It was maddening. Besides, she had three vigilant brothers who would stop this line of thinking for him. He didn’t want or need the inconvenience.

Being a self-possessed man, he remained calm in critical situations. With patience and a clear head, he’d made life-threatening decisions without a moment’s hesitation. Anger, frustration; he’d learned to control every emotion. Patience and disguising his feelings had not only led him to succeed in achieving his goals, but had saved the lives of many.

Which was why this unexplained loss of control had him bewildered. He had no constraint over his thoughts, and very little over his manhood when he was in close proximity to a certain beleaguering young woman. He couldn’t get Alex’s kiss out of his mind. From the moment his mouth feasted on hers, he’d wanted to kiss her again. She’d been as eager as he. A mating dance full of fire and passion. She’d said she’d been taught. His eyes narrowed. Who did the teaching?

A tug pulled at his gut. He dare not acknowledge the inquiry, for it smacked too closely toward jealously. Why did he lose all sense of restraint when he was near her? Yet somehow, simply looking at her robbed him of caution.

Lifting the cheroot, he inhaled, watching the fiery red glow on the end, allowing the smoke to burn his lungs. What a pity he couldn’t whisk her away and teach her how to use her skillful tongue on other areas. His groin tightened.

God’s blood. The chit remained in his mind like a cancer.

He closed his eyes to shove away his licentious thoughts. Darkness only brought her image clearer.

A slight breeze stirred along his cheek. His instincts told him he was not alone. He opened his heavy lids.

Time suspended in the moonlight. The image of his dream emerged before him, like an angel. He stood there, drinking in her beauty. In a cloud of gauzy lace, the moon’s glow revealed a surprising amount of curves for one so young.

A golden halo of hair fell in loose waves about her shoulders. One wild strand curved around a plump breast. Was it his imagination or could he see the darkened tip? His tongue felt too big for his throat. His hands prickled at the thought of tangling in her thick tresses, tugging her to him, holding her captive while he plundered her mouth.

Inch by inch, he lowered his gaze, absorbing every detail, down to a tiny waist his large hands would easily span with his fingers overlapping. Nicely rounded hips . . .

Air hissed between his teeth. Unable to tear his gaze away, he stared at the center of her enticing curves. Her nest of curls lay barely hidden from his view.

His mouth went dry. His palms itched, daring to touch.

His gaze snapped back to find her striking eyes drinking him in as well, and an alluring smile on her full, pink lips that made his head spin.

So soft, so sweet, so tempting . . . her very scent stirred him. While his subconscious fired barbs of warning, his body whispered an irresistible ‘yes.’

A demon housed his soul, testing his strength. All he could think of was how she would taste. When the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip, a jolt of lust hit his groin. He uttered a low groan.

A man would have to be made of stone not to react to her beauty. While his conscience and his honor battled, the angelic vision drifted closer. He tossed the cheroot over the rail. Surely madness drew him forward.