Unbefitting a Lady (6 page)

‘It’s not just the stables,’ Phaedra hedged. ‘I can’t leave
Warbourne. I won’t.’

Aunt Wilhelmina exploded. She pointed her spoon at Phaedra.
‘That is enough, young lady. You’re twenty and you’ve never come out properly.
You’ll never catch a husband, you’ll be nothing but a burden on this family.’
She paused to draw a breath before continuing.

‘I promised my sister on her deathbed I’d look after you girls
and see you settled. Your mother worried about what would become of her precious
girls. It’s so much harder to raise daughters. The world takes care of its men
but it doesn’t take care of its women. That’s a family’s job and one I accepted
willingly. Out of love for my sister, I’ve devoted my life to seeing the six of
you raised. You will not fail me at the last, Phaedra.’

Phaedra rose and shoved back her chair, tears of anger and
guilt burning in her eyes. She had to get out of the room before she embarrassed
herself. ‘No, I won’t go. Not this year. I most respectfully refuse.’

She shot her brother one last look. ‘I’m sorry, Giles. I can’t
do it. I simply can’t.’

Phaedra didn’t stop to change her dress or to grab a shawl. She
headed out into the night, to the stables. Where there would be peace and there
would be no more talk of Seasons and husbands and promises to keep to mothers
she didn’t remember.

Chapter Six

B
ram couldn’t sleep. The idea of being in
bed at this early hour was still an utterly novel idea. It wouldn’t seem so
novel in the morning. Still, that didn’t change the fact he couldn’t recall the
last time he’d gone to bed before ten. Usually he headed to bed when the sun was
creeping up over the horizon. In London, evening entertainments would barely be
under way. But nothing he’d done today had resembled any of his London
activities, why should going to bed differ in that regard?

Instead of sleeping away half the day, he’d risen early and
seen to morning feeding, following Tom Anderson around and making notes about
the various dietary needs of the horses. He’d broken his fast with the other men
on the simple but hearty fare of thick porridge. After breakfast, the grumbles
had begun over who had to take Merlin out to exercise and he’d quickly assigned
himself the task. If there was a difficulty, he wanted to address it immediately
and personally.

Then Phaedra had arrived and he’d spent the rest of the morning
riding out with her, which had been insightful. She was proving to be an
enticing mixture of strength and innocence that was as responsible as the early
hour for keeping him up tonight.

He’d made a tactical error today. He should have kissed her,
claimed his forfeit and been done with it. Past experience had taught him the
best way to deal with unmitigated desire was to address it head-on, much the
same as a difficult horse.

Bram gave up and rolled out of bed. There would be no
‘addressing’ of the Phaedra issue this evening. She was safely out of reach up
at the house. But perhaps a little exercise would help him sleep. He reached for
breeches and a shirt. He’d do a quick patrol through the stables and see if the
horses were settled.

Halfway down the stairs, he heard it, the sound of someone in
the stables. The sound could be anyone, a stable boy checking on a horse or Tom
Anderson up and about. A sound wasn’t necessarily cause for alarm. But the
lantern light coming from the vicinity of Warbourne’s stall was, especially this
time of night. Phaedra hadn’t made any friends with her purchase. Bram wouldn’t
put it past Samuelson to attempt some chicanery.

Bram slowed his steps and approached cautiously. He tensed his
body, ready to take the intruder unawares if there was one. It seemed there was.
The outline of a figure became evident in the light—a figure wearing skirts.
Tension ebbed out of Bram. It was no thief in the night at Warbourne’s
stall.

‘Good evening, Phaedra.’ He’d been careful to keep his voice
quiet but she startled anyway. She turned to face him, a hand at her throat.

‘It’s not polite to sneak up on people.’

‘It’s more interesting though.’ He gave her an easy smile. She
was dressed oddly for a late-night visit to the stables. Still in an expensive
evening gown, she clearly hadn’t
planned
to come.
She shivered a little and he noted she hadn’t come with even a shawl for
protection against the damp night. There were only two reasons for such an
impromptu visit.

‘Is Warbourne all right?’ He’d personally checked the colt
before he’d gone upstairs for the night and the colt had seemed fine a few hours
ago.

‘He’s fine,’ Phaedra said shortly.

‘Are you all right, then?’ On closer inspection, she did appear
upset, although she’d not admit it.

‘I’m fine.’ Phaedra crossed her arms against the cold, unable
to suppress another shiver.

‘No, you’re not.’ Bram stripped out of his jacket, a plain
woollen hacking jacket that had been in the pile of clothes he’d borrowed from
Tom Anderson. He swept the coat about her shoulders in a neat gesture, the
simple garment a stark contrast to the richness of her own attire. In London, he
would have had an expensive jacket of superfine or his long riding coat of heavy
cloth to wrap about her. His favourite riding coat would have dwarfed her. Here,
he had nothing so fine to offer her. It was something of a first for him. But
Phaedra shrugged into the cheap coat gratefully.

‘Now, are you going to tell me what you’re doing out here
freezing?’ He leaned against the wall, studying her. She was elegant tonight,
dressed in a gown of oyster silk that rivalled the styles of London’s
dressmakers, her hair piled on her head instead of hanging down her back in a
thick braid. At her neck she wore a thin gold chain with a charm shaped like a
horse dangling from it. She looked beautiful, delicate.

Almost.

With a face like that, a man could easily mistake her beauty
for fragility. Tonight, there was nothing of the spitfire who’d raced him neck
or nothing across the winter fields. But he
had
seen
that woman and Bram knew better. Something had stirred her inner fires enough to
make her flee the house.

‘How was dinner?’ Bram tried again when she said nothing. That
got a reaction. Her eyes turned stormy. So that was it.

‘They want to send me away.’ She shot him an accusatory
look.

Bram sat down on a hay bale left between stalls for the
morning. ‘Where to?’ The way she said it made it sound like she was being
shipped off to a convent or the wilds of Scotland.

‘London! They want me to go have a Season.’ Phaedra waved a
hand in outraged dismissal. He ducked in time to avoid being hit. ‘You’d like
that. You’d have the stables all to yourself.’

It was on the tip of his tongue to say she was a lucky girl but
to argue it would make him look complicit in her assumption that he wanted her
out of the way. He’d love to be back in London with all the comforts it
provided. But obviously Phaedra didn’t want to go and, contrary to her beliefs,
it didn’t suit his plans to have her go. London was the one place he couldn’t be
right now. ‘A Season is very generous.’ Bram hedged his comments. Inspiration
struck. ‘Have you been before?’

Some of Phaedra’s anger faded when she realised he wasn’t going
to argue. He could see her body relax beneath the overlarge shoulders of his
coat. ‘No. I was supposed to but that was the year my brother, Edward, died. He
was nineteen.’

He’d heard as much from Tom Anderson. ‘And the next year?’ The
family would have been out of mourning by the following spring.

She shrugged, a gesture he was coming to recognise as a
distractor. She shrugged when she wanted to appear nonchalant, a sure sign she
was hiding something of greater value. It was a delightful gesture. He wondered
if she knew she did it. ‘There were a lot of things going on with the family
last spring. Giles had just come home and I didn’t feel like leaving, not for
London anyway.’

Another set of mysteries to solve about the Montagues, Bram
thought. It was odd indeed for a ducal family not to send their eligible
daughter to London. ‘Did your sister go?’ Phaedra wasn’t the only one who would
have been itching for a Season.

The reference brought a slight smile to her lips. ‘You don’t
know Kate. The last thing she ever wanted was a London Season. She went once for
her debut and she never went back.’

He was starting to understand. Perhaps her sister’s poor debut
had coloured her own perceptions. ‘Just because your sister had a bad
experience, doesn’t mean you will.’ That would hardly be the case. London’s
bachelors would stumble over themselves to get to her; an attractive duke’s
daughter was quite a catch indeed. Something raw and primal knotted in his
stomach at the thought of London’s bucks competing over Phaedra as if she were a
prize to be won. If there was any winning to be done, he’d be the one to do it.
After all, he saw her first.

Phaedra shook her head impatiently. ‘I can’t possibly leave
Warbourne. If I go to London, I’ll lose my chance to race him at Epsom.’ She
paused and watched him, her blue-grey eyes holding his. ‘Aren’t you going to
laugh or are you simply going to ignore the statement the way Giles does and
pretend you didn’t hear it?’

They were back to that again. The lantern light cast an
intimate glow over the stables, limning Phaedra’s delicate profile in a soft
rosy glow. In the loose box, Warbourne had settled to sleep. Bram let the words
hover between them before he ventured into the conversation.

‘Warbourne’s a good horse. There’s nothing to laugh about
there. But why Epsom? There are other races. There are even other races
at
Epsom he can enter next year as a four-year-old.
Why is the Derby so important to you?’ The personal nature of her quest for
Epsom had not been addressed in their earlier conversation.

‘It’s the most prestigious. It secures a horse’s reputation for
stud.’ She looked at him as if he were an idiot. Any horseman worth his salt
would know that. Bram had met women who were patronesses of the sport but they
were not duke’s daughters. They were women of a middling rank or less who had
made a hobby-cum-livelihood out of it. They dabbled in breeding and racing.
Phaedra didn’t need a livelihood. It begged the question, what did she need?

‘Why is it so important to
you
though?’ he pressed, knowing full well he was treading on unexamined
territory. Bram could not recall the last time he’d had a real conversation with
a woman, where he’d actually listened, where it actually mattered what she said
next. Maybe he’d never had one. But he was having one tonight, and he was beyond
curious about her answer. For whatever reason,
her
answer mattered. He wanted to know what drove this neck-or-nothing beauty. This
was unexplored territory indeed. ‘Well, Phaedra, why?’ He repeated softly.

Whatever her ambitions, she’d not had practice in articulating
them. He could see her mind debating if she should tell him, if she could trust
him. She shot him a hard look, her defences up in the tilt of her chin,
apparently unaware what a watershed event this was for him. Lord, that look of
hers made him hard. Phaedra in full defiance made him want to haul her up
against the wall.

‘I need something of my own. This isn’t just about the Derby.
That’s only the beginning. I want to create a grand stud, a breeding and
training facility that rivals any in England, north or south.’

Bram let out a low whistle. That
was
an enormous ambition and an exciting one; it was something
he’d
like to do if he could ever raise enough funds or
settle down long enough. ‘Does your brother know?’

‘He knows. He doesn’t understand, not really. It’s different
for a woman.’ Phaedra played idly with a piece of straw but Bram could hear the
untold story behind that sentence. A man like Giles wouldn’t fully understand.
Montague had his military career. He had been in charge of his life. Now he had
this property to oversee and a dukedom coming his way eventually. As a man,
Phaedra’s brother took his independence for granted, a natural assumption of his
life. But Phaedra could make no such assumption.

‘I’m not a baby any more, not a child. I can do things,’
Phaedra said with no little frustration. ‘I just have to make Giles see
that.’

She was the youngest. Bram had forgotten. When he looked at
her, he didn’t see a child but a lovely young woman. Naturally, Giles would want
to protect her; young and female, a man like him would see her as someone to
shelter, especially after the other losses Tom Anderson had mentioned.

‘And Warbourne is the key to this dynastic vision of yours?’
Bram asked lightly.

Phaedra pulled her gaze from the straw she’d been twisting.
‘Yes.’

‘Just yes? That’s an awfully big risk to take with an untried
colt.’ He remembered with clarity Giles handing over the pearl set to the
auctioneer. Warbourne had cost Phaedra dearly.

‘Not really, not if you know what you’re doing.’ Phaedra rose
and brushed off her skirts, bringing the conversation to an abrupt, regretful
end. Bram could have kept talking to her all night, another revelation. Usually
by now he would have...well, never mind that. He pushed his more erotic thoughts
aside with a hard mental shove.

‘I shouldn’t be telling you all this, I hardly know you and you
hardly know me. You’re probably thinking I’m a spoiled little rich girl. I have
all of these horses to play with and yet it isn’t enough.’ She was back to not
trusting him. He wanted to change that. He wanted to tell her he had no desire
to see her retreat from the stables or from her dreams but she wouldn’t believe
him, not yet.

Bram’s hot thoughts shoved back. She looked irresistible in the
lantern light, the upsweep of her hair setting off the curve of her jaw to
delicate perfection, the slope of her shoulder leading the eye to the low bodice
of her gown and the soft swell of her breasts beneath.

‘I’m not thinking that at all, I’m thinking what could possibly
drive this beautiful woman to such lengths? To want things it’s not usual for a
woman of your background to want, especially when it means giving up something
as enormous as a Season.’ He knew London and its intrigues intimately. The
Season was her gateway to marriage, security and respectability, three things a
woman treasured as much as her virginity. Even a duke’s daughter understood the
necessity for a good Season, a good match. Finding a successful match would be
easier than getting Warbourne to win the Derby.

That got her attention. ‘You think I’m beautiful?’ she
whispered in surprise.

‘Mmm-hmm.’ Bram rose and stepped towards her. He watched her
pulse catch at the base of her throat as he caressed her cheek with the back of
his hand. He cradled her face between his hands, gently tipping her head back,
her pink lips already parted ever so slightly, the dark pupils of her eyes wide
with curious desire.

‘I think it’s time to claim my forfeit.’ His voice was husky as
he bent to take her mouth in a slow kiss.

* * *

So this was what he’d meant by a real kiss. It was more
than a kiss, more than lips meeting lips in a fleeting buss. Phaedra was
blissfully conscious of his hand at the back of her neck, warm and caressing,
guiding; of her lips opening to him; of the decadent strokes of his tongue
inside her mouth; of her own tongue responding in kind until they were engaged
in a seductive duel.