by Anna Bradley
Iris heard the quaver in her voice, and no one spoke for a long moment after she fell silent, but then the rhythmic tap of Lord Wrexley’s riding crop against his boot ceased. “I have something to show you, Miss Somerset.”
There was an odd, calculating look in his eyes as he held out his arm to her. He didn’t spare a glance for his cousin or Lord Huntington, but they followed as Lord Wrexley strode with Iris toward a dim corner of the barn.
Iris heard him before she saw him. A few irritable snorts, a warning nicker, and finally the slam of a massive body against the wooden walls of the stall.
“Stay back,” Lord Wrexley warned. “Captain West says he has a wicked temper.”
Iris hardly heard him. She took one cautious half step toward the stall, itching to reach her hand in to stroke that glossy dark coat, but she knew better than to get within biting distance of the horse’s snapping teeth. “Oh, you’re in a temper, are you?” she murmured. “But I’d wager you’re the sort who’s always in a temper. What’s your name?”
“Chaos. Proper name for him, isn’t it?” Lord Wrexley stood back from the stall, keeping a safe distance between himself and the horse. “Captain West keeps him in this corner of the stables for a reason.”
Chaos tossed his head as if he knew he’d been maligned, and a shaft of sunlight fell on his neck. He wasn’t black, as Iris had originally thought, but a dark, sleek gray, and even from the quick glimpse she got, she could see he was enormous. “What reason is that?”
Chaos jerked his head toward her and bared his teeth.
“He bites.” Lord Wrexley chuckled. “Kicks, too, among other nasty habits. Captain West said he’s the finest runner he’s ever seen, but it seems Chaos here is particular about who rides him. He told me Chaos nearly threw Lady Hadley once and would have trampled her under his hooves if he’d managed to unseat her.”
Lady Honora gasped. “My goodness! I wonder why Captain West keeps him at all.”
“He’s a remarkable animal, Honora, truly one of a kind, but he needs a firm hand.” Lord Wrexley spoke to his cousin, but he was staring at Iris, his pale blue eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Do you suppose you could manage him, Miss Somerset?”
“What? Certainly not!” Lady Honora gasped again, and her voice had gone shrill with fright. “What do you mean, suggesting such a thing, cousin?”
Lord Wrexley ignored her. “Miss Somerset? Could you manage him?”
Iris took another cautious step forward, her breath held. Chaos kicked and whinnied and butted his head against the sides of his stall, but he was watching her, assessing her with those liquid black eyes, and everything inside her vibrated in response. Her body went rigid from the effort it took not to touch him, but she held back, because he wasn’t ready to be touched by her.
Not yet. But he would be, and soon. She’d touch him, and she’d ride him.
“Miss Somerset?” There was a thread of impatience in Lord Wrexley’s voice.
“He’s not the kind of horse you manage, my lord, but if you want to know whether or not I could ride him…” Iris paused, and a small smile tugged at her mouth. “In the right circumstances, and given a chance to become more familiar with him, yes. I could ride him.”
Lord Huntington hadn’t said a word up to this point, but now he stepped forward, and the shaft of sunlight fell over his face.
A soft gasp escaped Iris’s throat.
“A word, Wrexley?”
It was a low growl, dark and furious, and a shiver darted up Iris’s spine. Lady Honora shrank back, away from him, her eyes wide.
His lips were white at the corners, and his eyes had gone black with suppressed fury. His powerful body shook with barely leashed rage as he approached Lord Wrexley, and Iris froze, her heart thundering in her chest as she stared at him.
He was beautiful—and terrifying.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
* * * *
Finn jerked his head at Wrexley to follow him, then strode toward the stable door, where the ladies couldn’t overhear them.
“What’s the matter now, Huntington?” Wrexley sauntered after him, a mocking smile on his lips. “Christ, you haven’t changed at all since school. Still fuming over one thing or another, aren’t you? It must exhaust you to sustain that outrage day after day. Well, what is it?”
“What the devil do you think you’re doing, suggesting that horse for Miss Somerset? He’s not a safe mount for her, and you bloody well know it. Do you want to see her hurt, or worse?”
The light flooding through the stable door stabbed at Finn’s eyes, and for a moment a horrifying image of Iris Somerset trampled under those enormous black hooves flashed through his mind.
“Why would I wish for that, Huntington? I think I’ve made it clear how taken I am with Miss Somerset. The lady likes a challenging mount.”
Finn flexed his fingers to keep them from clenching into fists. He wanted to wrap his hands around Wrexley’s throat until he’d squeezed that smirk right off the scoundrel’s face, but he held back, his pulse throbbing with impotent fury.
“Challenging? That horse is more than challenging, Wrexley. With the wrong rider on his back, he’s deadly.”
Wrexley glanced behind him, and Finn followed his gaze.
Lady Honora had ahold of Miss Somerset’s arm as if to pull her away from the stall, and her face was pale with fear. Miss Somerset, however, had inched closer, and even from this distance Finn could hear her murmuring to the horse in a low, soothing voice.
Wrexley turned back to Finn with a shrug. “She seems happy enough with him, and you heard my cousin. She assured us Miss Somerset can manage any horse in the stables. I can’t see what reason you have to object.”
Finn was taller than Wrexley, so when he stepped closer, his chin was right in Wrexley’s face, and the other man was forced to back up. “I object to your putting Miss Somerset in danger. That horse is aggressive and much too big for her. If he chooses to bolt—and you only have to look at him to see he will—she won’t have the strength to stop him, no matter how skilled she is in the saddle. Tell her you’ve made a mistake, and suggest a different horse.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Huntington. Look at her. She’s besotted with the animal, and I wouldn’t dream of disappointing a lady.”
“You’re all gallantry, aren’t you, Wrexley? But gallantry will be of little use to Miss Somerset when that horse breaks every bone in her body.”
“What a happy thought. One can always count on you to dampen the spirits. But I think you underestimate the lady. Tell me, Huntington. Is that why she jilted you?”
Finn didn’t so much as twitch a muscle at Wrexley’s jab. It took every bit of his control to keep his expression blank, but Wrexley saw something there that made his lips twist with a satisfied smirk. “Unfortunate, but your loss will be my gain. I expect Miss Somerset and I will be betrothed before the end of the house party. When the happy event occurs, I hope you’ll be the first to congratulate me, Huntington.”
Finn’s jaw went rigid. It was just as he’d thought. Wrexley intended to take advantage of Miss Somerset’s precarious situation with a whirlwind courtship. He’d already begun to ingratiate himself with her, and like most scoundrels, Wrexley was adept at feigning sincerity. He wasn’t making an empty threat—there was a good chance he really could have the entire business settled before the end of the house party.
Finn’s chest tightened with something that felt suspiciously like panic.
“As far as the horse is concerned,” Wrexley went on, “you’ll recall, Huntington, you’re no longer betrothed to Miss Somerset. She may do as she pleases, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
“I think you’re far more concerned Miss Somerset do what you please.” Finn’s voice was soft, menacing. “A naïve young lady with a substantial fortune,
a recently broken engagement, and at a house party, no less, with all the freedom it affords. You’re not one to let such an opportunity slip away, are you, Wrexley? She must be irresistible to you.”
“Oh, she is. But then, I’ve always admired her. That’s the difference between us, Huntington. You’re the kind of man who doesn’t value a jewel until you no longer hold it in your hand.” Wrexley shook his head as if in regret, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I think you see your mistake now though, don’t you? Pity it’s too late.”
Finn swallowed, but the bitter, acid taste of regret lingered in his mouth. There was nothing more galling than being taunted by a man with so little discernment as Wrexley, unless it was knowing he was right.
“But even considering Miss Somerset’s many attractions, I don’t deny I’m delighted to have the additional pleasure of taking her away from you. It maddens you, and that makes her infinitely more enticing to me. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it, how fate has offered me another chance to steal the heiress you’d chosen as your own?”
Wrexley saw at once he’d hit a tender spot and was quick to follow up his advantage with another blow. “I suppose it’s difficult for a controlling man like you to find such a prize has slipped through your fingers, but I must say I’m relieved, for Miss Somerset’s sake. What a pity it would be for such a passionate lady to be wasted on someone as cold and emotionless as you. I wonder, do you think she knows how narrow her escape was?”
Wrexley’s smiled widened when Finn didn’t answer. “I daresay you wouldn’t have known what to do with her, but perhaps it will comfort you to know, Huntington, I intend to keep her very much in hand when she’s mine, and I can think of quite a few things I’ll do to her, and even more I’ll have her do to me.”
Things happened quickly after that.
A roar echoed in Finn’s ears, and he grabbed Wrexley by his coat and yanked him off the ground. “She may not be mine, but she’ll never be yours, either. You’re very much mistaken if you think I won’t look out for Miss Somerset’s interests. I’ll be damned if I stand by while she falls victim to a scoundrel like you.”
“Take your bloody hands off me, Huntington.” Wrexley tried to pry Finn’s fingers loose from his coat, but Finn tightened his grip until his knuckles were white. Wrexley kicked and squirmed, his face and neck flushing a dull, angry red, but there was nothing he could do except dangle like a ragdoll until Finn chose to let him loose.
Finn took his time.
When he dropped Wrexley to the ground at last, he shoved past him without another glance, and strode to the back of the stables, forcing himself to smile at Lady Honora as he approached. “Will the chestnut mare your cousin chose for Miss Somerset do for you, my lady?”
Lady Honora was still pale, and she gave him a blank look. “The chestnut—oh, yes. Of course. She’ll do very well.”
“Fine. Your cousin will have the groom saddle her and bring her out to the yard for you. I’ll join you in a moment.”
“All right.” Lady Honora cast one last worried look at Miss Somerset and the dark gray stallion; then she followed her cousin out into the yard without further argument.
Lady Honora never argued.
Finn doubted he’d be as fortunate with Miss Somerset. It seemed incredible he ever could have overlooked the obstinate thrust of that chin, or the dark blue flash of temper in her eyes.
Christ, what a fool he was.
Chapter Twelve
Finn had meant to take her arm at once and move her away from the horse before Chaos tried to knock her over or bite her, but he stilled when he caught sight of her leaning over the edge of the stall, her bright hair illuminated by a beam of sunlight.
Her head was bent toward the horse, one of her hands curled around the stall door, the other caressing the horse’s neck with slow, easy strokes. She was murmuring to him, and the horse’s ears were twitching with pleasure at the sound of her low, sweet voice.
Finn leaned a hip against the door of the stall and crossed his arms over his chest. She was so preoccupied with the stallion she didn’t seem to realize he was there, and the scene was so tranquil he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt them.
He’d watch her for a moment only, and then he’d—
“Oh, just look at you, you beauty.” She let out a soft laugh when Chaos butted his nose roughly into her shoulder. “Oh no, indeed. There will be none of that. When I ride you, you’ll act the gentleman, sir.”
She continued to stroke the horse with long, steady sweeps of her hand, again and again, slow and rhythmic, crooning to him all the while. Finn couldn’t hear all of what she said, but it didn’t matter.
She could be saying anything, or nothing at all.
His eyes slid half-closed as he let himself fall deeper under the spell of her hypnotic voice, but even as his brain was lulled into quiet the rest of his body surged with awareness. She didn’t look at him, but it was as if he were taking her inside him, each syllable sinking in and becoming invisible, like water disappearing into sand.
“There. That’s it, Chaos. You can be sweet when you choose, can’t you?”
She laughed again when the stallion nosed her cheek, and Finn’s own lips curved in response. Had he never heard her laugh before? Or was it another thing he’d failed to notice about her? Her laugh, the stubborn lift of her chin, her voice like the stroke of a hand over him, a lullaby and a seduction at once.
He would have stood there all day and listened to her.
“You’re both sweet and wicked, aren’t you? Ah, such a soft mouth, like velvet.”
Finn’s breath grew short, his chest heaving with each inhale. Even here, in the stables, with Lady Honora and Wrexley right outside the door, every inch of him strained toward her, his cock rising and pressing against the front of his falls, his body desperate for more of her voice, her fingers stroking his lips. What would it be like to lie next to her, with her mouth pressed to his ear as she whispered to him, each word no more than a warm breath of air?
“No, I can’t believe you’re truly wicked, not with that mouth.”
And the horse—damned if the horse wasn’t just as fascinated with her as Finn was. Chaos was a devil. One look into those black eyes and anyone could see it, but she seemed to know just the right way to touch him and just how to speak to him.
“There now, Chaos. Shall we go for a ride?”
Her spell dissipated into the dust motes floating in the shaft of sunlight above them, and a pang of regret pierced Finn’s chest. He couldn’t let her ride that horse—not without speaking to Captain West first. Chaos might seem tame enough now, in his stall, but there was no telling how he’d behave once she was mounted and riding him across open country.
He opened his mouth to tell her she’d have to choose a different horse for today, but when he spoke, that wasn’t what he said at all.
“He likes you.”
“Yes, I think he does.” A delighted grin flirted at the corners of her lips, and Finn’s knees weakened.
They were both quiet for a moment, then he surprised himself again by asking her a question he didn’t know he needed answered until the words left his mouth. “You never spoke to me about Typhon, or about your life in Surrey. All those weeks I courted you, and even after we were betrothed, you never spoke to me about your father. Why?”
She glanced at him, surprised. “I don’t speak of him much, and I—I didn’t think you were interested.”
“But you believe Lord Wrexley is?”
Wrexley was utterly unworthy of her confidence, and yet she’d chosen to share a part of herself with him?
“I told Lord Wrexley the story about Typhon because he asked, my lord. You never did. If you recall, we didn’t talk much, despite the many weeks we spent together.”
Finn’s brows drew together in a frown. “I don’t recall that, no. We spoke as mu
ch as any betrothed couple does.”
They’d spoken at suppers and musical evenings, and when they danced together at balls, or walked in Lady Chase’s garden. When he’d called on her, they’d sat with her sisters and grandmother and spoken of…they’d spoken of…
Well, whatever they’d spoken of, he’d thought it perfectly acceptable at the time, and he’d never noticed any dissatisfaction on her part. But perhaps that was the problem. Now she’d jilted him—twice—he was noticing all kind of things about her he never had before.
She ran her palm down the horse’s nose, avoiding Finn’s gaze. “We spoke, of course, of the things any courting couple speaks of, such as dancing, mutual acquaintances, and the latest scandals, but we never spoke of anything of consequence, and certainly never of anything personal. I can’t think of a single instance in which I openly shared my opinion with you during our courtship, or our betrothal.”
There was a dejected note in her voice that startled Finn. He tried to recall their courtship—what he’d said, and what she’d said—but all he could remember was he’d always come away from their time together with a vague feeling the courtship was going as he intended. He hadn’t bothered to consider it, or her, beyond that.
It had been a mistake, but surely it wasn’t only his mistake? “I beg your pardon. I should have asked, or talked to you about my own—”
Family.
That was what he’d been about to say, but he bit the word back before he spoke it. What was there to say about his family? That his mother had run off to Scotland with her lover when he was six years old and left his heartbroken father behind to struggle with his grief? That his father had lost that battle when Finn was eight years old, and he’d been left to the care of an indifferent guardian, his headmaster at Eton, and a houseful of distracted servants? He never talked about his family, because beyond that grim tale and the empty void that followed it, there was nothing to say.
