To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst)

by Frances Fowlkes

  “Well, no, I don’t expect I would—were I to allow you to ride astride.”

  “Then it is a good thing I do not require your permission.”

  He snatched the tail of her jacket, the wool pulling taut against her chest. She took a step back to steady herself and swiveled her head to shoot him her best indignant glare. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

  “Nothing happens in this barn without my permission.” He stared at her with the full authority granted his position—an authority she had grossly underestimated.

  Albina cleared her throat. “I am the earl’s guest.”

  “Which is precisely why you cannot ride a horse astride. It is not decent for any woman. Let alone one connected to the earl.”

  “And yet I have been doing so for longer than you have been head groom.”

  He maintained his grip on the coarse fibers of her old jacket and narrowed his eyes. “You have not ridden astride while I have been at Plumburn.”

  “No,” she said slowly. “Only because I have not yet had the opportunity.” With a deft twist, she tugged her jacket out of his hand and took a step forward—only to have a wide palm bear down on her shoulder.

  The man was far too intimate for his position. She had never been so manhandled, so…affected by a man’s touch. Why, her flesh prickled beneath his hand. Most likely because the morning was still new, and the air damp. She was reacting to the chill—and not the overbearing grip of some manservant and his appealing musky and oiled-leather scent.

  “I am afraid that particular opportunity to ride astride has once again eluded you.”

  “Oh? And how do you propose to confirm the sincerity of my claim?” She lowered her shoulder, sloughing off his hand and once again making her way toward the mare.

  “By watching you ride—with the proper saddle and attire.”

  “Excellent, as this attire is befitting a jockey.” She entered the stall and stepped alongside the horse.

  He followed not two steps behind, his tall, lean frame darkening the entrance of the stall. “Were you a man, as your clothing suggests, I would not argue your logic.”

  “I need not be a man for you to allow me the opportunity to prove myself worthy of the position I seek to claim.”

  Albina settled her hat on a hook and lifted a set of leather ribbons off another. No argument was made, no cynical remark or counterclaim given. She fought the urge to glance back to verify he had heard her more than rational request, when the sound of departing footsteps echoed in the small space.

  Was he leaving?

  He’d been a nuisance, an irritating, buzzing gnat in her ear, upsetting her plans and disparaging her title. She ought to rejoice at his departure and her apparent good fortune… Only, she wished for him to witness her ride.

  Because, devil take it, she was a good rider. Her ego aside, she wished his approval to gain access to the filly—an access not yet granted to her by the earl.

  But one that would be soon, should Henrietta work her magic and convince the man to see things as they stood—with Albina riding in the derby to attract the marquess’s attention. But in the event her sister failed in her endeavors, well, a second option was essential. And having the groom witness her ride was part of that course.

  Gripping the ribbons in one hand, she placed another on the steed—only to have her fingers swipe against a quilted pad being thrown over the mare’s withers.

  The groom’s low voice whispered over the horse. “She was groomed earlier and is ready to ride—if you are.”

  Her heart sped, her blood pulsing with unfettered excitement. She edged around the horse to the front corner of the stall, where she was afforded a full view of the groom’s broad shoulders and trim backside.

  Albina averted her gaze, a warm heat creeping up her neck. “You…you have rescinded your objections?”

  He lifted the saddle—a cross saddle—and settled it on the mare’s back. “I have. Against my better judgment.”

  “Why?” She honestly hadn’t meant to give voice to the question. He was, after all, preparing and tacking the horse to ride astride. It was in her best interest to remain silent and allow him to continue the task.

  But then, Albina had never been able to keep quiet.

  He peered down at her, a ginger brow quirked upward. “A titled woman determined to defy convention is seeking my approval. My interest is piqued, my lady.” He fiddled with the saddle skirt, his gaze dipping to the oiled leather. “Curiosity, it seems, has overridden my good sense.”

  She fought the smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “That remains to be seen.” He fastened the girth and placed the bridle over the mare’s sleek snout. He held out his hand, his forefinger curling inward. “The ribbons, if you please.”

  She handed him the leather strips and stepped aside while he guided the mare out of the stall and into the aisle. He paused and turned back, capturing her gaze with his searing blue one. “You have this one opportunity for both my silence and my opinion. Should I find you near the racers again without the earl’s consent, I will not hesitate to notify him of your presence, your intent…and your appearance.”

  Albina nodded, barely able to contain the surge of excitement his words rendered. She reached for the old hat settled against the barn wall. “Duly noted, Mr.…?”

  “White. Mr. Edmund White.”

  “Well, Mr. White, the next time you see me, I will not require the earl’s permission, for you will recommend me to him yourself.”

  …

  She was confident. Edmund would give her that much.

  And headstrong, defiant, and far more brazen than a woman of her station afforded, and yet, he found himself intrigued to see if the fiery lady lived up to her boasting and pompous claims.

  If one could call her a lady. She might possess a title and hold connections to monarchs and high-seated bureaucrats, but she wore a set of clothing so threadbare and worn, not even the stable hands mucking out the stalls would see fit to don them. The thin and sadly tattered fabric, however, firmly established her sex, revealing a figure he could neither deny nor ignore.

  He kept his gaze not on the round curve of her bobbing bottom, but on the russet-brown mane of the mare alongside him…or at least he tried to focus on the coarse hairs. His focus, unfortunately, seemed drawn to the oddity of a woman in front of him. The one in men’s clothing. Revealing far more than she likely intended. She was either incredibly naïve or ignorant to the fact that anyone with a set of eyes bore witness to a figure most men only viewed in private rooms. With beds.

  If she was ignorant to that fact, no doubt Lady Albina Beauchamp was all words and empty boasts, her talents nothing more than a bored and pampered lady wishing for some sort of escape and thrill on top of a horse.

  She certainly did not possess the talents required of a true master jockey. He held back the laughter tickling his throat. A woman. Racing. In place of a jockey. What sort of disillusionment and insanity must have gripped the poor girl to think her capable of filling such a demanding, skilled, and perhaps most notably masculine occupation?

  True, she had the petite stature required of the position and likely came in at the proper weight, should his gaze be a reliable estimation, but one needed more than correct body proportions to win a race. A firm command of the horse, an intimate knowledge of riding technique and horse anatomy, along with the ability to make immediate decisions for unpredictable problems—they separated the amateurs from the professionals and made the jockeys near as valuable as the horse they rode upon. They were also skills one did not learn from a governess or obliging groom.

  Edmund doubted Lady Albina had ever ridden harder than a cantor, and certainly not the full gallop necessary to win a race—though she seemed more than capable of making immediate decisions.

  Such as the one where she’d convinced him to watch her ride.

  “I should think a position at the top of the small bluff over
there will afford you the best view.” She pointed west, her unpinned curls lifting and catching in the light breeze.

  He shook his head and blinked. He had to focus. But damn, if her hair didn’t call out like a siren, begging for his touch…

  “Mr. White?” She turned her head to peer at him, her inquisitive eyes the same shade as the mist-shrouded hills behind her.

  He swallowed, his mouth dry. “Yes?”

  “The bluff. Do you think it a fine vantage point?”

  Not quite as fine as the one he currently found himself in, with the sun behind her, illuminating her voluptuous figure.

  “Uh…yes.”

  She nodded and set her hat on the saddle. Lifting her hands, she gathered her hair into a queue at her nape. She held the riotous curls in one hand and reached for the hat with the other. With a deft flick of her wrist, she flung her mane up and underneath the crown of the hat.

  Leaving him spellbound.

  Jesus.

  It would do him well to remember she was a daughter of the former earl, a lady—not some tavern whore charging for a tumble.

  And yet, she hoisted herself over the mare, spreading her legs as well as any of the practiced women he had ever bedded.

  She stared at him with an equal measure of agitation and impatience. “Do you intend to walk the two miles out to the bluff or will you saddle a horse and ride, Mr. White?”

  He pulled his gaze away from her buckskin-encased thighs and shook himself out of his reverie. “Ride, yes,” he said, still in a daze.

  “Then I suggest you start saddling your selection. I do not have all day.”

  Neither did he. Edmund had horses to groom, train, and run. Evaluating the riding technique of a bored lady had not been on his morning agenda. Which was why he made his way back into the barn and saddled the spirited bay mare the earl had only recently acquired. He had to run the girl anyway. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

  Edmund adjusted the leather bridle and gripped the thick lead, guiding the steed into the morning sun.

  Lady Albina’s face brightened at his approach. “Shall we make a wager, Mr. White? Your mare against mine? The first one to the bluff wins?”

  “And what would the prize be, my lady?” He could think of more than one thing he’d very much like to win, like a long, slow kiss on her set of full, pink lips.

  “Your full recommendation to the earl when I arrive on the bluff a minute before you.”

  “And when I pass your mare and end up the victor?” he asked. “What shall I win?”

  She nibbled on her lip, drawing the supple flesh between her teeth and making his position on the horse a very uncomfortable one. “I named my terms. It seems only fair you should do the same.”

  Naïve, then. She was definitely naïve. And he had no qualms exploiting the fact. “A kiss. On my lips. From yours.”

  Her eyes widened, her porcelain skin flushing scarlet. He could almost hear her inner voice willing her to object his bold request, but she squeaked out a definite affirmation. “Done. On the count of three, we race to the bluff.”

  His blood warmed, and nothing, he was certain, but God himself could prevent him from claiming his prize.

  She brought her mare alongside his, a hint of uncertainty passing over her delicate features. “I expect nothing less than honest sportsmanship.”

  “And I expect nothing less than a good race, my lady.” He settled into the stirrups and gave her his best rakish smile. “One…two…”

  His words were drowned out by the clomping of hooves and Lady Albina’s high-pitched laughter.

  Chapter Three

  Albina leaned forward, her knees bent, her bottom above the saddle as she raced the mare toward the top of the hill.

  She had to win. Needed to win. To lose would be…well, it would be mortifying.

  Honestly. A kiss? From a groom?

  That the insufferable servant had a pair of wide, full lips equal to those of the marquess was of little consequence. He had overstepped the bounds of propriety and those of his station by asking for a favor. A kiss, for goodness’ sake. An intimate act of which she had no experience. At least not outside of her slumber-induced dreams.

  She had often imagined the action, of course, what it would be like to have her lips pressed against those of a man. She was a human after all. A curious and intellectual woman who held an intense desire to know more about an action that made her married sister blush and giggle. To have the opportunity to experience a kiss for herself…

  Well, it would never come to fruition, at least not today, for she could not hear another rider, so far ahead of Mr. White was she that the likelihood of his mouth coming anywhere near hers was minimal at best.

  She urged the mare forward, the beast’s ragged breathing eclipsing her own. The ride, however, came to an abrupt end as the once blurred trees became distinguishable shapes, and the mare slowed from a gallop to a walk. Although she was nearly at the summit, the mare’s hard breathing and contracting sides indicated she was finished.

  Done.

  And no longer in the lead.

  Mr. White’s bay mare streaked past, its black tail whipping in the wind.

  Albina’s heart raced. Her predicament wasn’t possible. She hadn’t heard any hooves coming alongside her, hadn’t believed him to be within a stone’s throw. She dug her heels into her horse’s flanks, earning her nothing more than a halfhearted trot.

  She was in the rear. With a debt to pay.

  An entire swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach. What had she done? Agreeing to his ridiculous wager? She had thought… Well, she had been so certain of a victory.

  She was of the proper stature and weight, the mare more than capable of the speed required. Albina’s previous runs with the beast were ready proof of the mare’s potential. But she had never ridden the horse astride. Or at a hard gallop for an extended distance.

  But…she should have won. Logic dictated so. She had more experience on a horse than some groom her sister’s husband had hired from heaven knew where.

  This was in some sort of dream. A nightmare. Where a pair of laughing blue eyes watched her as her horse finally plodded its way up the bluff to Mr. White and his bay mare.

  To his credit, the groom did not gloat over his win. In fact, he remained mute as she slid off the saddle and into the waist-high grasses.

  “Congratulations,” she ground out, attempting to sound sincere.

  He slid off his snorting mare, his gaze on hers. “You cheated.”

  She hadn’t cheated. She had, she supposed, ushered out of the gate a moment too soon, but it had not earned her the finish she had hoped to achieve and was therefore more a minor infraction of the rules than an actual breaking of them.

  “You are the one who has claimed victory, Mr. White.”

  “I finished first. I have not, however, claimed my victory.”

  Victory. The one where he sought a favor in the form of a kiss. Surely he wouldn’t wish to claim it here. A wave of heat crept up her face. “Yes. Well, I…”

  “Ran your horse too fast too soon, overestimated your skill, and left before I finished counting to three. An overall and evident display of bad form, I would say.”

  Albina blinked. “Bad form? Perhaps a miscalculation of distance and an eagerness to win, but—”

  “You touted your skill as worthy for the Emberton Derby. On par with a trained jockey.”

  Her jaw tightened at his harsh tone. “I did, yes.”

  “You could have injured the horse, or worse, yourself.” He stalked toward her, the tall grasses parting with each stride.

  “I could have, but I did not.” She spoke in her iciest and most commanding voice. Who was he to talk to her in such a way? For heaven’s sake, she was the daughter of an earl, a lady. While he was nothing more than a glorified stable hand whom she no longer had interest in swaying to her aid, let alone allowing to claim the favor of a kiss.

  She needed to return to Plumbu
rn and put this whole sordid incident behind her. Mayhap she simply needed more practice before the derby. And a faster horse…

  Turning to the mare, she lifted her foot into the stirrup—only to have it removed with a hard push from the groom’s hand.

  The man was insufferable. “I shall notify the earl of my interest in his horses directly.” She didn’t need the opinion of a groom to gain her brother-in-law’s permission. She needed a miracle. The earl was as stubborn as she was determined, but the groom needn’t know the details of the obstacle she was up against, that Henrietta had warned her about.

  “Not if you intend on having him agree.”

  She threw back her shoulders and glared at him. “I am persuasive.” Though not nearly persuasive enough to sway the earl, of that she was certain. His acceptance of her scheme would require both of her sisters’ support…and a sign from God after her display of incompetence.

  “As am I. And when I inform him of your careless disregard for both your health and that of your horse, he will not let you anywhere near his prized beasts, let alone give his approval for your asinine request to ride them at Emberton.”

  Albina ground her teeth. “I am fully capable of riding.”

  “Capable? Yes. But good enough to win the Emberton Derby and bring honor to your family’s name? No.”

  He ran a hand over her horse’s muzzle and the sides of its neck, easing the beast’s breathing. She pulled her gaze from his hands and shook her head. “I acknowledge the errors I have made and will correct them with more practice and time atop a horse.”

  “You need more than practice. You need training. And a willing instructor. Not to mention a firm shake ridding you of the notion—”

  “An instructor?” she asked, zeroing in on his words and ignoring the incessant chirping of morning birdsong.

  “A willing instructor,” he corrected.

  “Excellent. Then I shall simply procure a willing instructor.”

  He let out a low chuckle, a light breeze tugging on a ginger curl at his ear. “Do you think you can simply ask for a professional jockey’s assistance? As a woman? With only six weeks remaining before the derby?”