Tales of a Viscount

by Eleanor Meyers

  It took James a moment to realize he was speaking to thin air. The young boy was off like a shot. With a touch of his heels to the mare's sides, she was a bolt of black lightning streaking down the road before them, and after a moment staring after the boy, James urged Gunner into a hot dash behind them.

  And to think I was getting bored of the country.

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  CHAPTER

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  Jo heard the man riding after her in pursuit, but once she got a few lengths ahead of him, she knew he wasn't going to catch her. Tempest was the finest horse to come out of her father's stables, and even as a yearling, her father had thought Tempest's like wasn't to be seen in England. Steadily, she pulled ahead of the man's sturdier hunter, and when she came around the bend, she turned the horse into the forest trails.

  Tempest was fast and dainty-footed, and she followed one of the deer trails off the road a short distance. From there, shielded by the high bank and the new scrub, Jo kept her mare still as the strange man on the road thundered past. His gelding was of a high quality, she had known that immediately upon seeing it, but he was nothing compared to Tempest.

  What a strange man. She hadn't expected to be stopped by a stranger on the road. Yorkshire, in general, was a place known for its stoic people, and no one stopped much to chat. The man was clearly not from the area, and perhaps that was why she found him so strange.

  Well... it wasn't just how strange he was acting, if she were entirely honest with herself. His black hair and gray eyes were striking enough, and there was something strangely beautiful about his face. She supposed he would be called handsome if he stopped moving or kept his face still, but when he was smiling, teasing, and questioning, he had a kind of liveliness that made handsomeness seem secondary to his charm.

  Jo had noticed right away that he sat a horse very well. With his tall and athletic form, the stranger looked as if he were born to be on horseback. A part of her absently wondered what he might do mounted on her father's own blood bay hunter, one of the tallest horses the Fairport stud farm had ever thrown. She flinched away from the thought because the blood bay Hauer was the first horse her uncle sold off to a visiting Prussian dignitary.

  I can't think about this now. I need to concentrate on getting to London and to the Earl of Leaford.

  She counted to five hundred, and then when she had not heard anything else, she guided Tempest back on to the road. Despite the day and a half they had already traveled, Tempest was still moving as if they were only out for a midday run.

  London is just seven days away. If I can get to London, if I can get to the earl, everything will be fine.

  With any luck, the strange man had given up and returned to whatever errand brought him to Yorkshire, or perhaps he had stopped for a drink somewhere and would not see her and Tempest sneak by. That was the only thing that mattered to her.

  Tempest looked as if that run wasn't nearly enough for her taste.

  Jo grinned as she thumped the mare's neck gently with her fist.

  “Sorry, pretty girl. We've got a long way to go, and there are no good stalls for us between here and London, I'm afraid.”

  She was just getting ready to take Tempest down the river road when she heard the sound of hoof beats behind her. Even this early in the year, there were plenty of hunting parties and various other riding expeditions going on in Yorkshire, and thinking nothing of it, she guided Tempest to the side of the road to give the group plenty of space to pass.

  To her shock, however, it was not a group of gentry out for a ride or even a hunt. Instead, it was a trio of rather shabbily dressed men on dusty, ragged-looking horses coming up fast. Just as she realized their faces were covered below the nose with scarves, they had her and Tempest surrounded with the river to their backs.

  “It's just a boy,” said one.

  Another snorted.

  “Look at the damn horse. You think some local brat's going to have horseflesh like that?”

  Tempest stamped her feet in agitation, and Jo could tell the mare liked the situation as little as she did.

  “You're coming with us, girl.”

  The words told her all she needed to know, and with a squeeze of her knee, she signaled to Tempest to half-rear, throwing her hooves forward like a medieval battle horse. It allowed her to break through the loose ring the men had formed around her, and Jo wasn't going to waste whatever opportunity she had.

  Tempest slipped between two of the cobby horses like a fish slipping through water, but one of the men regained his wits long enough to grab at Jo. She ducked and felt the cap she had pinned so carefully snatched off her head. She shouted, but the man didn't grab on to her hair. Her long braid hit her back, and then she was through—almost.

  One of the men had recovered faster than she thought he would. Wheeling around, he somehow pulled alongside Tempest. He wasn't worried about racing her, only stopping her. Suddenly, Jo was surrounded by a stench of unwashed flesh and a meaty arm scooped around her waist, dragging her backward off the saddle.

  She shrieked with rage and panic, and the man's grip slipped. Instead of throwing her over his saddle as he intended, he let her slip toward the ground. For the first time, Jo was grateful for all the tumbles she had ever taken, starting from the time she was seven. She couldn't stop herself from falling, but she managed to grab the man who had toppled her by the foot, pulling him off the horse as she fell.

  Jo felt a kind of grim satisfaction when the man hit the ground next to her. In a heartbeat, she was up and scrambling for her feet. She had to get to Tempest. Her only way out of this situation—their only way out—was if she got back on her horse and got the hell out of there.

  However, that was easier said than done, as the two other riders were bearing down on her, grabbing at her jacket, her arms, anything to keep her from getting mounted up again. She shouted with fury, helpless and knowing all too well that her bid for freedom was at an end. A part of her told her to simply return quietly, that there was no good in fighting. The rest of her felt pure undiluted rage at that idea, and she lashed out blindly, desperate to get back on top of Tempest.

  The shot that cracked through the air sent all the horses except for Tempest into a panic. The loose horse panicked and ran off down the road, tack jingling, and then another one reared, dumping its rider on the ground and taking off after the first. That left only one of her attackers mounted, and he wheeled around in confusion, trying to see where the shot had come from.

  “That's enough of that, gentlemen.”

  The speaker, to Jo's shock, was the same man who had given chase less than an hour before. His horse stood like a statue as he took aim with his pistol.

  “You need to get on the road back to whatever slum you crawled out of. That first shot was a warning, but the next one won't be.”

  The two men on the ground slowly released Jo, and in a few moments, she had scrambled back onto Tempest's back, calming the horse with just a few strokes and murmured words. She cantered up to the stranger with the pistol, because whoever he was, he was already better than the men who had attacked her.

  Never taking his eyes off her attacker, he directed his next words to her.

  “Are you good to run?”

  “Always.”

  “Good. On the shot, then.”

  He raised his voice and lifted the pistol. “All right then. Get the hell out of here.”

  Another shot ran out, sending the men scrambling back down the road. With a surge of speed, Jo sent Tempest down the road south again, and this time, she felt only a sense of relief at the fact that the man on the bay gelding was right behind her.

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  3

  CHAPTER

  THREE

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>
  A short while down the road, when Gunner was showing signs of flagging and even the remarkable Tempest looked like she might want a rest, James waved to get the girl's attention, gesturing off the road. A short trail led down to an old hunting lodge, and though she gave him a wary look, she followed him.

  Some part of James still couldn't believe a girl had outraced him so neatly on the trail, though after seeing her willing to fight off three grown men, he thought he might believe anything of her.

  The hunting lodge was hidden from the river road, and the girl looked around curiously as they pulled to a halt.

  “What is this place?”

  “Belongs to a friend of mine in town. He told me I was free to use it while I was here. It goes beyond rustic to downright primitive, but I've been making do.”

  She shot him a wry look. “You know that it's easily large enough to hold a family of eight by its size alone, right?”

  James grinned at her. He much preferred the sharp-tongued girl to the sullen boy.

  “Are you saying no to the food I've had sent in?”

  Before she could answer him, her stomach rumbled, but still, she looked cautious.

  “No one gets anything for free. What will it cost me?”

  James sighed. “Spoken like a true Yorkshire lass. I suppose I could play the rake and ask for all sorts of things, but how about your name and your story? I know your horse's name and not yours, and I find I dislike that.”

  “I don't know your name, either.”

  “Then you weren't listening closely. I'm James Finely, Lord Westmont, but you can call me James. Does that put us on even footing yet, or would you like to know where I went to school and how my reputation stands with the matrons of the ton?”

  She hesitated and then shrugged. “All right, as long as you give me a chance to take care of Tempest first.”

  “Of course.”

  There was a small paddock behind the lodge, and while James worked the pump to get some water into the trough, the girl quickly and efficiently removed the tack from both Gunner and Tempest. As he worked the pump, James watched her out of the corner of his eye.

  With her cap off and a braid of pure auburn slung over her shoulder, it was hard to believe he had ever thought she was a boy. He had thought her stocky, and now he could see she must have bound down her breasts. A rather enormous men's jacket hid her hips, and when she was walking and not on horseback, the illusion was much lessened.

  When she caught him watching her, she glared.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Just trying to figure you out. Come on. The trough's full enough, and there's some food waiting for us inside.”

  The lodge was cozy, if small by James’ standards, only a single room warmed by an enormous hearth, and above was a loft where people could sleep. Gesturing for the girl to take a seat at the table, James went to the cupboard and retrieved a loaf of bread, a lump of hard cheese wrapped in paper, a thick sausage, and a jar of mustard.

  “Just about everything's mediocre except for the mustard. It has a good kick to it.”

  The girl didn't comment one way or the quality of the food, but from the way she devoured what he set in front of her, he guessed she was too hungry to care.

  “How long has it been since you ate?”

  “Late last night, and it wasn't much.”

  He poured her a tall glass of water from the clay ewer, and she murmured her thanks. Finally, both of them were sated with their meal, and she leaned back in her chair.

  Without looking at him, she said,

  “I suppose you'll be wanting my name and my story now.”

  “That was what we had agreed upon, yes.”

  “All right. My name's Jo Sallings, well, properly Josephine, but no one calls me that unless they're angry with me. My father was the Marquess of Fairport until he died, and now the whole estate goes to my uncle.”

  “Who is demanding that you marry a man of his choosing?”

  She gave him a wry look. “Do you read a great many romances then? No, though I don't doubt my uncle will be getting around to that at some point. And marriage… I've no objections to it. I think I could make some man a very good wife, providing he agreed with me on the care and disposition of our horses.”

  James laughed. “Spoken like a true Yorkshire lass, with all your wisdom of what, eighteen? Nineteen?”

  “I'm twenty, as a matter of fact, and do you want this story or don't you?”

  “I do, forgive me. Please continue.”

  “My father died, my uncle inherits, and he starts selling off my father's stud farm. Some forty horses, and inside of a month, four are gone.”

  “Your father was a horse breeder?”

  She shot him a withering look, which for some reason did not lessen her appeal at all. “Now I can see that you are not from Yorkshire at all. My father was one of the most famous horse breeders in the region. He knew horses, history and health and all. It was his legacy, and my uncle is in the process of destroying it. That's why I need to take Tempest to London.”

  “So, in your grief, you've turned to horse thievery.”

  She turned a look of such hot indignation to him that James sat back.

  “Absolutely not! Tempest is mine. It is in the paperwork, and she has been ever since she was a foal. One of the reasons she is mine is because my father and I were worried about her dam. We stayed in the stall with her all night and all day for three days. I was there when Tempest was born, very early in the morning and out of season as well. My father was impressed with my dedication and gave her to me.”

  “Why does it always feel as if I know more about your horse than I do about you?”

  “Well, Tempest is actually better bred and more beautiful.”

  James laughed out loud at her wry words, and he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her. In London, he could say with ease that he had a type. He liked tall and slender blondes well enough that the Society pages had written it up, and as a matter of fact, it was a tall and slender blonde who had been at the base of the incident that sent him to Yorkshire in the first place. However, in the country, apparently plush and curvy redheads were very much to his taste, and he found his gaze tracing along the curve of her cheek and the redness of her mouth.

  She looked slightly startled by his regard. “What is it?”

  “I think you are underrating yourself. But Tempest is yours, and you are taking her to London?”

  “Yes. He's already started selling off the bloodstock, and I don't think he's going to stop there. He'll want to sell Tempest, too, and he won't do it right.”

  Jo took a deep breath. “That's why I have to do it.”

  James felt whatever quip he had been about to make fall away from his lips. There was nothing funny about this. The girl looked more heartbroken over the horse than she had about her father. When she spoke about her father, the grief was contained, disciplined, and understood. This was raw and savage, something he could instinctively sense she felt to the very core of her.

  “He'll sell her to whoever shows up and has the right price, and I can't stand the idea of Tempest winding up as some carriage pony in Devon or being spoiled or broken by some careless hunter who has no idea what he has or how to manage her. I want to sell her to the Earl of Leaford.”

  James’ eyebrows went up. “Truly? You think the Earl of Leaford will take her?”

  Jo's chin went up defiantly. “He was the only man my father trusted in all of England to do right by fine horseflesh. Tempest is a direct descendant of the Byerley Turk, and her mother was an akhal-teke, a desert horse brought all the way from Istanbul.”

  “I see what you mean by having a noble lineage. And you would sell her?”

  “I would, but only to someone who knows what she is.”

  “And if I were to make an offer for her?”

  The look Jo gave him was frankly skeptical. “Do you own a stud farm?”

  “I do not.”

>   “Then no. Tempest's fate is to the founding dam of a dynasty, not a horse only ridden for pleasure or the hunt.”

  “Grand ideas indeed. And you think he'll talk to you?”

  She gave him an uncertain look. “Tempest is—”

  “Tempest is splendid, but I take it you have never met the earl in person.”

  “No.”

  “Then you likely don't know that the Earl of Leaford has a personal grudge against female riders.”

  “What?”

  “Can't abide them, unfortunately. He routinely sneers at the hunt at Canterfield led by Lady Carolyn Mulroney, and he has been known to refuse to sell horses to female riders for any reason.”

  Jo's face fell. “But surely he'll make an exception for Tempest.”

  “Not likely. So, you have a problem. Fortunately, I have a solution.”

  She went from crestfallen to suspicious, and he laughed a little. “What is it?”

  “I'll present Tempest to the old reprobate. I won't mention you, but I'll make sure you get every cent of the sale.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  “Because then I can be first in line to try to convince him to sell her to me.”

  “I told you—”

  “Yes, well, for a horse like Tempest, I might be willing to start a stud farm. But if Tempest is everything you believe her to be, there's no way the earl will let her go. And if he does, he's not the man you thought he was, and she might as well be with me.”

  For some reason, James couldn't stop looking at her bright teeth bit into her plump lower lip. When she spoke, there was a quiet note in her voice he hadn't heard before.

  “I really don't have much of a choice, do I? You're not lying to me about the earl.”