The Only One

by Samanthya Wyatt

  As Ben and Sam watched, Kit—angry, but still their elder brother—pummeled thunder on her.

  “Don’t play dumb. You said ‘marry.’”

  Uh-oh. “You misunderstood.”

  Kit held up his hand in a silencing gesture. “I know you, little sister. You decry too strongly.”

  She huffed and straightened her back in peevish chagrin.

  “You’ve been behaving differently. Do you fancy the Brit?”

  When she remained silent, he snapped, “Answer the question. Do you have your eyes set on the duke?”

  “Papa always said her impulsiveness would get her in trouble,” Ben grumbled.

  Papa. Good Lord. If they tell him . . .

  “I might remind you of the man’s station,” Kit continued. “He is a duke. Let me count the reasons why any flight of fancy in your mind is absurd.”

  “You tell her, Kit.” Sam wasn’t that much older than she. And he’d had his share of mischief.

  “I’m old enough to marry.” She clenched her teeth around each word.

  “Over my dead body,” Kit growled.

  “You—you’re not even a woman,” Sam stuttered.

  She stood, fisting her hands on her hips. “Just what am I then?”

  “You’re our little sister.” Ben answered in a tender voice.

  “I am a female. I am a woman.” She stared at each one individually.

  “You are not.”

  Her gaze flew to Sam. His throat convulsed as if he’d swallowed a bug.

  “He meant you’re not grown up enough to be a woman,” Kit stated.

  Fuming, she swung around, stomping off, to anywhere away from her three irritating siblings.

  “Now just a darn minute,” Ben shouted.

  Sam yelled, “Wait!”

  Why she stopped, she didn’t know. Maybe because, for the first time, her brothers sounded uncertain.

  Sam stepped forward. “All right. You are seventeen. Almost a woman.” Her face tightened with temper. He quickly held up his hands. “We’re just concerned. As brothers should be.”

  “That’s right.” Ben stepped closer. His voice lowered. “We care, Alex.”

  She glanced to Kit. Frown lines deepened his scowl. “Women don’t always know what they want.”

  Seeing his concern, her shoulders relaxed. Her brothers did care for her and she loved them, too.

  “I want to know what the Brit did to entice our little sister.” Ben’s anger brewed.

  “He is a nobleman.” Kit’s tone sounded suggestive. Why, she had no idea.

  “The scoundrel,” Sam burst out.

  Her hackles rose. “What’s wrong with you three? He’s done nothing.”

  “He just dropped you on your bum.”

  “Didn’t look to me like there was a lot of charming going on,” Kit added.

  “If anything, seemed to me like she was pestering him.” Ben hooked his thumbs in his belt loops.

  Her mind couldn’t keep up with their thought process. Were they mad, or just plain witless? “Not that I care what you think, brother of mine. Just don’t stick your nose where you don’t belong.” Brave words standing before these three. Her tongue too oft spouted before she gave herself time to think.

  “You’re my sister. And if I think the duke needs a lesson, I’ll be glad to give it to him.”

  “You big oaf.” She stood toe to toe with Ben and angled her chin to glower into his face. “You leave him alone.”

  “You have no say in the matter.” His voice hardened.

  “Alex. Has the duke done something to lead you on?” Kit asked.

  If he only knew. She’d thrown herself at Giles and in return, he dumped her in front of her brothers. At her silence, or maybe her flush, Ben chose his own answer.

  “There are boundaries a man does not cross.” He swung around with harsh intent.

  “No!” She lurched forward and grabbed his arm. “He . . . he thinks I’m a child.”

  “You are a child.”

  She hated her brother right now.

  “Don’t split your spleen, Ben. ‘Tis obvious this infatuation is one sided.” Kit chuckled. “After all, he did deposit our sister almost in our laps.”

  “Keep the brat away from him,” Sam laughed. “That’s what he said.”

  This time when Alex turned to walk away, no one stopped her.

  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 press
ed 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.