Unbefitting a Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  Bram rose, meeting her across the desk, his expression hot with his own agitation. ‘I work for myself, Lady Phaedra. Your brother might have hired me but I’ll decide how long I’ll stay. I’m not a creature of service like Tom Anderson who’s devoted his life to the high and mighty house of Rothermere.’

  She held his gaze steady, her body remembering the potent masculinity of him. Her stomach quivered with a trill of butterflies. ‘That does not give you permission for insolence and insubordination. If others see you circumvent my authority, they will do the same.’

  ‘Then keep the damn door shut because I’m about to “circumvent your authority” right now.’ Bram stretched a booted foot behind him and kicked aside the chunk of wood holding the door ajar. The door slammed closed with a resounding thunk. In that moment, everything changed; Bram reached for her, his hand rough at her neck, his mouth covering hers in a bruising kiss that both punished and aroused.

  Phaedra matched him, nipping at his lower lip in retaliation and in desire; this was rough play indeed and not entirely unpleasant. He growled against her neck, his hands yanking her shirt from the waistband of her trousers, his fingertips on her bare skin beneath the fabric, cupping her breasts, thumbing her nipples into wanton truancy. This was not the time for exploring the desires he awoke in her. She shoved hard at his chest. ‘I will not be mastered like this.’

  ‘Neither will I, princess. You can save your orders for the common servants.’ Bram’s eyes glittered dangerously but he let her go, let her take a step backwards.

  She would be wise not to push him any further. Phaedra pulled at her shirt, tucking it back in, and sat down with all the dignity she could rally. ‘Tell me about the Weston stud.’ She hoped her tones were appropriately convincing. She’d put the incident behind her, he should too. Phaedra pulled down the ledger in which all the breeding records were kept and opened it, another suggestion that their conversation had moved on.

  Bram sat too, and talked as she wrote, offering a physical description of the Weston stallion for the record. ‘It went well. We should know in a couple of weeks if it was successful. It’s still early. Weston said we can try again if it doesn’t take.’

  Phaedra humphed at the news of Weston’s generosity and shut the book. ‘That’s more than I ever got from him. I proposed the exact same match back in February and he turned me down.’ It was unfair. Bram had been here a handful of weeks and already Weston had been eager to set up a match.

  Bram gave her a wry smile. ‘I imagine most men feel uncomfortable discussing breeding with a female. It’s a fairly blunt conversation, to say nothing of the act itself.’ He chuckled. ‘Gordon Weston’s a nice enough man but I can’t exactly picture him standing at the fence with you calmly watching his stallion take your mare while you discuss the weather.’

  Phaedra blushed, this time more from the scrutiny of his blue eyes than the forthright nature of his language.

  ‘For that matter, Phaedra, could you?’ His voice was a rough whisper. ‘Could you watch and not get just a bit excited?’

  ‘Now you’re being shocking on purpose.’ She rose and put the book back on the shelf. It was time for him to go. She had to get ready for dinner, had to regain her equilibrium. Whenever she was around Bram Basingstoke, she was constantly off balance.

  Bram stood. ‘Maybe I am. Let that be lesson number two, Phaedra. Never tempt a man who’s watched a stallion breed all day.’ He fixed her with one of his hot gazes and melting smiles, his voice a low caress in the quiet privacy of the little room, before he slipped out the door. ‘Do you want to know what I learned? I learned that sometimes a lady likes a bit of rough.’

  Likes a bit of rough. The thought plagued her all through dinner. Bram was the most arrogant, most attractive, most irritating, most exciting man she’d ever met, and the most inappropriate. In all practicality, she could not think of fixing her sights on him. He was a groom, for heaven’s sake. After Kate’s marriage to Virgil, the family couldn’t take another shock. One of them had to marry decently.

  Phaedra pushed her potatoes around her plate, letting her thoughts wander down the most obvious path. Marriage? Did she think that’s where this hot and cold adventure with Bram was headed? There was no possibility of it happening in truth. Status differences aside, one did not marry for hot kisses alone. Every governess she’d ever had had neatly outlined the duties of a duke’s daughter when it came to marriage. Apparently they’d done their job well.

  To marry a man who was practically in service would make her a laughing stock among her social set, and her husband too. Everyone would know he’d married for enormous advantage and for no other reason. A marriage couldn’t survive under those circumstances. The doubt would kill any genuine feelings all too soon.

  Well, if one couldn’t marry handsome grooms, one could still kiss them, came the rebellious thought. If Bram was flirting with her for his own nefarious purposes, perhaps she could turn those purposes for her own good. What had Kate told her once? Men don’t ‘buy the cow when they get the milk for free.’ The adage could work both ways. She didn’t want to buy Bram’s ‘cow’ as it were, if she could get kisses for free. She just had to be careful not to get caught.

  ‘Are those potatoes to your satisfaction, Phae? You’ve pushed them around the plate five times now and haven’t taken a bite.’ Giles intruded on her thoughts after the roasted beef had been set in front of them.

  Phaedra looked up from her food. Did she look guilty? Did a person look a certain way after they’d had their mouth thoroughly ravished? More important, would Aunt Wilhelmina know that look? She tried to remember if Kate had looked a certain way. Giles and her aunt were staring at her expectantly.

  ‘The potatoes are fine.’ Phaedra smiled and forked a mouthful to make her point.

  ‘How’s Basingstoke working out?’ Giles asked, clearly eager to draw her into the dinner conversation.

  ‘He’s working out just fine.’ Kisses like a dream, looks wonderful with his shirt off, likes to work the horses half naked, oh, yes, he was working out fine.

  ‘Good, Anderson seems to like him,’ Giles replied, obviously hoping to have more of a conversation with her on the subject. Of course, with only Aunt Wilhelmina to talk to, anything would be welcome. She really ought to say more or Giles would think something was wrong, especially when she usually gushed about the stables at supper. ‘He took one of the mares over to Weston’s today for breeding.’ Phaedra gathered her thoughts, dragging them away from the other things Bram had done today. Giles would be less pleased with Bram if he knew what had gone on behind the closed door of her office today, or at the round pen, or in the stables late at night.

  ‘Breeding is not a suitable conversation for the dinner table or for a young woman anywhere at any time!’ Aunt Wilhelmina scolded.

  ‘It’s breeding season, it’s what horse owners talk about in March, Aunt,’ Phaedra protested gently.

  ‘You, miss, are not a “horse breeder.” You are a duke’s daughter and it’s time you remembered it.’ Phaedra repressed a sigh. She never forgot it. How could she with Aunt Wilhelmina reminding her every day?

  Wilhelmina turned her attentions on Giles with a wave of her fork. ‘This is why she needs a Season. She can’t even hold a proper conversation. Who will want a wife who is vulgar?’

  A lady who likes a bit of rough, Bram’s voice whispered naughtily in her head. Phaedra fixed her eyes on her roasted beef, a little smile playing on her lips. She knew one man who might. Good heavens, Bram Basingstoke was going to be the death of her. Or the life.

  Chapter Eight

  Bram watched Phaedra work the colt from the shadows of the entrance to the riding house. Whoever said absence made the heart grow fonder forgot to mention it made other parts grow harder. Two weeks of trying to avoid Phaedra hadn’t resolved anything. If yesterday’s heated altercation was anything to go on, avoidance had simply made things worse. It was time for a more direct approach.

  There
were other things he should be doing this afternoon. His trunk had arrived, finally, from the inn in Buxton and he needed to find a place to store it where it wouldn’t be noticed, most especially where it wouldn’t be noticed by Phaedra. She was curious enough to look inside and that would be akin to opening Pandora’s box.

  But he’d caught sight of her leading Warbourne to the indoor arena and after a half-hour of pretending he had no curiosity whatsoever about the progress she was making, Bram had given in.

  There was a stable hand with her, a gangly young lad named Bevins, who was no more than thirteen. Bram could hear Phaedra giving Bevins instruction, her voice bordering on impatient. ‘You have to take the lead rope firmly. Don’t back away when he tugs, it just proves to him that he’s winning.’ Apparently this had happened before, Bram mused.

  It wasn’t just anyone who could get near Warbourne though. He’d heard the boys in the stable talking about the horse in wary tones and drawing straws. None of them were especially excited about taking on the responsibility of caring for the feisty colt. So far, everyone was relieved Phaedra had decreed only she would care for the beast. Everyone except him.

  Bram was aching for a crack at the colt. But Phaedra’s position on the colt was absolute.

  ‘Now, we’re going to see if he’ll take a saddle pad.’ Phaedra handed the lead rope to Bevins. ‘You have to hold him. Make eye contact and talk to him. Let him get used to your voice. I’ll settle the saddle pad.’

  Bram chuckled to himself. Poor Bevins had obviously drawn the short straw. From the slouch of the boy’s shoulders Phaedra had decided he’d be having a lot more contact with the horse.

  Bram held his breath in anticipation. He was actually impressed Phaedra had gotten this far with the colt. The pad would be the first step towards taking a bit and eventually a saddle. This would be interesting.

  Phaedra approached from the near side but Warbourne sidled away, Bevins making no move to stop him. She tried again to no avail. Each approach made Warbourne more skittish. After a fifth attempt, Phaedra gestured the boy away. ‘Go sit over there. You’re upsetting him.’ She took the lead rope herself and spoke softly to the colt, stroking the white blaze running the length of his face. It was nothing short of miraculous to watch the colt settle at her touch, the signs of nervousness disappearing almost instantly. Bram’s respect for her went up another notch.

  She fed Warbourne a piece of ever-present apple from her pocket, her other hand moving to take long soothing strokes along the horse’s neck, the rest of her body moving subtly to the horse’s side so she could manoeuvre the saddle pad on the colt’s back. Then suddenly it was there, the white fleece pad was on the colt’s dark back and Phaedra was back at the horse’s head, calming and soothing. The whole process had been masterful and magical. He’d hardly noticed the moment she’d put the pad on and neither had Warbourne until it was too late.

  Warbourne didn’t like it but he didn’t revolt. He shook his long mane and protested but Phaedra held the lead rope close to his halter until he relented. ‘Did you see how I did that?’ she called over to Bevins. ‘He’s just testing you. He’s been without a real master for too long. He has to learn some things again, that’s all.’

  Bevins merely nodded, his face pale. Bram made a mental note to have a word with Bevins. Bram pushed off the door frame and came forward. ‘Well done!’ He could hardly stand by; the excitement rising in him at the potential of the colt now that he’d passed this milestone was too great. Perhaps, too, this would be a perfect opportunity to teach young Bevins by example. He would test the waters and see what sort of reception awaited him after yesterday.

  ‘Lady Phaedra, your colt is coming along nicely.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Basingstoke.’ He saw a secret mocking laughter in her eyes over the formality—a good sign that she wasn’t holding yesterday against him. Perhaps it was even a sign she was eager to forge ahead with their relationship, such as it was. The idea made her all the more enticing, a reminder of the fact that she was the most forbidden of fruit. He had no doubts Tom Anderson would dismiss him on the merest suggestion of rumour if anyone even breathed the idea he harboured inappropriate intentions towards Phaedra.

  Bram stretched a hand out to Warbourne’s lips and let the horse root at his empty palm. ‘Tease,’ Phaedra admonished playfully in quiet tones that excluded Bevins. ‘He thinks you have a treat.’

  ‘Only because he thinks everyone carries apples in their pockets.’ Bram gave her a little smile. ‘Bevins, come here.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Bevins approached warily, drawn forward only out of his desire to please the temporary stable master.

  ‘You want to work with horses, do you, boy?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ To his credit, Bevins straightened a little.

  ‘Might as well start with the best.’ Bram fixed him with a serious stare. ‘You should see working with Warbourne as an opportunity instead of a duty. You can learn a lot from Lady Phaedra. It’s your lucky day. Here’s a lesson for you. If you want a horse to know you, blow in his nostrils, let him get used to your scent.’ Bram blew softly into Warbourne’s nostrils. ‘Now, you try.’ He stepped back next to Phaedra to watch Bevins.

  ‘You have a soft spot for the boy,’ Phaedra said.

  ‘I’ve noticed he’s a hard worker but he hasn’t been around horses much.’

  ‘He hasn’t been here very long,’ Phaedra said softly. ‘His folks died from fever and he’s been living with his grandmother in the village. He’s very conscious of providing for her. I know he visits her on his half-day off and he gives her most of his wages.’

  ‘I’ve got a soft spot for the boy?’ Bram joked, but he was impressed she knew that much about the boy. She had a good heart for horses and for growing boys, it seemed. It spoke well of her, but Bram wasn’t surprised. Phaedra was a woman who wore her heart on her sleeve for the entire world to see—an admirable trait and a trusting one.

  ‘You haven’t tried a bridle and a bit yet,’ Bram couldn’t resist.

  Phaedra shot him a grey look of incredulity. ‘I had thought to. Yesterday, that had been the plan, but he’s skittish today. It might be too ambitious given his mood. I’ve been taking things slow with him. It minimises failure and maximises success.’

  Bram raised an eyebrow and shrugged, noting the irony of the proposed strategy. So far, it hadn’t worked all that well with Warbourne’s mistress. He opted for innuendo. ‘Maybe. However, Warbourne is in a receptive mood at the moment. Now might be a perfect time to push forward. We can always stop.’

  Bram let Phaedra digest the double meaning of his content and decide what she wanted to do with it. He turned to Bevins. ‘Go to the tack room and get the three-jointed snaffle bit.’

  ‘You just couldn’t stay away, could you?’ Phaedra challenged after Bevins sprinted off to get the bit.

  ‘The colt’s exciting, I confess.’ Bram fixed her with a stare entirely different from the one he’d used on Bevins, making it clear the colt wasn’t the only thing he couldn’t stay away from.

  Phaedra put a hand on one slim hip, calling him out. ‘Are we talking strictly about horses, Mr Basingstoke?’

  ‘Are we?’ He flashed her a wicked grin. ‘That’s for you to decide.’

  He bent, running a hand down the horse’s leg, pleased the horse stood still for him. ‘He has good lines, that has never been in question. He’s unruly but he’s come quite a way in a fairly short period. I haven’t seen a horse of this quality for some time. It’s hard to pass up the treat.’

  She looked away, a slight blush staining her cheeks. Ah, she did understand they weren’t simply discussing the horse. Bram stood up from his examination of Warbourne’s leg and brushed his hands on his breeches. He stepped forward, his voice low. ‘What shall it be, Phaedra? I’ve signalled my availability and you’ve responded with your willingness.’

  She looked a horseman’s dream standing there with her long braid and tight breeches, her eyes more grey than blue
today and wide with expectancy. She wanted him to kiss her no matter how much she might deny it. He might have if Bevins hadn’t chosen that moment to return breathless holding the snaffle bit in one hand, the bridle and more gear in the other.

  ‘Ah, impeccable timing, Bevins,’ Bram said wryly, stepping away from Phaedra with a private smile that said this wasn’t over.

  ‘Rogers said you’d need a stronger bit on that beast,’ Bevins explained, jingling the extra equipment, completely oblivious to the sensual tension simmering between Bram and Phaedra.

  Bram felt Phaedra’s eyes on him as if this were a supreme test. ‘Rogers is an idiot if he thinks a strong bit is a good idea.’ Bram reached for the snaffle without hesitation. ‘The snaffle allows for direct reining, Bevins. It’s better for younger horses. Don’t let Rogers tell you differently.’ He could feel Phaedra relax. He’d passed the test.

  After three tries, they’d managed to successfully get Warbourne to take the bit while Bevins watched in slack-mouthed amazement from the gallery of the riding house.

  Phaedra passed the reins over Warbourne’s head and their eyes met across his back. Sheer, unadulterated delight radiated in the wide smile she tossed him in celebration. Her horse was bridled. Ahead of schedule. He knew the very thoughts running through her mind. Epsom loomed large and possible on the calendar. He knew, too, that he would not forget the look on her face right now, the pure joy of success shining in her eyes.

  The next hour passed companionably as he and Phaedra worked with the horse, together. They took turns with the lunge line and leading the horse through a series of exercises until Warbourne was lathered. Bram was fairly well lathered too. Holding Warbourne was no mean feat. He marvelled that Phaedra could do it. But always the unanswered question hovered, potent, between them.

  ‘Bevins, do you think you can take the colt back to the stable and clean him up?’ Bram called, reeling in the lunge line. Phaedra protested but Bram held up a restraining hand. ‘Warbourne needs to get used to other people caring for him. He’s had you exclusively now, Lady Phaedra, for a few weeks. He’s ready to experience another groom.’ He turned to Bevins. ‘Ask Tom to help you if you’re worried.’