Bram heard the protection there, heard the concern and the affection. Phaedra wouldn’t. She would see only a curtailing of her freedoms.
‘She’s not a baby,’ Bram ventured, meeting Giles’s gaze evenly as if he had a right to such a frank exchange with a man his superior. ‘Sisters grow up. They marry, they start families of their own. Be sure you don’t mistake protection for suffocation. Phaedra’s wild. She won’t take kindly to being reined in.’
‘You mean Lady Phaedra,’ Giles corrected with an assessing look full of speculation.
‘Yes, my mistake.’ Bram looked out over the track. He’d gone too far there.
‘Make sure it’s your only mistake, Mr Basingstoke. I’m a man, I know how men think. I’ll tell you right now, she’s not for you. She’s a duke’s daughter.’
Giles paused and fixed him with a gaze of stone. ‘She refused to go to London. Did you know? I believed at the time it was on account of this horse business. Now I’m starting to wonder, Mr Basingstoke, if it had anything to do with you? I hope not. I would be very disappointed to learn it had. Her aunt and I are hosting a party tomorrow for the express purpose of giving her a chance to meet eligible young men.’
‘You mean suitable young men,’ Bram corrected.
‘Yes, I mean suitable. Are we clear? She’s not meant to throw herself away on itinerant horse handlers, especially those who will only be here for two more days.’ Giles’s grey eyes were hard. He would brook no argument, certainly not from a groom, although he needed to be argued with. Giles Montague was making a huge mistake.
The man meant well but he didn’t know his sister at all. His attempts to protect her would only result in firing her rebellion. The last thing either he or Giles needed was an angry Phaedra storming off in the middle of the night and taking her colt with her out into a world where neither of them could protect her from the scandal that would inevitably follow.
‘When she brings the horse in, tell her Aunt Wilhelmina’s dressmaker is waiting for her up at the house.’ Giles turned on his booted heel and headed back to the house.
* * *
Phaedra stood still, arms held out to her sides, aching while the dressmaker gave the gown a final look-over. She’d spent the morning holding Warbourne accountable with those arms. Holding them out for the dressmaker all afternoon was sheer torture. She knew it could have been worse. Giles could have heard about the island, or any of their numerous indiscretions, and come to force some ancient code of justice on them. Or he could have come to tell Bram his services were no longer needed.
Phaedra turned on command and distracted herself with thoughts of the workout. Warbourne had speed aplenty but it was one thing to run on an empty track devoid of horses, another to run in a field of twelve or twenty. Epsom was known for its large fields of contenders and the track wasn’t an oval either. Nor was it six furlongs, the distance she’d raced Warbourne today on his tear. The Derby was a mile and a half of ups and downs.
Still, that didn’t undermine the day’s successes. She’d stayed on! With Warbourne’s reputation for throwing riders, she’d fully expected to spend much of the day in the dirt and much of the evening in a soaking tub.
‘Shall we add some of the lace to the bodice?’ Aunt Wilhelmina asked. The dressmaker held up a length of the Brussels lace.
Phaedra had to protest. ‘Any more trimming and I’ll look like one of Monsieur André’s fondant cakes. We have quite enough lace.’ All she wanted to do was get back down to the stables. She had a map of the Epsom course somewhere down there. But she was kidding herself if she believed that was her only reason for wanting to go back. Bram was there. She’d be looking for him as much as she was looking for a map. He’d become her port in the storm. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d let him go when the time came but she sensed that time was coming. She’d known from the start that it would but there was little consolation in that.
Phaedra didn’t make it to the stables until after dinner, which had turned into an awkward affair full of pronouncements made by Giles, none of which she was planning to adhere to. She wasn’t giving full training and riding of her colt over to anyone simply because Giles thought Warbourne was too much horse for her at this point.
Phaedra made her way towards Warbourne’s stall. The colt could always raise her spirits. She reached Warbourne, glad to see the colt was still awake. He came to her, his nostrils seeking out any treats. Phaedra laughed softly and stroked his muzzle. ‘Sorry, boy, I don’t have any treats tonight.’
‘What about me? No treats for me either?’ Bram materialised beside her, leaning on the half-door of Warbourne’s stall. He was dressed in shirt and breeches, a jacket thrown on against the chill. His words were light but his tone wasn’t. Something unpleasant lurked beneath the words. Phaedra stood in silence, stroking Warbourne’s muzzle, and waited for Bram to speak.
‘I spoke with your brother today. He thought Tom Anderson could use an extra hand for the party and all the guests’ horses but he’d like me to leave afterwards.’
It wasn’t really a surprise but hearing the words spoken out loud made it all so much more final. Phaedra swallowed hard. She tried to discern Bram’s reaction. Was he disappointed? Or was he glad to be moving on, glad not to have to be the one to break this off? It was easier to lay this decision at Giles’s feet, their affair a result of circumstance.
‘Is that satisfactory to you?’ Phaedra summoned her old hauteur.
Bram’s hand covered hers where it lay on the door. ‘It’s not an issue of being satisfactory or not. We both knew the limitations and we both know I cannot offer you anything more than the time we’ve had together, no matter how much we might want that to be different.’
She looked at him. ‘Do you want it to be different?’
‘Phaedra, honey, you of all people know if wishes were horses beggars would ride.’ It wasn’t an answer but perhaps it would be best not to know. She preferred to believe she wasn’t in this relationship alone, that it meant something to him too.
He elbowed her, some of his usual playfulness returning. ‘But that’s two days from now and two nights.’ Bram’s hands were at her shoulders, turning her so that her back faced him. His strong fingers kneaded the tight muscles of her shoulders. The pressure of his hands felt wicked and wonderful all at once. His hands moved to her neck and she gave a little moan of delight. The tension began to seep from her. She laid her head back on Bram’s shoulder and let his arms come around her, enfolding her against the strength of his chest.
She let her eyes flutter shut, let Bram kiss the curve of her jaw, his hands rising above her ribcage to take her breasts in his palms. Phaedra gave a soft sigh, her tension gone, replaced by something else, something primitive and wild that wanted only this, only Bram.
‘Give me pleasure, Bram.’ Beggars couldn’t ride, and neither could they be choosers. If she couldn’t choose, then at least she’d take her last pleasures where she could. Phaedra turned in his arms, taking his face between her hands and kissing him full on the mouth. She kissed him again, this time slowly, her hands in his hair, breathing in the scent of him, the taste of him in her mouth, the hardness of him against her stomach. It was not enough. She wanted release. She hitched her leg at his hip, letting her skirts fall back and his hand slide up, warm on her bare thigh.
* * *
He wouldn’t last long at this rate. He’d hated telling her the news tonight, hated not being able to tell her he regretted leaving as much as she did. But he didn’t dare say anything for fear of giving her false promises. He knew better than she that she was better off without him. His hand was at the core of her, finding her slick and ready.
‘Touch me again like you did on the island,’ Phaedra whispered, her head thrown back, her neck exposed to his mouth.
‘You liked that, didn’t you?’ Bram murmured.
Suddenly Phaedra froze against him. Her eyes riveted on something past his shoulder. ‘Oh, Lord! Bram, stop!’ That was not the
typical response. Usually it was, Don’t stop. Then he heard the reason for her urgent whisper.
‘Touch her again in any way and I’ll see you dead on the duelling field.’ Giles stood in the aisle, arms crossed and angry. ‘Now, who would like to tell me exactly what is going on here?’
Phaedra stepped away, her hands pushing wildly at her skirts in a belated bid for decency. Instinctively, Bram moved in front of her, a shield from Giles’s wrath, the primal instinct to protect surging strong within him. Whatever Montague wanted, the man would have to go through him. The best he could do for Phaedra was to get her out of here until Montague’s anger had cooled or been directed towards him instead. He’d welcome it. He wouldn’t mind explaining a couple of things to Giles Montague even if it had to be done on the knuckle end of his fists.
‘Phaedra, go up to the house,’ Giles instructed, attempting to speak around Bram’s broad-shouldered blockade. ‘I will sort everything out.’
Bram could feel Phaedra bristling at his back. ‘Like you did my horse?’ Great, now he was caught in a sibling crossfire.
‘Phaedra, please go up to the house,’ Bram tried. This time she obeyed, but not before she shot Giles a hard look that would have melted stone. Bram didn’t relish being Giles when he returned to the house. He had no illusions Phaedra’s departure made things better. Giles would not take well to disobedience from his sister when she gave another man acquiescence.
‘Is this your idea of heeding my warning?’ Giles growled. ‘Was I not explicit enough this afternoon?’ He eyed Bram with speculation. ‘Or did my warning provoke you to speed ahead, thinking you’d lose her to a worthy gentleman?’
Bram lunged, catching Giles by the lapels of his coat and hauling him against the wall. ‘You know nothing about her. If you did you’d realise I’m not the one losing her, you are. Let her race her horses, Montague. She’s going to do it anyway.’
Bram’s breath came fast and hard. Giles Montague was a strongly built man. He wouldn’t be held for long. To prove it, Giles gave a hard shove that sent him sprawling backwards, his shoulder knocking against a tack cupboard.
‘Don’t tell me about my sister! You’re a bounder and a cad to take advantage of an innocent young girl.’ Giles leapt for him but Bram rolled away and regained his feet. Innocent young girl? Phaedra was a woman full of passion, not that Giles would want to know that.
They were grappling now, their hands at each other’s throats. This time, it was Bram against the wall, Giles’s face a savage red. He would hear no wisdom in Bram’s words. Why should he listen to the man who wanted to seduce his sister? ‘You don’t have two days, Basingstoke. Get your hands off my sister and get your sorry self off my land.’
Chapter Fifteen
‘You look a treat, miss.’ Henny stepped back from the mirror to examine her work. Phaedra dutifully turned her head side to side, showing off the brilliants pinned in her coiffure. Henny had outdone herself but that didn’t make Phaedra any more desirous of going downstairs. The day had been a disaster from start to finish.
She had fought with Giles, or at least she’d tried to fight with him. She was spoiling for a good argument, but Giles had refused. He’d been aloof and chilly, hardly responding to her hot words. She’d called him stubborn and controlling, drunk on his own power. She’d railed at him about the colt, about curbing her own freedoms, but mostly she’d railed at him over Bram. Bram had been dismissed and now he was gone without so much as a goodbye.
She should be thankful. Bram’s very unsuitability had been the saving of him. If Bram had been a gentleman of any standing, Giles would have seen them married with all due haste. That didn’t change the fact she was reeling from his desertion.
She’d only begun to realise last night when she’d fled to the stables how much she’d come to depend on Bram’s presence.
She’d spent most of the day at the stables, avoiding Giles and party preparations and hoping to catch sight of Bram, hoping they could talk. But Bram had left early, before first light according to Tom Anderson, and the stables felt the emptier for his absence.
There was no question this affair which had started as a physical experimentation had become much more for her. Yet she was left wondering in the end, what had she meant to him? She hated herself for caring what that answer might be. She’d not wanted this to become anything more and yet it had.
Henny was staring at her with a funny look. Apparently she was expected to say something. Oh, yes, they’d been talking about her hair, a rather minor subject when her life was falling apart.
‘It looks lovely, Henny, truly it does.’ Phaedra reached for the heart-shaped locket on her dressing table. ‘Help me with this, we’ll have to hurry if we don’t want Aunt Wilhelmina breaking down the door.’
Aunt Willy. She wouldn’t be able to hear that name again without thinking of Bram. Aunt Wilhelmina would be in alt tonight. The whole day had been spent in preparation for the evening, most of which Phaedra had thankfully avoided. Phaedra had no doubt the house had bustled with workers arranging flowers and decorating the saloon where the party would be held since sunrise. A London debut wouldn’t be any more elaborate than Aunt Wilhelmina’s ‘simple party.’
The whole countryside was invited, from the magistrate, Sir Rufus, on down to Reverend Seagrove. Aunt Wilhelmina had condescended to invite Alicia for the sake of appearances. Even Sir Nathan and Captain Webster had been on the guest list.
Phaedra had disapproved of their inclusion but Aunt Wilhelmina had been adamant: if there was to be any slighting it wouldn’t be on the Montagues’ part. It would be too obvious an oversight to leave them off the list when appropriate guests were a bit thin on the ground in this part of the world. Derbyshire, Aunt Wilhelmina had reminded her, wasn’t exactly brimming with peers.
Henny helped her with the clasp and Phaedra studied the effect of the simple gold jewellery against the bare expanse of bosom on display. Phaedra tugged at the low bodice. ‘Do you think necklines will ever go up, Henny?’ It was hard to condemn a man for ogling a woman’s bosom when fashion demanded it be practically thrust in his face.
Henny laughed. ‘Lord, no, miss. Necklines aren’t going up any time soon unless fathers and brothers decide to petition for some decency on behalf of their daughters and wives.’
The maid winked mischievously. ‘But I don’t see any men complaining.’
Henny sobered. ‘Speaking of men, I hope I am not too bold. We were sorry to hear about Mr Basingstoke. The girls at the house liked him. He was always full of manners and a bit of the devil.’
Phaedra blushed. News had certainly travelled fast. She hoped not all of what had transpired last night had made its way through the servants’ grapevine.
‘Phaedra!’ Giles called impatiently through the door. ‘You can’t be late to your own party.’
Henny gave her a smile. ‘Go on, there are lots of nice young men downstairs who’d consider themselves lucky to have a girl like you.’ She gently pulled Phaedra’s hands down. ‘Stop with your fussing. You look lovely even if we had to rush.’
The rush had been Phaedra’s fault. She’d stayed too long at the stables trying to make the event disappear by ignoring it. Her strategy hadn’t worked. Here she was at half past seven, hair pinned up, and dressed in a gown of worked Union silk, a fashionable confection of blush pink trimmed with expensive blond lace. No London modiste could have done better. Matching slippers with tiny satin bows peeped from her skirts and a scarf of China crêpe embroidered with pink flowers at the tails waited on the bed to grace her shoulders. No lamb led to slaughter had ever looked finer.
Phaedra took one last look at her reflection. The woman in the mirror was a lovely liar, the epitome of a perfectly turned-out debutante. There were no telltale signs she’d spent the day in breeches working her colt or that she’d been caught in the arms of a most unsuitable man the night before. The woman in the mirror looked entirely innocent of such heated wrongdoings. That would make Giles happ
y. She couldn’t promise she could make him happy after tonight. If she meant to be at Epsom for the Derby, she’d need to leave soon.
Giles knocked again, the short rap indicative of his impatience. ‘Phaedra, are you ready? Auntie will have my head if we’re not downstairs in five minutes.’
Phaedra opened the door and played the ingénue. ‘Is it time already?’
‘Father wants to see us before the guests arrive.’ Giles flicked his cuffs in a quick inspection.
‘Father’s coming tonight?’ Father kept to his rooms these days. He hardly came to any social events. The last one had been a disastrous dinner meeting with Kate’s husband, Virgil.
Phaedra took the silk scarf from Henny and settled it about her shoulders, trying to cover up the bare bodice.
‘It’s your big night, Phae. Of course he’ll be there.’ It was the nicest thing Giles had said to her since last night. She fought the urge to wince and failed. She didn’t want this to be her ‘big night.’
Giles gave her a placating smile, the kind big brothers perfect for cajoling stubborn little sisters. ‘It won’t be that bad. There will be dancing and food. It will be nice to have a party. We haven’t had one since Kate’s wedding.’ He squeezed her arm affectionately. ‘Maybe it’s time we started having parties again. Maybe it’s time you start meeting nice young men. Lily tells me Mr Chesterton will be here tonight. He’s a poet. He’s just published a volume of poetry dedicated to Prinny, studied literature at Oxford. His father’s a baronet from Wessex. He likes to travel.’
Phaedra listened half-heartedly to Giles’s well-intended recitation of Mr Chesterton’s fine attributes. She didn’t want a poet, she wanted a man who smelled like wind and spices, whose chest was a granite slab of strength, who could waltz divinely in nothing but a haphazard kilt made from a quilt. She wanted Bram.
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