Unbefitting a Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  Matt put his booted foot on the fence rail and looked down at the ground. ‘You’re right about that. Since the accident, offers have been scarce and the mounts I have been getting have been mediocre.’

  Bram nodded. He could smell victory. ‘I’ll see you at six tomorrow for the morning rides and we’ll see what we’ve got. If you need me, I’ll be at the Waterloo on the high street.’

  It was nearly dark when Bram returned to the inn. Phaedra was still in the parlour. Her face fell when she saw him. ‘I thought I told you to go.’

  ‘Only if I couldn’t contribute.’ Bram pulled up a chair and turned it backwards before sitting down. ‘I found you a rider. I would say that definitely counts as a contribution.’

  ‘Really? You found me a rider?’ The joy spreading across her face made the risk worthwhile. In that moment, Bram didn’t care if he was penniless if he could just see her smile and know he was the cause of it.

  Suddenly, Phaedra’s smile stopped and she became wary again. ‘One good deed doesn’t make up for what happened. I’m still mad at you.’

  Bram gave a throaty laugh. ‘But you almost forgot. You had to remind yourself.’

  Phaedra picked up a tiny decorative pillow from the sofa and threw it at him. ‘I didn’t forget how insufferable you were.’

  Bram caught it with quick hands and rose to go. He wouldn’t push his luck. ‘I missed you too.’ He’d take her temper as good sign. Anything was better than the frigidly polite indifference she’d shown him that afternoon. He’d count this as progress.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Tell me again he wasn’t the only jockey left in town. Tell me you didn’t pull him out of a pub and bribe him to ride.’ Phaedra worried out loud the next morning while she and Bram waited for Matt Somerset to arrive at the stables. She’d fought between elation and anxiety all last night after Bram’s news, thrilled Bram had found a rider and worried beyond words that the rider was not nearly good enough to handle Warbourne.

  ‘He’s better than that, Phaedra,’ Bram told her, but she could see he was anxious too. His eyes kept darting to the entrance where Matt Somerset was expected. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be here.’

  She was sure he said that as much for himself as for her. Warbourne was saddled with Bevins walking him outside. The colt was ready to work. She’d been exercising him herself since their arrival and he knew the schedule. Mornings were for workouts.

  Bram stiffened and Phaedra followed his gaze. A wiry fellow with a tanned face entered the stables. ‘Is that him?’

  Bram grinned, full of his usual confidence. ‘I knew he’d come.’ Bram waved the man over and made the introductions. ‘This is Lady Phaedra and Warbourne is outside.’

  Matt Somerset whistled in appreciation at the sight of Warbourne. ‘He looks better than he looked last year, I’ll say that much,’ he complimented, running an experienced hand down the colt’s front leg. ‘Good legs. His bones are strong, his coat is glossy. You’ve been feeding him well. What are his training times?’

  ‘A minute fifty.’ Phaedra was unable to keep the pride out of her voice. She knew it was a good time for a mile and a half. ‘Faster than Nectar last year.’

  ‘Faster than Nectar with a trained rider on board in Bill Arnull,’ Somerset corrected. ‘Who has been riding him in exercise? The boy?’ He gave a nod in Bevins’s direction.

  ‘I’ve been riding him,’ Phaedra said swiftly. Why couldn’t anyone accept that a woman could ride a horse and get decent times? Was it that impossible to believe?

  Somerset raised his eyebrow at this. ‘Have you now? Has he thrown you?’

  ‘No. But I’m his only rider.’ She held Somerset’s gaze, a private message passing between them. The real test today wouldn’t be about Warbourne’s speed. It would be about getting on his back. Most of Warbourne’s problems had come from the starting line.

  ‘I’m impressed you’ve stayed on.’ Somerset rubbed Warbourne’s muzzle and spoke soft encouraging words. ‘What’s the secret?’

  ‘It’s the knees. He’ll bolt if you clench your thighs too tightly.’

  Matt nodded. ‘It’s natural to do that at the starting line. It explains why better riders than you, no insult intended, were thrown. However, it’s a prime communication point. We’ll have to find another way. Basingstoke, how about a leg up? Let’s see what this horse can do.’

  Bram tossed him up. Phaedra held Warbourne’s bridle and her breath, the phrase let him stay on running like a litany through her mind. Bram stepped away from the horse and gave the signal. She let go and crossed her fingers.

  Warbourne snorted and tossed his glossy mane, prancing under the weight of the new rider. Matt kept the reins tight, fighting for control, and at last he had it. Warbourne settled beneath him and Phaedra breathed again.

  Bram clipped on a lead rope and together the little group headed to the practise lines. They were not alone. With the race nearing, everyone with a possible entrant had the same idea. Phaedra knew they were cutting it close. Today would be the last real workout day. Tomorrow, the Derby races would begin, leading off with the Oaks Stakes for fillies only.

  They garnered their share of stares as they passed. Fine, Phaedra thought, her head held high. Let them look. Let them see what the competition is going to do to them. But she couldn’t ignore the whispers that followed in their wake—speculation about the horse, about the rider, about her, all of them outsiders in their own way.

  Beside her, Bram whispered, ‘Don’t listen to them. Come race day, they’ll be the sorry ones.’

  Just then, a horse nipped at Warbourne. Warbourne leapt towards it, ready to retaliate. It took all of Bram’s strength and Matt’s skill to hold him. But the rumblings had already started—the colt was still wild, unpredictable. A couple of people recognised Matt in the saddle and called out jokes. ‘You gonna stay in the saddle this time?’

  Bram stared them all down and Phaedra tried to do the same. They found an open spot and Bram flipped open his pocket watch. Phaedra flipped open an old watch that had been Edward’s and exchanged a look with Bram. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Set.’ Matt’s heels went down in the stirrups.

  The second hand hit the twelve. ‘Go!’

  Warbourne leapt at a secret signal from Matt and they were off, flying over the turf, Matt bent low over Warbourne’s neck. Envy and pride warred inside her at the sight of it. That was her horse. She knew precisely what Matt was feeling, the bite of the wind in his face, the strength of muscle bunching beneath his legs. She’d not seen Warbourne run before and the sight was glorious. She would not have missed it for the world.

  Warbourne reached the finish line and she glanced at her watch. One minute forty. If all went well, that would be a winning time. She looked up to confer with Bram but Warbourne chose that moment to swerve.

  He headed towards a group of horses and riders bunched together on the downs doing short sprints. He was going to go right through them. ‘No, no,’ Phaedra spoke her thoughts out loud. ‘Leave them alone.’

  Warbourne broke through the pack, scattering horses to the right and left as he passed them. ‘What is Mr Somerset doing?’

  Bram chuckled. ‘Giving them something to remember. They’ll be sure to give him plenty of space on the track if they can help it next time.’ The next time would be race day. Somerset would need the space too. At last count, twenty horses were registered. It would be a crowded field.

  ‘What do you think?’ Bram asked while they waited for Somerset to bring Warbourne over.

  ‘He’ll do,’ Phaedra conceded, and gladly. She was out of time to be right. She was happy in this case to be wrong, her worries misplaced. ‘A minute forty is nothing to ignore.’

  Nor was the man beside her. Bram Basingstoke had done the impossible for her. He’d found a rider, and a good one at that. Matt Somerset was not some over-the-hill, dried-up jockey. It shouldn’t make a difference. Bram had refused to marry her. He didn’t want her for more than a casual aff
air and yet she was melting. Again. Veering towards foolishness with him. Again. This morning at the stables, with the horse to act as a buffer, it had been too easy to fall back into the usual patterns, to feel at home with Bram as if the disastrous night of the ball had never happened. Everything seemed nearly as it had been before, before he was an earl’s son and she a duke’s ruined daughter. She had to be strong. She couldn’t forget what was real and what was fantasy.

  By mid-morning their work at the stables was done. Warbourne was in good hands between Bevins and Somerset, and Phaedra was feeling distinctly positive.

  ‘I’ll walk you home and we’ll see what kind of trouble we can get into on the way.’ Bram leaned close to her ear with the old familiarity. ‘Since you managed to wear a riding habit today instead of breeches, I’d hate to let the opportunity go to waste.’

  Phaedra held her resolve. ‘This doesn’t change anything. Don’t think for a moment that it does.’

  Bram’s face turned grim and he pulled her roughly aside into an empty tack room. ‘Then tell me, princess, what will?’

  ‘Take your hands off me,’ Phaedra warned.

  ‘Not until you listen to me,’ Bram growled.

  Phaedra shook free to make her point. ‘I have listened to you. I listened to you tell my brother you wouldn’t marry me. I am nothing more than a dalliance. What we did meant nothing to you.’

  ‘You did not hear me say that to your brother,’ Bram interrupted. ‘You’re wrong. It meant everything to me.’ His voice rose and he looked about to make sure they hadn’t drawn any attention before lowering it again.

  ‘What do you think I’m doing here, Phaedra? Do you think I travelled the length of England on a whim?’

  She would not be melted so easily. ‘No, I have no idea why you’re here.’

  ‘Giles sent me. He was worried sick about you. He had no idea where you’d gone. I offered to come.’

  ‘You’ve been sent to drag me back home before I can tarnish the family name any further.’ Phaedra’s chin went up in her defiant tilt.

  ‘Not exactly. I wouldn’t give up the details of your location and I made him promise you could race the colt.’ The selfless kindness of the bargain stymied her momentarily.

  ‘However did you make him concede that?’

  ‘I wrestled him for it.’

  ‘And won?’

  Bram laughed. ‘Yes, I won. Giles Montague isn’t entirely invincible even if he is your brother.’

  He’d done this for her even though their last interaction at Castonbury had been full of anger. He’d found her a rider. It left her more confused than ever. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, Bram.’ She couldn’t afford to understand. If she did, she might also start to hope. ‘You told my brother you wouldn’t marry me.’ She clung to that one last defense. He’d rejected her. She could not forget that.

  ‘Eavesdropping, Phaedra? You couldn’t have been in the room for that.’ Bram frowned in disappointment. ‘I told your brother I would not marry you under these circumstances. I would not have you forced to the altar. You and I did not start this with marriage in mind. We shouldn’t have to end it that way unless that’s a conclusion we come to ourselves.’ Bram sighed. ‘I knew how you felt about the suitors being pushed on you at the party. I didn’t want to be another one of those.’

  Phaedra studied him. She was smart enough not to ask the obvious question: did that mean he wanted to marry her? She wished she knew if she could believe him, if she could trust him. ‘All right.’

  ‘All right what?’

  ‘All right. You said you’d walk me back to the inn.’ Phaedra smiled. Maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe it was enough that he was here. They would have the Derby and then they’d see.

  She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm as they set out, walking up the high street, halting every so often to peer into shop windows. Even window-shopping was fun with Bram. They stopped to laugh at a ridiculously garish hat on display at the milliners and to watch a juggler on the street corner. With the big race looming the town was bustling with visitors and entertainment. It was like one gigantic village fair.

  Phaedra’s stomach growled. She put a hand over her belly as if to stop it but it was too late. ‘Hungry?’ Bram cocked a suspecting eyebrow.

  ‘I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. I was too nervous,’ Phaedra confessed. It was all she had to say. Bram had them seated at a tea house with a pot of tea and a plate of scones in record time. Phaedra thought it had something to do with the way he’d smiled at the woman running the place.

  ‘You’re shameless.’ Phaedra bit into a delicious lemon scone.

  ‘Doesn’t seem to affect your appetite,’ Bram teased.

  He was devastating like this, playing the gentleman with his display of manners, and yet so very easy to be with. ‘You’re staring, Phaedra,’ Bram said in low tones, clearly not minding the attention. ‘Should I be worried? Are you still mad and planning to skewer me with your butter knife?’

  Phaedra shook her head with a smile. ‘No. I imagine women don’t stay mad at you for long.’

  Bram laughed and reached for a scone. ‘That might be true.’

  He was irresistible. He couldn’t help it. She knew the kind of man he was, a heartbreaker and a rogue by all accounts, and yet she couldn’t help but crave him. Maybe it was the mystery of him, the challenge of him. He was a man who didn’t stay in one place for long. But she had him now. Presumably she had him until the Derby was over, three short days from now. She’d have to decide what she wanted from those three days, what she could afford.

  He wasn’t a groom to be dallied with any longer. The stakes were higher. If she wasn’t careful she’d end up married. Earls’ sons and dukes’ daughters couldn’t dally with each other without consequences. Those consequences might be worth the risk. The thought warmed her cheeks.

  ‘Phaedra? You’re wool-gathering. I was unaware my conversation was so lacking in entertainment.’

  ‘I am sorry, what were you saying?’

  Bram smiled. ‘Care to share? Whatever they were, the thoughts must be good ones—you’re blushing.’

  Phaedra leaned close across the table. ‘I was thinking of you, to tell the truth.’ It was more fun to be like this with him than tense and aloof.

  ‘What about me?’ Bram pressed with dancing eyes, draining the last of the tea.

  He’d found her a rider, he’d travelled to Epsom for her with no obvious reward for himself. No man she knew did such things. ‘I was thinking, you might be in danger of becoming a good man.’

  The door to the tea shop opened, the little bell over the door frame jingling. A fashionably dressed man and woman entered. Both Phaedra and Bram glanced their way but Bram turned back towards her and rose. He extended his hand, his wicked smile playing on those sinful lips. ‘Then we’d better go rectify that immediately.’

  The words shot heat to her veins. If Bram seemed a bit hasty in his departure from the tea shop, Phaedra took pleasure in being the reason for it. Outside, they’d gone no further than a block when Bram pulled her into a little-used side street, more like an alley than any type of thoroughfare, and kissed her soundly.

  * * *

  Bram kissed her hard. It felt good to do that. She’d been driving him mad with lust in that riding habit since early this morning. Her hair pinned up beneath a little hat placed at a jaunty angle made her look every inch the regal woman. Made him want to take that hat off and pull her hair down pin by pin until she looked appropriately tousled.

  His hands were at her waist, drawing her firmly against him, wanting her to feel how much he desired her, wanting her to know that, in spite of his ulterior motives for leaving the tea shop in a rush, he’d wanted her nonetheless. It had been a near-run thing in there, a reminder of how close to the edge he was living by coming to Epsom.

  He’d known the couple that had walked in. George Rupert, the Earl of Elsford’s son, and his sister, Gwendolyn, a former pupil at N
annerings. He’d been to their home for an entertainment or two over the years. There was no reason for them not to acknowledge Lord Bram and within moments they would have. He wasn’t ready to be discovered yet. He had too much discovering of his own to do before the game was up.

  Phaedra moved against him, her hips seductive in their motion. ‘We should probably stop before this goes much further,’ Bram murmured.

  ‘When, then?’ Phaedra’s eyes were serious as they held his, her arms still about his neck. ‘I want to be with you again, Bram. From the feel of things, you want to be with me too.’ Her voice was quiet, her proposition more honest than bold, and it touched him quite unexpectedly.

  He should refuse. He tried. ‘I promised your brother—’

  Phaedra cut him off. ‘We have three days, Bram, a gift.’ Her hand dropped between them, cupping him through his trousers, and he knew he was in trouble. The student had become the master in such a very short time. ‘We should spend them as we wish.’ She kissed him on the mouth, on the column of his neck, at the base of his neck where his pulse beat hard beneath his shirt.

  ‘Then what?’ He had to try one more time to make her see reason. Things had ended badly at Castonbury.

  ‘Then we’ll see what happens next.’ Phaedra kissed his mouth once more. ‘Say yes, Bram. I want three days, not a lifetime.’

  ‘A good man would refuse on moral grounds.’ Good heavens, he did not want to be that man right now. He wanted to say yes.

  Phaedra reached up on tiptoes and blew gently against his ear, the apple-cinnamon scent of her teasing his nostrils. ‘I don’t want a good man, Bram. I want you.’

  ‘Then you shall have me.’ For however long it lasts.

  ‘I’ll save the having for tonight, if you don’t mind,’ Phaedra whispered impishly.