Unbefitting a Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  But that didn’t stop the wanting. Phaedra was fresh, and dazzling, beautiful, intelligent, and most of all forthright in her opinions and her passion. She’d put to shame his usual strategy of ‘once is enough.’ Once had only whet his appetite for more and now he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  He had told Giles to trust him, to trust them. Now he had Phaedra in his bed, promising him nights together at Epsom without consequence. That was naivety talking. There would be consequences. Maybe not a pregnancy or a forced wedding, but there would be consequences. There already were, the biggest one being he didn’t want to let her go after the Derby. He knew what it meant. He’d probably known it for a while. There was only one way to keep a woman like Phaedra and that was to marry her, the one thing he couldn’t do.

  How could he propose with any credibility? He’d already looked that gift horse in the mouth and refused when Giles had put the question to him.

  If Warbourne actually won, she’d think he was caught up in the moment. Even without a victory queering his pitch, she’d think he felt motivated by honour. He’d deflowered a virgin and he knew his duty. Worse, she’d think he was proposing because of some threat from Giles.

  The set ended and Phaedra’s escort returned her to his side. Grafton’s heir bowed to Phaedra and thanked her for the dance. ‘I will be in touch,’ he said with a warm look in his eyes Bram didn’t care one iota for. ‘I would be delighted to count you among my correspondents, Lady Phaedra.’

  Phaedra smiled graciously and effused her own delight over the sentiment. Bram felt the vice tighten once more. ‘What was that all about?’ he growled once the young man was out of earshot.

  Phaedra shot him a quizzical look that said he was overreacting. ‘I feel the need for some air, why don’t you take me outside?’

  Later, he would find some humour in the way she all but dragged him from the ballroom. He had not taken her from the ballroom. They found an empty room down a dark hallway and Phaedra turned up the lamp. ‘You’ve been glowering from the sidelines nearly the whole night. What is going on?’

  How the hell did a man answer that question? Bram pushed a hand through his hair. ‘I thought the duke’s son was ogling your bosom too much.’

  Phaedra raised her eyebrow. ‘And Mr Harris?’

  ‘He danced like a clod. I thought you might turn an ankle.’ Bram began to pace the room.

  ‘I see.’ Phaedra crossed her arms over her breasts, a knowing smile on her lips. ‘You’re jealous. I suspect there was something wrong with each of my dance partners.’

  ‘Damn right there was something wrong with them. They weren’t me.’ She was his, damn it. The realization was fierce and visceral as was the solution. If he wanted her, he should claim her. ‘You are mine, Phaedra, and no one else’s.’

  * * *

  Phaedra swallowed hard against the desire rising, hot and fast, invoked by his words. The gentleman’s clothing could not hide the primitive man prowling inside them. She backed up, letting him stalk her until her back met the hard surface of the wall. She was not afraid, she welcomed this, welcomed Bram and the mad release he’d bring. This is what their nights in Epsom were meant to be about, storing up memories against farewell.

  He bracketed her with his hands, his mouth claiming hers in a hard kiss, making sure of his welcome. Then his hands were at her skirts, rucking up the delicate material. This would not be about seduction and its subtle nuances. This would be about claiming and it would be rough.

  ‘Wrap your legs around me, Phaedra.’ Bram didn’t wait for compliance. He lifted her and she clung to him, braced between the wall and his strength, her legs finding their natural way about his waist.

  Bram moved a hand to the flap of his trousers, freeing himself to press against her bare skin. There was to be no foreplay, no readying games, and she was glad for it. At the feel of him, her body had begun to cry out. Bram positioned himself at once and entered. She squeezed hard, clutching him to her in the most intimate of manners, her head thrown back, her neck arched, as she savoured the presence of him. How could anything match this?

  Then Bram began to move and not only matched it but exceeded it, the strength of his legs flexing with the rhythm of their mating. She held on to him, letting the power of their release wash over them both, leaving them panting and sated. This was decadence at its finest.

  Bram moved them carefully to the long divan, his shaft still seated deep within her. ‘It doesn’t feel like a sin,’ Phaedra murmured, relaxing her grip on his waist as he laid her down. It didn’t occur to her until he moved out of her that he hadn’t withdrawn this time. How could he have? They’d been lost in their pleasure, overwhelmed with it, beyond thought.

  Bram laughed at her comment. ‘Good things never do.’ His voice shook though, a testament to how thoroughly the experience had overcome them. ‘Phaedra, I’m sorry. I couldn’t—’

  Phaedra placed a finger on his lips. She didn’t want reality to intrude quite so immediately. ‘Let’s not borrow trouble without cause, Bram.’ She’d been around horses all her life. She knew well the risks of what they’d done. But for now they were risks only. She smiled up at him, trying to dispel the resigned worry that lingered in his eyes. ‘What now, Mr Basingstoke?’

  A ghost of a smile took Bram’s mouth. ‘We go back to the ballroom and dance. Then, we go and win the Derby.’

  Phaedra kissed him one last time. ‘I like the sound of that.’ It was the ‘we’ part she liked most. She said nothing to correct him.

  Bram claimed the next dance, a waltz. He’d just swept her into the turn when there was a clamour at the Assembly Room entrance. Bram brought her to a stumbling halt, his grip on her waist tight as he craned his neck to see the commotion. ‘Oh, my God, Phaedra. It’s Bevins.’ On the strength of Bram’s shoulders, they pushed their way to the front. Bevins stood there, pale and shaking.

  ‘Lady Phaedra, Mr Basingstoke, you’ve got to come quick. It’s Warbourne. He’s taken powerfully ill.’

  * * *

  Phaedra sank to her knees beside Warbourne, heedless of the rough straw raking against the delicate silk of her gown. The colt was on his side, his breathing ragged and his eyes rolling. She laid a soothing hand along his neck to check his pulse. It was fast, probably from anxiety over being sick and panic at not being able to help himself.

  Behind her, she was vaguely aware of Bram talking with Bevins and others. There was a sense of relief in knowing Bram would handle everything. He would gather information, he would learn what he could and he would be her gatekeeper. He would provide a buffer between her and any prying eyes.

  Phaedra reached for a handful of hay and sniffed, searching for signs of cyanide or arsenic. There was no telltale scent of almond. That was a blessing. Little could be done about cyanide poisoning other than letting it run its course and hope the horse was strong enough to survive.

  She rose and went to the water bucket, dismayed to find it still half full. ‘Bevins,’ she called out. ‘Have you refilled this bucket today?’ Horses needed ten gallons of water daily to stay hydrated. If the bucket hadn’t been refilled, Warbourne had only drunk half of his daily ration.

  Bevins hurried over, his cap in his hand. He was clearly worried he’d done something wrong. ‘No, Lady Phaedra.’

  Dehyradration, then, Phaedra thought. What would cause Warbourne to stop drinking? She scooped up a handful of water, the droplets staining the skirt of her dress. She sniffed. Detecting nothing, she cupped her hands to her mouth and took a cautious sip. Salt!

  Bram hurried over. ‘What is it? Have we determined a cause?’

  ‘He’s dehydrated. Someone put salt in his water.’ Salt water created a double bind for Warbourne. Either he kept drinking to appease his growing thirst or he stopped because he sensed something was wrong with the water.

  Phaedra drew a deep breath. ‘The good news is we can remedy this. I can take care of Warbourne if you can figure out how this happened. Bevins, you stay with me.
I’ll need help.’

  Bram reached for her hand and squeezed. From the look in his eyes, he wanted to do more but didn’t dare with the little crowd standing at the entrance to Warbourne’s stall. ‘I’m glad he’ll be all right.’ Warbourne would be fine. The bigger question was whether or not he’d be well enough to race in fourteen hours.

  ‘Come on,’ She motioned to Bevins, ‘We’ve got work to do.’ Now that things had settled, she wondered where Matt Somerset was.

  When asked, Bevins merely shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen him since suppertime.’

  Phaedra nodded. ‘Tell Mr Basingstoke. Maybe he knows. Then you and I need to get Warbourne up and on his feet.’

  Getting a horse on his feet was the single most important thing for curing most horse ailments and wasn’t easy. She and Bevins tugged, pushed and cajoled a thousand pounds of thoroughbred to his feet. Phaedra walked him up and down the aisle, crooning soft words to him while Bevins washed out the water bucket and refilled it.

  Now it was time to drink. Clean water was the best medicine she could offer Warbourne. The cure was alarmingly simple but getting him to take it was not. Back in his stall, Warbourne showed only the most sceptical of interests in the water bucket. It confirmed for her what she’d suspected. He’d stopped drinking after finding the water a bit off.

  ‘Good boy.’ She patted his big shoulder. To Bevins, she said, ‘Our boy was smart. He sensed something was wrong and he stopped drinking. That means there’s less salt water in his system to contend with.’ Her hopes started to rise. Warbourne only needed to start drinking. He didn’t have to flush anything out of his system. Recovery in time for the race was possible.

  Phaedra tugged the lead rope, urging Warbourne towards his bucket but he was far too skittish. Just because she’d solved the mystery didn’t mean his symptoms had faded. His pulse was still fast and he was weak on his legs. The danger had not passed yet.

  ‘Bevins, in the tack trunk there’s a small vial marked peppermint.’ Peppermint extract in the water often enticed dehydrated horses to drink. But Bevins just stood there.

  ‘Well, go on, fetch it,’ Phaedra urged crossly. ‘Every minute counts tonight.’

  Bevins looked down at his hands. ‘I can’t read, Lady Phaedra.’

  She regretted her impatient tone immediately. ‘I’ll get it if you can hold Warbourne.’

  Out in the aisle she ran into Bram holding up a sagging Matt Somerset. ‘I found him, Phaedra,’ Bram said grimly. ‘Whoever went after Warbourne did a number on Matt too. He was in the back of the tack room.’

  Matt favoured her with a smile through cracked lips. ‘Don’t worry, I can still ride. They didn’t break my ribs, just bruised me up a bit. How’s the colt?’

  ‘He will be fine. I’m off to get some peppermint from the tack trunk.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Bram said tersely, helping Matt to sit on the wooden crate outside the stall. ‘I don’t want you down there alone, Phaedra, in case the culprits are hanging around to savor their handiwork.’

  ‘He likes you,’ Matt said, watching Bram head down the aisle. ‘In the three years I’ve known him, he’s never shown this kind of interest in a woman. They’re always one-night stands.’ He paused. ‘Sorry, that’s not polite talk.’

  Phaedra glanced down at her hands. ‘I don’t mind, truly.’

  ‘Most of it is his father’s doing, if you ask me. His father is a stickler for honour and duty. Bram’s a bit more about living, about the adventure of life. It’s not a good fit.’

  ‘We’re an awful a lot like them,’ Phaedra offered softly. ‘I have a good family, but lately I just haven’t fit in. I can’t be what they want.’ She missed Giles, missed Castonbury. She’d been gone from home long enough to know that she wasn’t ready to leave it. Her life to date had been there and she wanted her future to be there too. But Giles would have to accept that her future would be different from the one he had planned for her.

  Bram came back with the vial. ‘You two look cosy.’

  ‘I’ve been telling tales on you, Bram old boy.’ Matt gave a hoarse laugh.

  Bram grinned. ‘Then you must be feeling better.’

  The peppermint worked. Lured by its scent, Warbourne took a tentative drink. Convinced the water was safe, he began to drink in earnest, although Phaedra was careful to moderate his sips. She didn’t want to risk him bloating.

  Bram came up behind her and wrapped his arms about her, drawing her close against him. He was warm and smelled of the barns. ‘It’s going to be a long night. Why don’t you go and get some sleep and I’ll keep watch? I’ve got Matt on a cot in the tack room and Bevins will keep me company.’ Bevins was currently out running an errand to the inn.

  Phaedra shook her head. ‘Warbourne needs me. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.’ The colt’s pulse was calming but Phaedra thought a lavender massage would help that process along.

  ‘Then we’ll keep watch together,’ Bram murmured against her ear.

  Together. She thought of Matt’s brief words and her hopes soared. Maybe there was a chance, after all. She’d tamed enough horses, though, to know she couldn’t make Bram stay any more than she could make a colt do anything he didn’t want to do. A green colt had to want to be trained. Perhaps Bram would decide for himself that he wanted to stay. Perhaps she should let him. After all, there had to be a great deal of good in a man who loved horses so well.

  Phaedra turned in his arms. He had to know she’d welcome him staying. ‘Win or lose, Bram, I don’t want it to be over tomorrow.’ She looked up into his face, trying to read it for signs of acceptance.

  Bram reached for her hair, smoothing back an errant tendril. ‘Honey, I have nothing to offer you. I’ll never be anything but trouble to any woman. I think we both know I’m better off as a fond remembrance. You can look back in your dotage and say, “At least we had Epsom.”’ He gave a sensual laugh. ‘I know that’s what I’ll tell myself.’

  He wasn’t saying no. He was trying to save her from making a mistake. Phaedra smiled and moved against him lightly. ‘We could have so much more than Epsom, Bram. We could have the Castonbury Stud and a lifetime of Epsoms, and Newmarkets and St Legers. This is only the beginning.’ And she wanted him there for the rest of it. If she’d doubted her feelings or his, tonight had confirmed it. He’d stood beside her in a time of near-tragedy. He’d been a complete partner. And it hadn’t only been tonight.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow. Sometimes the things we say in the night sound different in the light of day.’ Bram shrugged out of his evening jacket. Like her dress, it would be ruined by dawn. Already it was showing signs of barn wear. ‘Take my coat.’ He draped it about her shoulders. ‘Since I’ve known you, you’ve never brought a coat to the stables.’

  Phaedra protested. He’d be cold without it. ‘No worries, my love.’ Bram winked and settled against the stall wall. ‘I sent Bevins for coffee and sandwiches and a blanket or two. We shall survive the night quite nicely.’

  They did survive it. During the long hours of the night, Bram told her what he’d learned of the potential culprits. One was tall, the other stocky. Both with Derbyshire accents. ‘We might have better luck catching them at home than finding them here,’ Bram said, but he was only half joking.

  ‘You think Sir Nathan arranged for them?’ Phaedra said with a shudder. The idea that she’d been tracked sat poorly with her.

  ‘It’s possible. Nobbling is a criminal offense. Sir Nathan wouldn’t dare try it directly. If these men point their fingers his direction, he can use his rank and deny it. There’s little chance of pinning this on him directly.’

  Just as there was little chance of finding two men in the race crowds. Sixty thousand were expected for the Derby. It would literally be a needle in a haystack search.

  ‘I still don’t understand how they got the salt into the water.’ Phaedra yawned. Warbourne was sleeping. She was envious but not willing to give in.

  ‘I d
o,’ Bevins said quietly. ‘Early in the afternoon, I stepped out to use the loo. Matt was gone and I was on my own nearly all day. It was just a few minutes. There were two fellows hanging about the barn that meet the description. I don’t know them. I didn’t recognise them from home but that’s not saying much. I haven’t been in the area long and most of my time is at the estate. They must have done it while I was outside. I am sorry.’ He looked on the verge of tears.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Phaedra wanted to do more than offer the boy words of comfort but, with Bram there, it would probably embarrass Bevins to be hugged in front of his hero. ‘Everything’s ended well. We didn’t lose the colt.’

  By the time the barn began to bustle with race-day activity, Warbourne seemed outwardly restored and the colour had returned to Somerset’s face. The real tests would be internal, however. There was no way to know what kind of toll the ordeal had taken on Warbourne’s reserves. Would he have the stamina to race the mile-and-a-half course? Would Somerset have the strength to help him?

  Word of Warbourne’s close call had spread. Pheadra was grateful for Bram’s efforts. He spent most of the morning shooing away people who’d come to look at the colt, most of them odds makers. Convinced Warbourne wouldn’t be able to race capably, the odds on the colt had soared.

  ‘Sixty to one against,’ Bram said after his latest foray through the barn for news. ‘That’s more than the odds on Azor and Young Wizard.’ He plopped down on a bale of hay, his attire completely dishevelled. ‘By the way, Payne and Wilson are livid over their odds.’ They owned Azor and Young Wizard, respectively. ‘Payne feels he should be the favourite.’

  ‘Against Manfred?’ Phaedra warmed to the conversation. ‘Manfred just won the Two Thousand Guineas at Newmarket. People are looking to him to win.’

  ‘He’s got good odds at four-to-one,’ Bram affirmed. ‘He’s the favourite actually. No one’s got better.’

  ‘But favourites don’t win, is that what you’re thinking?’ Phaedra chided.