Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  Arthur scowled at Cole but the man smiled sheepishly. “She can help you.”

  “I don’t trust her.”

  “Why not? Because she’s a woman? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Not because she’s a woman, because she’s a mistress.” He sneered that last word, making it sound like the filthiest word a man’s dirty mind could ever conceive.

  “You haven’t said much about the mistress who hurt you.” Pretending nonchalance, Cole sat down on the edge of Arthur’s bed. “Maybe it would help to talk about it.”

  Seeing the man—even innocently—in his bed made a dull blush heat Arthur’s face. “Speaking of my foolish trust in a complete stranger won’t make me feel better.”

  Cole didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. He simply watched every nervous twitch and frantically paced step, and listened, and eventually Arthur found himself telling Cole what had happened.

  “I felt like I was living a lie. I had an important and dangerous job leading others, but I kept dreaming about things, improper things, that gentlemen in my…position don’t typically desire.” He’d betrayed himself with that little slip, at least revealing himself to be a member of the aristocracy if not how lofty his House. “I thought about it so much I couldn’t sleep. My intended…”

  “You’re engaged?” Cole broke in, his eyes sparkling as though he was hearing the finest tale in all of Britannia.

  “Not exactly, and not any longer,” Arthur said firmly, refusing to dwell on all that he’d lost. “We’d been intimate on more than one occasion, so I…asked her. Kitty had more experience than I, so I thought she might know what I needed.”

  “Did she?”

  The old shame churned in his stomach. From the very first time they’d had intercourse, it’d gone from badly to worse. He’d never forget her screeches when he’d fumbled his way inside her that first time. “To her credit, she did try, but the deeper she delved into my baser needs, the less she was interested in me. It was as though the more she learned about my true inclination, the less she desired me. She swore she cared for me, but the reality of my need was too much to bear. She spoke to my grandmother about it in hopes that she could get me the help I needed.

  “Grandmama was rightfully horrified but promised to get me some training the next time I had leave. I thought…” Bitterness sharpened his voice and he fisted his hands, fighting back the rage of betrayal. “She sent me to a private school for the sexually depraved. I think she hoped they would scare me back onto the straight and narrow in the few days I had free from my duties. Instead, once they discovered the depths of my depravity, they auctioned me off to the highest bidder.”

  “We are not depraved,” Cole said in that gentle way of his that melted away Arthur’s anger and left him only with the shame and humiliation. “Did they teach you anything useful before they hurt you?”

  “Not all of it was horrible,” Arthur forced himself to admit. “It was humiliating and yet…”

  “Freeing. To be who you really are.”

  Arthur nodded reluctantly. “The schoolmistress took me in hand personally. At first, I was eager to learn whatever she cared to show me. But the more cruel her play, the more violent I became, until she didn’t know what to do with me.” He hesitated, trying to decide how much to share with the other man. He had trusted Cole with more secret pain and humiliation than he’d ever thought possible, but this could land him in the noose. “She had me trapped, bound and gagged while she beat me, and I broke free. I killed her.”

  Cole stared up at him, very still, as though he’d ceased even breathing.

  “That’s when they gave me to the auction house where you found me. It was hell there. They took delight in torturing me, making what the mistress had done mere child’s play.”

  He stared at the other man, willing him to say something, anything. Ice trickled down his back, waiting for condemnation. Another betrayal.

  “This woman was no true mistress if she hurt you so badly that you were driven to such violence. I don’t blame you for her death, Arthur.”

  His shoulders sagged with relief, even though the man’s face hardened with determination.

  “But I won’t allow you to hurt Lady Blackmyre. If you lay one finger on her with violence, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Arthur let a relieved grin spread across his face. “Please do so, Cole. I’ll hold you to that promise. I never want to hurt anyone like that again.” Those words made the memory of last night flame through him. His relief faded back to shame and he averted his face, unable to look at the other man. I must have hurt him even more than I hurt Kitty that first time. “I apologize for last night.”

  “Arthur—”

  Whirling for the door, he didn’t look back, though he heard the man coming after him. He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to get out of the sick room and find something physical to do. Something to burn off this gnawing rage before he dragged the man beneath him again, careless and violent with his selfish lust. “It won’t happen again. I give you my word.”

  Even without Cole’s direction, Arthur managed to find his way to the stable. He’d never been able to stay far from the horses, even as a boy. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. One by one, his muscles unclenched, releasing some of the constant strain in his body.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” Cole said softly. He even dared to reach out and touch Arthur’s arm.

  He jerked away before he could stop himself, unable to bear the man’s tender consideration. Not after what he’d done. Cole’s shoulders drooped and he turned away, obviously hurt, but Arthur refused to apologize. It’s for the best. I can’t bear to hurt him like that again. Not anyone.

  “Give me something to do. Anything. If I have to lie in that bed and stare up at the ceiling one more day wondering what your Duchess is going to do to me, I’m going to jump on the first ship I find and head back to the front.”

  Too much information, too much detail that would betray him. But his words seemed to salve some of the pain of his rejection. Cole was quick witted and his mistress had likely charged him with learning everything she could about their guest. Giving him some details about his background was risky, but Cole seemed to recognize it for what it was. An attempt at an apology.

  “You could throw down some hay from the loft while I muck out the stalls.” Arthur looked around for access to the upper realm of the stable, and Cole jerked his head toward the end of the aisle. “That way. There are hatches every few paces to make it easy to reach all the stalls.”

  Arthur climbed the ladder and did as directed. The air was hot and close with the smell of dust and hay that made his nose itch, but the work felt good. Not what he was used to, but he needed the physical activity. Too much alone time in his mind was never a good idea. His muscles warmed and stretched, eager to return to some kind of work.

  Rejoining Cole for his next orders, a crash made Arthur whirl around, his hand automatically dropping toward his hip where he usually kept a weapon. He clenched his fingers into a fist, fighting the need to act, to strike out. To kill.

  I’m too violent to trust myself with a weapon, even during war.

  “That’s Caesar,” Cole said, leading the way down to a large box stall at the farthest end of the stable from the other horses. “Her Grace’s favorite mount, also affectionately known as the Crazed White Terror.”

  The massive white charger belonged in a story book bearing a knight to battle. A rattling snort warned the two men to stay at a respectful distance.

  “He really ought to be kept in a separate stable far from the mares, but Her Grace can’t bear the thought that he might be lonely. He causes quite the ruckus when one of the mares goes into heat, and she’s the only person he’ll allow in his stall.”

  Arthur stared at the beast and a cold sweat chilled his skin in gooseflesh. His mind protested the idea of the slim, delicate lady managing the massive stallion when no one else could even get in his stall. But then he rem
embered the way she’d faced him that first night when he’d still been borderline crazed by pain and rage. “Where did she get him?”

  “Oh, she’s had him for years, long before my time at Blackmyre.” Cole braced his forearms on the top of the lower half of the stall door and watched the big horse. “He was her primary mount back when Light Dragoons still rode horses to war.”

  Grandmama had little to say that put the Blackmyres in a good light, but even she couldn’t disparage the Duchess’s military career. Of course Grandmama couldn’t help but comment about the ugly scar on Blackmyre’s face or how close she’d been to losing that leg permanently, but seeing the Duchess in all her Society finery had blinded him to the reality. She’d been to war. She’d fought and bled and nearly died in the Kali Kata uprising.

  Just like me at Assaye.

  Other ladies might take their officer positions lightly, but by all accounts, Lady Blackmyre had been a formidable colonel worthy of every accolade the Queen had given her.

  “She’d probably be a general now and determined to place Iberia like a jewel into the Queen’s Empire if the Dowager hadn’t pulled strings in the House of Ladies and gotten her discharged.”

  Arthur leaned casually against the wall, as eager to learn more about the Duchess as he was desperate to protect everyone from himself. “I thought the Dowager tried to disown her.”

  “She did, later, as a last resort. I suspect the old lady thought it would scare Her Grace into settling down and at least marrying to get an heir for the House. But nothing scares her. Certainly not a blatant threat.”

  Was Cole giving away secrets about the Duchess on purpose? Arthur stole a glance at him and was met with a wink. Cole might be the Duchess’s man through and through, but he didn’t seem averse to helping out a fellow man considering the battle ahead.

  “Why did her own mother despise her?”

  “I assume you know the military regulations about fraternization between the officers and soldiers.”

  Feigning ignorance, Arthur shrugged. His little betrayals—like reaching for a weapon—weren’t helping hide exactly who he was.

  “The Dowager wasn’t the officer her daughter made,” Cole continued. “She did her duty as the Queen required and accepted a token officer position, but she was too busy entertaining handsome young soldiers, if you know what I mean. Unfortunately, she neglected to take precautions and ended up pregnant.”

  Arthur winced. The Britannian Army took unwed pregnancies very seriously indeed. No military brat was born a bastard.

  “They ran DNA testing on every man in her regiment until they found the father. The Dowager never forgave her daughter for forcing her to marry a poor commoner from Eire.”

  “The man was good enough to bed but not good enough to marry.” Arthur didn’t try to hide the bitterness in his voice. He’d seen the same ugly side of that coin himself. “It still doesn’t make sense to me why the Dowager would hate her daughter. It was her own damn fault. The Army uses so many involuntary contraceptives that it would take deliberate stupidity to end up with a pregnancy.”

  “At first, maybe she didn’t hate Her Grace. But then it became obvious that the daughter had inherited her father’s love for the stable.”

  Ah. That stung too, more than he cared to admit.

  “At some point, Her Grace quit trying to win her mother’s approval and went the opposite direction. She did everything she could to bring shame to her House, from illicit affairs with married men, to duels, to riding through Hyde Park drunk as a skunk and singing at the top of her lungs. Her Grace can do a great many things, Arthur, but she cannot sing. Especially drunk.”

  Chuckling, Cole turned back to work. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

  Everything, especially why she thinks she can help me. What does that mean? “No.”

  “Then I have a few questions for you.” At his immediate stiffness, Cole slapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, nothing like that. Do you know who ran the auction house where I found you? Did you overhear any names? Anything at all that we can use to track them down and put a stop to it?”

  Arthur hesitated. He wasn’t sure if the people at the auction house knew who he was. He certainly hadn’t told them, but someone from the school could have passed along that information. But the last thing he wanted was for anyone else to fall into that mistress’s clutches. “The people running the auction were all women. The only men involved were servants and hirelings. They were rich, well-bred ladies, but they were careful to never use their names. And they wore masks.”

  “Masks? Interesting. Did they have one particular leader?”

  Closing his eyes, Arthur fought to remain calm and unaffected, but the memory of that woman made a snarl twist his lips.

  “Hey, easy.” Cole gripped his arm in a comforting squeeze that shouldn’t feel so good. Arthur didn’t deserve the man’s help after what he’d done to him, but this time, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “What did she look like?”

  “They called her Corbus and she always wore black. Her mask was a horrendous black beak with so many feathers that I couldn’t tell what color her hair was. She’s the one who…hurt me. The most.”

  “Anything else you can think of?”

  Arthur shook his head but didn’t move away from the man’s steadying touch. “I was only there for a short while. Most of it is a blur, like a bad dream that I know was horrible but I don’t want to remember.”

  “I’ll let Her Grace know what you’ve told me. She’s going to invite some mistresses to a gathering in a few days. Let us know if you recognize anyone.”

  Arthur nodded despite the chill sweat trickling down his spine. He wasn’t afraid of any of the auction house cronies. I’m afraid the Duchess will put me down as soon as I try to kill someone on Blackmyre grounds. Because so help me God, I’m killing Corbus as soon as I lay eyes on her.

  “Can I give you one last piece of advice?”

  Arthur dared a direct look into the other man’s eyes, braced for accusation. Instead, Cole gave him a playful dimpled grin that he found alarmingly attractive.

  “If I were you, I’d start talking to Her Grace posthaste. Your refusal is a challenge she can’t ignore. It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. She’s determined to dig in and lay siege until you surrender. Everything.”

  Arthur scowled. “She’s welcome to try.”

  Cole laughed. “That’s what I was afraid of. Good luck, my friend. I’ll enjoy watching the battle.”

  Chapter Five

  Dressed in breeches and a plain linen shirt, Violet sank into the welcoming, familiar routine of the ring. She needed this as much as Cole did. Once he found a mistress who could satisfy his need to run as a pony, then she’d take to her bed and let nature take its course. Hopefully the disease would progress quickly, because the knowledge that Cole was running for someone else would kill her as quickly as losing the ability to breathe.

  Today, they also had a visitor. Dottie had nagged her into sitting in on a pony session. It made Violet a little nervous since she didn’t know how the new man would respond. He might still be too violent and raw to settle into a calming routine, which wasn’t a good way to introduce anyone to the pleasure that could be had between a pony and his mistress. Now that he was physically healed, she needed to see how much damage had been done to his mind and his potential as a pony.

  The whip in her right hand was an extension of her arm, her silent signals to Cole conveying her will. She didn’t have to touch him with it and no sharp crack of pain was needed to send him plunging in the opposite direction. He kept a careful eye on her in the center of the ring, reading her will through her body language and the subtle movements of her arm.

  She’d chosen to lunge him without any reins, just the pony and the mistress and the whip. He preferred their play to be as simple and natural as possible, so while he wore no clothes, neither did he wear fake booted hooves or elaborate harnesses. She’d rubbed him
down with oil until every inch of his lean, tight body gleamed. The only pony accoutrements he wore were a bridle and of course, his tail. Made from horsehair as close to the same natural sandy brown as his hair, the plug fit him firmly, providing him with a full, fine tail. He never pranced so much as when his tail was in place, which never ceased to amuse her.

  The idea had both revolted and titillated her when he’d first broached the subject. Now, she’d expect nothing less than his tail swishing the backs of his legs when they played. It gave him an authenticity they both enjoyed.

  Even if she hadn’t heard the door open, she’d have known they had company by the faint flicker in Cole’s attention. His gaze wavered toward the door just a moment, skin and muscle shifting just like a horse would signal with his body. He too knew they had an audience. A very important, delicate audience that interested Cole immensely.

  She waited for the same pulse of jealousy at the thought of another mistress replacing her, but she felt nothing but intense interest. She wanted to see exactly how rough Arthur took him. If he was as wild and vicious as she suspected.

  Cole arched his neck more and blew out a deep snort, drawing her attention back to him. The glint in his eye spoke of both determination and amusement, as though to say, Let him see me at my best, Mistress.

  She smiled and snapped the whip in the air, just a pop that sent him trotting more energetically about the ring. Indeed, my boy, let’s give him a damned fine show.

  “Welcome to Lady Blackmyre’s private stable,” the man said in a low voice, motioning Arthur inside. “I’m Dain, a friend and colleague of Her Grace. This is the only entry to this part of the stable, and I’m locking the door behind you. No one else has a key but Lady Blackmyre and myself. What happens here stays within these walls.”

  Arthur hoped his eyes weren’t bulging from their sockets and that his mouth was appropriately closed instead of slack while he gaped like a fool. Dain was clearly a horse master, dressed in riding clothes as Her Grace. He gazed at Arthur with the same calm, steady appraisal that he’d devote to a new horse at market, as if he didn’t need words at all to access his wellbeing and comfort.