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

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  “So you’ve had her darling.”

  Heart pounding, he fought to keep the dread and guilt off his face. He clenched his jaws firmly, refusing to begin blurting out explanations or excuses. If anyone deserved to hear his apology, it was Blackmyre, not this stranger.

  “Was he very good?” The woman walked her fingers up his chest with an alarmingly seductive lilt to her voice that had his eyes bulging from his head. He wouldn’t have thought she could be sultry, not with manly attire and such a commanding presence. Her fingers were teasing, but also firm, each seemingly innocent thud marching closer to his throat. Like she intended to collar him.

  And he couldn’t move a muscle to protect himself.

  “I bet you enjoyed rutting on him, didn’t you? Out of control, fierce, brutal. I can see it now. Poor little Cole trapped and squealing beneath you while you drilled him into the mattress.” Her palm settled over his heart, measuring the frantic thud with a grin. “But that’s the way you like it, isn’t it? You don’t have to answer me, boy. Your body’s telling me what I need to know.”

  Trembling, he fought to breathe. Sweat beaded on his lip and forehead. His hands throbbed, gripped into fierce fists, whether to protect himself or to keep from answering her, he didn’t know.

  “Get your hands off him.” Blackmyre’s low voice echoed with menace, each word carefully enunciated. “Now.”

  Chuckling, the woman reached up and patted his sweaty cheek. “There, there, young man. Your mistress has come to save you.” She stepped away and turned to Blackmyre. “He’s told me what I need to know. Good luck with him, my dear. You’ll need it.”

  The woman sailed back down the aisle, whistling a lively tune. Relieved, Arthur leaned against the wall, the only thing keeping him on his feet. Sweat trailed down his back and his chest burned like he’d run from here to Town pulling Her Grace’s coach alone.

  “We’re finished.” The harsh tone of her voice brought his head up so he could search her face. She stared after the other woman, her mouth tight in a grim frown. “You’re free to go. If you need a ride somewhere, I’m sure Cole will be more than obliged to take you.”

  Straightening from the wall, Arthur opened his mouth, caught her arched eyebrow, and clamped his mouth shut. Instead, he shook his head. I’m not leaving, Your Grace. I’m not done with you yet.

  She planted a palm in his chest and shoved him back against the wall. Her face was white but her cheeks were splotched with red. Stunned at how easily she’d pushed him off balance, he could only stare down into her face, trying to figure out why she was so angry. “You’re refusing to obey me? Why should I be surprised?”

  The flash of ire in her eyes couldn’t hide the glimmer of hurt. Despite the tightness of her lips, her chin wobbled faintly.

  Ah, hell. Before he could talk himself out of it, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her into a hug.

  She stiffened with shock, but she didn’t pull away. As the moments passed and she didn’t rebuke him, he dared to mold his hands more boldly to her back.

  With a sigh, she dropped her head against his chest and let him hold her.

  It was…nice. The ironclad mistress had been irresistible from the beginning, but certainly not warm and approachable, let alone vulnerable. He loved the way she could make him run around the ring exactly how she wanted, but he hadn’t dared hope she’d allow him a peek of her feminine side. That the softer, smaller woman might like a bigger, stronger partner to wrap his arms around her, even if just for a short while.

  “Basset always takes a toll on me,” she finally said, her words muffled against his chest. “Always judging, evaluating. It’s exhausting trying to live up to her expectations.”

  He knew all too well how easy it was to grind oneself to dust trying to please other people. For so long, he’d been striving to impress Kitty’s family enough that she’d relent and ask him to marry, but he’d finally realized the truth.

  She’ll never be happy with me. Nor would I be happy with her.

  So many years wasted, striving to win new honors and titles just to gain another notch on his career that might cast a more favorable light on his House for a woman who couldn’t care less.

  He let a low murmur escape, confirmation that he was listening and understood what she was saying.

  “Basset’s nothing like the Dowager, though. She’s tough on me, but I know she’s only trying to make me better. Dear Mama wanted nothing but to forget my very existence.” She forced out a wry laugh and lifted her head. “Listen to me go on.”

  She studied him, head tilted slightly, her eyebrows arched in expectation. He knew very well what she wanted.

  Forgive me, my lady, but I can’t.

  As if he’d spoken aloud, she gave a small nod. “Very well. Then there’s just one question remaining, Arthur. I expect complete honesty at all times, but how you answer this question will be particularly crucial in whether I allow you to enter my ring ever again. Do you understand?”

  He nodded curtly, tightening his hands on her shoulders. He didn’t want to leave. What choice would he have, though, if she ordered him off Blackmyre lands? He had no recourse, no right to be in her house or ring, let alone her bed.

  “Did you speak to her?”

  When he denied her the most basic communication, she wouldn’t take it too kindly if he’d spoken to another mistress. Let alone her old mentor.

  “Because I’m sorry, Arthur, I can’t forgive that. If you responded to her, I’m sure she’ll take you on. She’s the best mistress I know, but she’s hard, very hard. I don’t know…”

  He squeezed his hands tighter on her shoulders until her words fell off into silence. Then he shook his head.

  “You don’t want to go to her? Or you didn’t speak to her?”

  He lowered his head and glared fiercely while he gave a single, adamant shake of his head.

  “Are you sure?” Her mouth quirked into the wicked smile of a young hooligan stealing pies from the kitchen. “You seemed quite…shaken after meeting her. We all used to joke that she had eyes in the back of her head, or at least spies of her own as thorough as the Queen’s Ravens because she always knew what we were about before we even began to get into mischief. I do believe—”

  Her constant talking—when he couldn’t return the banter—was driving him insane. He did the only thing he could do. He sealed his mouth over hers.

  Caught with her lips parted, she didn’t pull away or refuse him. In fact, she let out a low, rich sigh and opened her mouth wider, letting him sample the heat of her mouth.

  He’d never kissed a mistress before. Somehow he’d always thought it would be forbidden for a dominant female to let a man into her mouth. It was too personal, surely even more vulnerable than intercourse. Eye to eye, nose to nose, her very breath inhibited by his. She hadn’t ordered him to action, but she didn’t put a halt to such a display.

  Certainly the other mistresses who’d played with him had never consented to share the privacy of their mouths. They’d been eager to give him orders about how to pleasure them, but never had they allowed any crack in their iron wills, as if once a man was allowed even a small indulgence, he’d be worthless as a pony.

  Lady Blackmyre softened even more against him, her arms sliding around his shoulders, her fingers curling in his hair. Her mouth was sweet and soft. Not iron. Not cold. Not punishing. Her tongue played with his, stroking and twisting, driving him to haul her closer to the erection that hadn’t completely faded since he’d awakened in her house.

  She let him kiss her, without reining him back or snapping at him. Even better, she didn’t attempt to wrestle control from him.

  Shaken, he released her mouth, but didn’t pull back. He wasn’t ready to let her see the confusion that must be written in mile-deep grooves on his face. What kind of mistress let a pony steal a kiss? And enjoyed it?

  A mistress that I want very much indeed.

  “Apology accepted, Arthur.” She patted his cheek and s
tepped out of his embrace. Heart pounding, he watched her stride back toward her guests. “But I must admit that I’m looking forward to the day when you’ll beg me to let you kiss me again.”

  Chapter Eight

  Drumming her fingertips on her desk, Violet let a plan of action form in her mind. Cole stood before her with an eager air of expectancy, hoping, no doubt, that she’d send him on some clandestine mission to determine the identity of their stable guest. All the bits of information he’d provided rattled about in her mind like one gigantic puzzle she burned to solve.

  She wasn’t familiar with anyone named Kitty but she was hardly an expert on the multitudes of Houses who crowded the ballrooms and parlors hoping to find a suitable matrimonial prospect, whether titled or moneyed or both. The Wellesleys had been relative nobodies until Wellington had been promoted to Field Marshal. If the engagement hadn’t been made formal, perhaps the infamous Kitty had been holding out for a more socially attractive mate. Though how she could have looked at the explosive strength in Arthur’s impressive body and not snatched him up formally, Violet had no idea.

  I shan’t make the same mistake.

  However, the thought that Arthur’s own grandmother had had a hand in his suffering made her so violently furious it was all she could do not to call Wellington out and risk the Queen’s wrath. She’d had her own run-ins with the hateful bitch, but she’d never expected Wellington would mistreat her own family with such betrayal.

  “Has he mentioned any other names?”

  “Only Corbus, the mistress at the auction house.”

  Violet froze but kept her voice even and hopefully unalarmed. “She’s the one who hurt him?”

  Cole nodded. “He said she wore a black bird’s mask with feathers that covered her hair. She led the others.”

  Dread the size of a cannonball rolled about in her stomach and her mind buzzed. It couldn’t be Majel. She wouldn’t risk her throne. But it could be one of her daughters. House Krowe was certainly wealthy enough to own every warehouse on the Thames and likely did.

  The name, the black mask, Majel’s feathers. A deliberate message? Or a deadly ruse?

  Only the eldest princess, Jane, was rumored to be insane enough to risk such a blatant challenge to her powerful mother. How many knew or suspected that the Queen’s heir might be torturing young men?

  Her skin prickled. All of Dottie’s whispered tales about spies and electronic bugs throughout the grand dome protecting Londonium made Violet’s blood run cold. “Let’s not repeat that name again. Ever. Tell him to forget he ever heard it if he cares at all who lives or dies around him.”

  Cole’s eyes widened with surprise. “You won’t let this woman escape punishment for hurting him.”

  It wasn’t exactly a question, but he wanted, needed, confirmation. “Of course not. But it’s going to be a very delicate, dangerous matter.”

  Relieved, he nodded. “Anything else, Your Grace?”

  She forced herself to broach the painful topic of their relationship. As his former mistress, I must ensure his wellbeing, no matter how much it hurts. “Have you been happy with him?”

  Another man might have dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet in embarrassment, but Cole continued to meet her gaze levelly. “No, Your Grace.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re not there with us.” At the stricken look that must be on her face, he quickly moved on. “Besides, I don’t know that he particularly likes men. I mean, he didn’t hesitate to use me at first because his need was too great to ignore. But he told me it wouldn’t happen again.”

  Surprised, she reached out to Cole and he came around her desk immediately to drop at her feet and bury his face in her skirts. “You mean he hasn’t…”

  “Only the time in the stable when I first found him, and then once after that when he was fully recovered. He seemed…to regret it.”

  “Oh, dearest, I had no idea. I thought you might be happy with him and I was perfectly willing to step aside.”

  “I don’t want another man if I can’t have you too, Mistress. I certainly don’t want a man who can only stomach the thought of touching me in a desperate moment of weakness better quickly forgotten.”

  “Of course not,” she murmured, smoothing her hand through his hair. “You deserve more than that, Cole. I swore I’d take care of anything you might need, and I shall.”

  “I don’t understand why you set me free in the first place.” He kept his head buried against her, muffling his words, but each one sank like a barbed arrow straight to her heart. “I don’t want to be free, Mistress.”

  “You need more than I can give you.” And I can’t bear to make you watch me die a slow, agonizing death.

  “I need you more than another man, Mistress. Please. You’re my sun and my sustenance, the very air I breathe. Tell me to drop dead at your feet and I shall but don’t send me away from you, please. Keep Arthur, I don’t mind. Just keep me too.”

  What could she say that might allow him some assurance? The last thing she wanted was for this dear boy to waste away at her bedside while she coughed up her lungs and slowly expired. I can’t bear to let him think I don’t love him as much as I do.

  “We shall see, all right?” She cupped his cheek and pressed her forehead to his, letting him see the tears in her eyes. “I love you dearly, Cole. It’s hurt me more than I ever imagined to give you your freedom. But I can’t explain the entire situation to you at this time. Please, trust me to do everything I can to see to your wellbeing and happiness as long as I’m able.”

  His eyes narrowed and she feared she’d said too much. No one knew she was ill besides the Queen. That’s the way she preferred it. She wouldn’t have even told Majel, except no one refused Her Majesty without a death wish. I have nothing to fear in that regard, for my death has already been signed, sealed and delivered.

  “The Duchess of Blackmyre is able to do a great many things. If you can break a wild stallion to your hand, then you can surely keep this mischievous pony in your stable too.”

  Relieved that he didn’t push for answers she wasn’t ready to give, she smiled and tugged gently on his hair. “Speaking of mischievous ponies, what did you find out about the sweet Mr. Wellesley who introduced himself to me at Vauxhall’s the other night?”

  “It seems that he has an unusual penchant for sneaking away at dawn for an old-fashioned horseback ride in Hyde Park.” Cole grinned, and a very adorable dimple flashed in his cheek. “Alone.”

  Violet sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile of her own. Arthur looked too much like the young man she’d met that night to not be related, and the old hag Wellington would certainly be the type to kick Arthur out of his own House and abandon him to the mercy of slavers in order to prevent a scandal. I just need confirmation that Mr. Wellesley has an older brother or cousin named Arthur. “How unfortunate for him. I dearly hope some wicked lady doesn’t compromise the dear boy.”

  “Shall I ready your mount at the crack of dawn tomorrow, Your Grace?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s also see if Dottie’s free for a little pre-dawn romp. I believe she still has a highwayman’s costume that we might find useful.”

  Swathed in a black hooded cape, Dottie chased the wild-eyed doe straight into Blackmyre’s clutches. She pretended surprise at encountering his galloping flight and immediately drew her weapon. The latest and deadliest version of technology that Britannia had to offer, the deceptively slim lazor could slice a man in half with a flick of her wrist. “Halt in the name of the Queen!”

  Dottie drew her gray to a sliding halt, fired a playful shot into the air from her ancient gunpowder pistol, and quickly high-tailed it back to bed. Hopefully to a warm and willing partner.

  “Are you unharmed, sir?” Violet sheathed the blade and turned to the white-faced young man. “Wellesley, isn’t it? I remember you from Vauxhall’s.”

  “Your Grace,” he stammered. “Thank goodness you were nearby! I had no idea bandits mig
ht be about in broad daylight, let alone in the center of Londonium.”

  “Her Majesty’s capital is a hellhole of violence if you know where to look.” The boy was too naïve to understand the meaning hidden behind Violet’s words. Majel had probably seen more enemies killed than all the soldiers they’d lost in the war. “Allow me the honor of escorting you, Mr. Wellesley. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace, I accept your offer of assistance.” His attempt at a prim and proper response was ruined by his vibrant blush. “As long as you neglect to mention this incident to anyone. Grandmama has been beside herself lately. I’m afraid this sort of accidental encounter may push her over the edge.”

  Somehow, Violet managed to keep her face smooth and devoid of her contempt. “I’m sorry to hear that she’s not well.”

  “It’s not her health, exactly.” He sighed, fumbling with the reins as though mulling over how much he dared say aloud.

  “The war, then? I know it must be dreadfully exhausting to manage all those trivial details.”

  His eyebrow shot up and his mouth quirked. “Between you and I, those trivial details are beyond her comprehension.”

  Ah, not so naïve then. This boy was definitely related in some fashion to her Arthur. That same challenging look glinted in his eyes, if younger and more innocent in the ways of men and women. Too bad he’s so young and unschooled—Dottie would have immense fun breaking this colt to halter.

  “So I thought when I heard of her promotion. Although the war is going well, isn’t it? At least as well as the Queen wants us to believe.”

  Wellesley guided his mount closer to hers and lowered his voice, even though no one rode within sight. A wise move, for no one knew exactly where the Queen’s Ravens listened. “It was,” he admitted, “but due in no part to Wellington’s credit. She was receiving assistance from my older brother, but something’s happened to him. He’s no longer able to give her any information and she’s floundering, Your Grace. Once Majel finds out, I fear the worst.”