The chariot rocked along for several minutes, and he retreated into sober silence, once again staring out the glass.
No…she wouldn’t have it. He was not going to freeze her out.
Ten days ago, she wouldn’t have contemplated taking the bold action she took now. Gathering up her skirts, she rose, turned and straddled Miles’ lap. She released her gown, settled her hands on Miles’ shoulders and from mere inches away and eye-to-eye, smiled at him.
“Lady Miles…what is this, my dear?” For the first time that day, his face lightened, and he returned her smile, a trace of his normal devilry apparent in the twist of his lips. The vehicle lurched, and he wrapped his hands around her waist to hold her steady.
“If I cannot relieve you of the cause of your blue devils, perhaps I can make you forget them for a while.”
He arched a playful eyebrow at her. “And just how do you propose to do that?”
She felt her cheeks color. “I thought I would kiss you.”
“And you thought a kiss would be sufficient to distract me?” His tone conveyed a misleading innocence. Eleanor was not deceived.
“Well…I…” she stammered. “I thought I would kiss you several times—with my tongue, a kiss in the, ah… I believe you called it the Florentine style…and at length.”
His chuckle was deep and suggestive. “My sweet wife, there is much more fun to be had than simply kissing... even in the Florentine style.”
As the rocking of their vehicle moved her back and forth, she wrinkled her brow and examined him for a long moment trying to discern what he implied. The growing hardness where her bare parts met his trousered lap cued her understanding. “Oh!” She frowned and cocked her head. “Really? In a moving carriage?”
He nodded, growing amusement apparent on his face.
She looked at the confined, intimate space of the two-person vehicle. “Truly? It doesn’t seem there’s enough room.”
Biting his lip in what she felt certain was an effort to prevent another laugh, he nodded and reached to close the window curtains. The hand that had released her waist disappeared, flipping through the froth of her skirts to grasp her bare thigh above her garter and then move elsewhere. He held her gaze with mischievous intent until she felt his hard cock resting against the bare skin of her inner thigh. His talented fingers traced caresses up between her legs to her tenderest of flesh where he proceeded to incite her until she teetered on the brink of ultimate pleasure. He withdrew his hand.
“No! Miles! Don’t stop.”
“Rise up on your knees, Eleanor.”
“Why did you stop? I was very happy with what you were doing.”
“Yes, dearest, I’m sure you were. I, however, would like to participate more fully. Now, raise up on your knees.”
“I fail to see how being on my knees will achieve anything.” With a huff, she rose until she knelt over him.
“Come down slowly.”
“Oh…” As she sank, he guided his rigid length into her until she rested fully seated on his thighs. The motion of the coach rocked her back and forth in his lap. “What a novel position. I feel all of you quite keenly.”
Miles groaned softly, and his head fell back against the squabs.
After a few moments of rocking, her eyes widened. “Oh…Miles…?”
“Yes, Eleanor?” he said in a strained voice.
“Oh…Miles…this is very nice.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he ground out. “Now, be a very good girl and don’t enhance the movement of the carriage, or I will be useless to you.”
“Yes, Miles.”
Of course, as he then set his hands to work teasing her flesh where his body joined with hers, ultimately she had to move as she couldn’t stand not to. At that point, however, she was certain she had achieved her objective. The Ned problem had been put aside for an hour or so as Miles thoroughly acquainted her with the intimate delights to be had in a traveling chariot. Eleanor made a mental note never to sell this particular vehicle.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I
have been to Epsom many times, but I’ve never watched the Derby from a private box.” Lady Florence beamed at Eleanor. “Such an improved view—one can see every detail, and you are not jostled by the crowd.” She studied Eleanor and slowly shook her head. “You are all but climbing out of your skin. Go on, my dear, go to the barns or saddling circle or whatever it’s called. Find your handsome husband and your trainer and satisfy yourself that all is well. I will be fine on my own.”
Eleanor winced in apology. “I’m sorry to be so preoccupied. Females aren’t welcomed in the saddling area, but I would dearly love to see for myself Dreamer is properly turned out. Miles and Mr. Fedder are more than capable but...” She frowned.
Lady Florence snorted. “But you must satisfy yourself, or your nerves will consume you.” She made a shooing motion with her gloved hand. “Go. Go on.”
“I’ll be back before the start with Lord Miles.” Eleanor gave her friend a hasty kiss on the cheek and strode from the owner’s box with one hand on her hat and the other holding up her skirts.
“She looks in wonderful shape, Fedder. I am very hopeful for a win today.” Miles hung over a stall door with the Rutledge trainer and watched Jemmy put the finishing polish on Day Dreamer with a soft rag. The lovely filly’s copper coat gleamed with good health. Her step seemed to have an extra loft, and she exuded quiet power.
“Yes, my lord. You know as well as I if she runs as she ought, none in this field is her match.” Fedder stepped back and picked up the bridle that hung next to the horse’s stall. “That will do, Mr. Struthers. Bring the saddle and pad to the saddling enclosure. I’ll take the filly. The call to summon the horses to the saddling area was sounded several minutes ago. We must be off.” He turned to Miles. “My lord, as you did in Newmarket, would you like to give the jockey his instructions?” Fedder’s lips twitched in what for Fedder was a broad smile. “That way I can always blame you if the filly doesn’t run to form.”
Miles laughed. “I would be honored, Mr. Fedder. The same man up as in Newmarket?”
“Yes, my lord. Mr. Crane did a good job for us in the filly’s last two races. He knows how she likes to run. He deserves a crack at a Derby win.”
“Miles!” Ned’s voice rang down the aisle with a note of frantic impatience. “I must speak with you.”
He raised his arm to acknowledge Ned. “Good enough, Mr. Fedder. I will see you in a few minutes.” Miles clapped the trainer on the shoulder then turned and walked down the barn aisle to where Ned stood. Miles’ heart sank at his first clear glimpse of him. Ned’s left eyebrow was split and bloody. He was missing his hat, his cravat hung undone, and his clothes looked as if he’d rolled in the mud. He’d no more reached his younger brother than Ned grabbed him by the arm, jerked him into an empty stall and addressed him in a fierce undertone.
“Smith’s gang have Mr. Morgan and Mr. Allen, the men I brought with me from Fairwood. Those thugs…they ambushed and overpowered us just outside the racecourse. Beat both Mr. Allen and Mr. Morgan unconscious… and…” Ned’s face crumpled. “There were too many of them. I couldn’t do a damnable thing. Allen and Morgan are being held pending the outcome of the Derby. They’ve threatened to kill them—and sooner or later get to Mother—if you don’t cooperate.” Ned looked down, blinking steadily. He raised his sleeve to his face as if to wipe away the evidence of tears.
“If I don’t cooperate how?”
Ned flinched at the ice in his tone. “They want our jockey to throw the race,” he said miserably. “They have bet on what they think is a sure thing but for our filly. Our man is to take the rail at the back and hold Dreamer there as we always do at the start.” Ned looked at his feet. “But two horses will box her in—trap her against the rail. She’ll not be allowed to make her run until it’s too late. This Mr. Smith, the leader of these villains, stands to win a fortune.” Ned raised his head and finally met Miles eye-to-eye.
“If we comply with their demands, they will release Morgan and Allen… and leave us alone.” Ned looked away, the muscles in his clenched jaw visibly working.
“Do you know where Morgan and Allen are being held?”
“Yes. In a shed not far off.”
“How many men do they have?”
“Seven. At least, that was the number who waylaid us.”
Miles scrubbed his face and then braced his forehead between his fingers and his thumb as he tried to formulate a workable solution for being two places at once. What a damnable position to be in. Bloody, bloody hell. He could not remember the last time he’d had to work so hard to discipline himself into a civilized response as he did at that moment. Miles raised his head and regarded Ned steadily, and as was his custom when volatile emotion of any sort threatened to overturn his self-control, he lowered his voice and spoke with little inflection. “Everything in me demands I confront the scoundrels face-to-face and have this out here and now. I swear nothing would give me greater pleasure than to leave them in bloody pieces on the ground … but I cannot. I cannot leave Lady Eleanor and Lady Floyd-Smythe vulnerable to such predators, and as her husband, my first duty is always to Eleanor.”
Ned nodded and drew his mouth into a tight line. “Agreed. Nor can you concede to their extortion. I have quite made up my mind, brother. With you or without you, I am going back to get our Fairwood men. I have taken the liberty of assembling all the Rutledge staff. They are armed with pistols and clubs and merely wait for me to join them, but I thought it best to lay the details in front of you first.”
Miles braced a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Ned…”
“No. I am determined. Nothing you say will make me cry off. We will have five men and the element of surprise. It should be enough. It is doubtful this gang would leave all seven to guard two unconscious men. I will do this, Miles. I am one and twenty. Though I have not always acted it, I am a grown man. My older brother cannot continue to fight my battles for me. Allow me some pride.”
A grim smile twitched the corners of Miles’ mouth. “Alright, little brother. Yours is as good a plan as any I suppose. I must go to the saddling paddock. Find me the instant you get back. I should be in the Rutledge box.” Miles searched his brother’s face. “And for God’s sake, Ned, have a care for yourself. Were something to happen to you, I should be devastated, and I can’t begin to think what I would say to Maman.”
Ned offered him a shadow of his devil-may-care grin. “You must cut my lead line sometime, Miles. I know I have let you down in the past. I won’t this time. You can trust me to do this.”
Ned was correct. Miles had to let him grow up sometime. His heart in his throat, he nodded once, gripped Ned forcefully on the shoulder and then turned and strode out of the barn before he could change his mind. He walked into the sunlight with his thoughts and emotions in savage turmoil, though none of it showed on the agreeable face he presented to the outside world.
The saddling paddock was a confined space of organized chaos as jockeys found their mounts and trainers issued their last instructions all the while dodging nervous horses being saddled. Miles found Fedder and Crane in an isolated corner with a calm, composed Day Dreamer, her head up as her eyes surveyed her assembled competition with the serenity of a champion viewing those of lesser talent. Fedder appeared relieved to see Miles.
“Mr. Crane, glad you are in the irons today. Let’s trust in a successful outcome.” Miles nodded to the diminutive man wearing the blue and gold silks of the Rutledge stud.
“Yes, my lord. The filly felt good in the warm-ups. Very playful. She’ll give those colts a run.”
“Good man. A slight change in tactics. You are going to be the rabbit today. Do all in your power to get a clean start, go to the front immediately and stay there. Make them catch you.” He reached to stroke Dreamer’s chestnut neck before he gently grasped both reins under her chin, ran a hand up her forehead to pull at her forelock and murmured, “Show these boys nothing but your heels, my beauty. Win it all. Do it for your mistress.” He returned his gaze to his jockey and stated crisply, “Keep her at the front and out of trouble.”
Fedder frowned and sent an intent and considering look at Miles but remained silent as he put the jockey up on Day Dreamer. The call to assemble at the starter’s tape was sounded, and both men stepped away from the filly.
“Good luck, Mr. Crane. I’ll see you in the winner’s circle.” Miles nodded and turned to hustle his way to the owner’s box, his thoughts divided between the race and the mission his brother spearheaded.
He hoped to heaven Ned would be successful. Otherwise, he might have sentenced two men to death. He didn’t think this gang would make good on their threats as murder was a hanging offense, while extortion—assuming it could be proven—was simply imprisonment or deportation.
His other option was completely unpalatable. A horse with the speed and endurance of the chestnut filly was a once-in-a-lifetime gift. He would not deprive Eleanor of what might be her only opportunity to realize her greatest dream because of threats to men in his employ due to the regrettable actions of his brother.
He made his way into Rutledge’s private box and was immediately greeted by Lady Florence Lloyd-Smyth.
“Lord Miles, I had thought Eleanor would return with you. She left to find you some time ago.”
He frowned. “I didn’t see her. Perhaps she got caught up in the crush? The crowd is rather heavy. I’m sure she will be here for the start of the race.”
Lady Florence smiled. “Yes. She definitely won’t miss that. Oh, look. The horses are under starter’s orders. She’d better hurry, or she will miss the start.” She held an opera glass to her eye. “Rutledge silks are blue and gold are they not?”
“Yes.” Miles squinted at the tape where each racer was to place a nose. The jostling and back and forth milling of the horses made identifying an individual animal something of a challenge.
“I don’t see them, but then perhaps I don’t know what to look for.” She handed Miles her jewel encrusted eyeglass. “I’m not very good at looking out of one eye. Would you like to try?”
Miles took the glass from her and intently scanned the field of starters. He came to an inescapable conclusion at the same time as the starter’s tape fell and the field of racers for the Epsom Derby were off.
“Oh, Eleanor is going to kick herself for missing the start—”
“My profound apologies, Lady Lloyd-Smyth,” Miles interjected. “I must get to the barns.” He turned and ran, a sick feeling growing as he pushed and shoved his way through the throngs of cheering racegoers.
Turning into the aisle of the barn, he almost plowed into a glowering Mr. Fedder tearing out of the barn like hellhounds nipped at his heels. Fedder seemed blind to everything around him. Miles stopped the man’s progress by grabbing his arm.
“What happened? Why didn’t Day Dreamer start?”
The trainer’s gaze swung to Miles as if he’d risen from the ground in front of him. The man gave an inarticulate growl of fury. “The Lady Miles Everleigh happened,” he spat. “As to why the filly didn’t start? You’ll have to ask her. Mayhap she will give you a lucid answer.” Fedder uttered his last words in a guttural snarl, and when he jerked his arm out of Miles’ grasp, Miles released him unhindered.
Even more alarmed than before, he came to a stop in front of Day Dreamer’s open stall door, and his consternation boiled over. “Eleanor, why didn’t Dreamer start?”
Eleanor’s heart beat as if to come out of her chest and her mouth went suddenly dry. She screwed up all her courage, determined to show no uncertainty and reminded herself one more time that she’d done the right thing. She finished adjusting the stable rug to fit without a wrinkle on the chestnut filly and then turned to face Miles.
“I made the decision to pull her from the race. I saw something off in her gait. She’s too valuable to risk a permanent injury.”
Miles frowned at her and moved to run hi
s hands down the young horse's legs, an intent expression on his face. After a thorough examination, he rose and stood in front of Eleanor, shaking his head.
“I’d ask to see her trot out, but there’s nothing wrong with her. We both know that. Why did you pull her from the race? And Eleanor, please grace me with the truth this time.” His gray eyes held her steadily, stern accusation apparent.
As with Fedder, Miles disbelieved her spurious excuse, and she hated not being honest with him. Bracing herself for the furies of hell to descend upon her, she told him the truth.
“Your men are in fear for their lives. Lord Edmund and Her Grace have been threatened with physical peril, and I know how much you love them. It’s only money. There will be other days and other Derbies.”
“It is not only money, and there is only one Derby for Dreamer. Next year she will be too old.” His intelligent eyes examined her for a long moment, then narrowed with an all too knowing consideration. “Lady Florence said you came to find me, and you did find me, didn’t you?” He took a deep breath and let it out in a long exhale. “How much of my conversation with Ned did you overhear?”
Eleanor gave an internal gasp of relief. Miles was not going to fob her off with some Banbury tale. “I think I heard most of what Ned said to you… and I heard your instructions to Mr. Crane. You placed my hopes and dreams ahead of the physical jeopardy to your men, your brother, your mother—Fairwood and all those lovely horses. I couldn’t allow you to put at risk so much you hold dear—not for some silly daydream of mine.”
“Some silly...” He choked off the end of his thought. Everything about Miles’ manner from his suddenly rigid stance to his clenched jaw and averted gaze indicated immense frustration or barely restrained anger. She didn’t know which, but she feared she was in for a violent dressing down. Instead, he closed his eyes, visibly relaxed and when he opened them again, he took her hands into his and addressed her in a quiet voice.
A Husband for Hire (The Heirs & Spares Series Book 1) Page 22
