“I wouldn’t dare miss the image of Baronet Townsend shoveling manure.”
“I’ve shoveled my share of manure. I do have my own stables.”
“Not in those fancy London boots, you haven’t.”
“You are determined to see me ruin those boots.”
“It’s evil of me, I know.”
“Yes, my dear, it is.”
They travelled the rest of the way to Rosethorne in an easy silence. She relaxed against John, his arms around her as he guided the horse. As they neared the park, she touched his hand. “Here is fine.”
“I can take you to the door.”
“I’m going to sneak in the back way so I don’t wake anyone. I left the back door unlocked.”
“What if someone found it open?”
She dug her key out of her pocket. “I have the key.”
John dismounted and lifted her down from the horse. His hands stayed at her waist as her feet touched the ground. They stood close, so very close that her head had to tilt back to look into his face. She gazed up at him with a sleepy smile. “Tonight, has been surprising.”
He smiled. “Indeed. We need to practice the waltz tomorrow. Perhaps after the stable work?”
“But where will we get music.”
He cocked his head to the side with a wry grin. “I’m not sure you’re ready for music just yet. Nor are my feet.”
The breezes blew a lock of her hair across from her face. He raised a hand and tucked it behind her ear. The brush of his fingers against her skin had her shivering.
“It’s late and you’re cold. You should go in.” His voice was soft.
“Good night, Sir. John.”
“Good night, Miss Penwith.”
Victoria made her way down the walk and let herself into the house. She closed the door behind her and locked it. She crept up the stairs to her small room. Moonlight streamed in from the window, so she didn’t light a candle, but moved to the window to see Sir John crossing the field behind the church to make his way back.
She moved away from the window and undressed hanging up her good dress and petticoats, folding her good stockings carefully before placing them in a drawer in the cupboard. She pulled a night gown over her head and brushed the few tangles from her hair before braiding it.
The house was quiet around her. A slight breeze stirred the curtains at the windows. She climbed into her small bed and wrapped her arms around her knees, staring out into the night. Could the fortune teller be right? Could Sir John be the man who could change her life? She was almost afraid of the answer.
Chapter 6
The next morning Victoria couldn’t keep the happiness inside. It threatened to burst from her like bubbles from champagne. Twirling around in John’s arms last night was a romantic dream, something she’d never thought she’d feel again. She couldn’t wait for the next dance lesson. She braided her hair and dressed in her work clothes, breeches, waistcoat and an old coat. Regardless of John’s presence, there was much work to be done with the yearlings today.
She almost skipped down the stairs anxious to get to the stables. John would be here mucking the stalls as part of his bet. She was impatient to see him again.
She should be worried that he’d be like all the other men in her life, but the fortune from Madame Zeta gave her hope. Perhaps this time, magic would really work. As she stepped into the hallway to make her way back to the kitchen for a few apples for the horses, her father’s voice stopped her.
“Victoria? A moment.”
She froze at the cool tone, then turned and stepped into the doorway of the library.
“Come in and close the door.”
That happy feeling of just a moment ago faded into the darkness of the room. “Yes, Father?”
“Why is Sir John in our stables?”
“He and I wagered on the Milnthorpe Cup. Tychee won, you remember?”
“He is evaluating my membership into the Jockey Club and you have given him free access to the stables.” His voice rose with every syllable until he was shouting at her.
Her face heated and her shoulder’s slumped. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t think.”
“You never do.”
Anger surged inside her. “In my defense, I had no idea that Sir John was here to evaluate your membership to the Jockey Club. As far as I knew, he was the brother of a dear friend.”
“I really don’t appreciate the tone of your voice.”
She didn’t apologize, but pressed her lips together to hold back the words she was dying to say. This stupid quest for the Jockey Club was madness. They had one horse. One. The odds of having another Tychee were astronomical.
“It’s just a club, Father.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Damn it, she didn’t need to rile Father up with John here.
He stood behind his desk, his face flushed, eyes hard, and she felt a flicker of fear. She stood still, not giving in to the urge to take a step away from him out of striking distance. He’d never hit her before.
“While you might not think much of the membership, I do. This could make us wealthy and introduce you into society in a way that a trip to London for a season never could. I only think of you when I pursue these things.”
“Yes, Father.” The words were as humble as she could make them, and still sound believable.
“Now get out to the stables and see what Sir John has been up to. Do not discourage him from asking any questions. In fact, perhaps you can provide a tour of the facilities. He would like that. And, for God’s sake, don’t let him muck the damn stalls.”
“Yes, Father.” She moved towards to the door to escape.
“Victoria.”
She froze.
“Please don’t disappointment me.”
Again, echoed in her head as Victoria made her way outside. He would find something about her that disappointed him. He always did. She took the long way to the stone stables beyond the park. The day was gorgeous and warm, yet she saw no joy in it any longer. The lightness she’d felt early stomped out like an insect under her father’s foot.
She shook off the bad feelings. John was here and there was nothing that would keep her from enjoying the sight of him doing a bit of hard labor. Chances were good that he’d not last one stall.
Jeb Sims, the stable master, was standing outside the large stone building that made up the main stables. He grinned at her as she approached and covered his mouth with one finger, then pointed to the side of the building. She walked over as quietly as she could.
“How is Sir John doing?” She kept her voice low.
“I was expecting him to muck one stall and make some excuse, but he’s a hard worker. The toff isn’t afraid to roll up his sleeves and work. He’s about got the whole thing done. And he’s good with the horses.”
“Really?”
“Not as good as you, but he’s got the touch.” Sims leaned closer and whispered, “He’s been asking a lot of questions.”
She frowned. “What kind of questions?”
“He noticed some of the efficiencies you’ve done. He also noted the changes in the feed for the horses.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That it was all you. You and your notes. At least he knows which end of the horse is what.”
“Father thinks he is here to ferret out information about our work for the Jockey Club.”
Mr. Sims shrugged. “I don’t know about that. What does Mr. Penwith think he’s going to find?”
“I have no idea. Do you think we can trust him?”
Mr. Sims scrubbed his face. “There is some pretty bad gossip about Sir John from three years ago. The missus is keen on gossip and keeps me informed.”
“I remember, but he seems to have made peace with his sisters. Mrs. Matthews is happy to have him here.” She leaned against the wall. “What if he changes back to the way he was?”
“He ain’t the man he was when he was here last. But he is a man who made
some big mistakes. That kind of change usually stays with a man,” Sims said.
“What if he’s only here because of a horse. He is interested in breeding his horse with mine.”
“He mentioned that. Asked me about how you’d react to the question. Tychee is a winner, but winners fade. They get old. They get tired. But breeding her could bring in some serious money as well as another winner.”
Victoria nodded. The reason for Father’s pursuit of the Jockey Club membership was becoming clear. It wasn’t to access races, but to earn stud fees and sell breeding rights.
“But I don’t think Sir John is just after your horse, miss.”
“What do you mean?”
Sims grinned. “He’s asked about you about six times, wanting to know when you’d be in the stables. He’s clearly going to keep working until he sees you.”
“Why?”
“You are the only woman I’ve ever met who ain’t got a vain bone in her body. Why do you think he’s here to see you? Same reason he wagered against a horse who had beaten his own horse three other times. Now go put him out of his misery before he’s too damn tried to spend any time with you.”
Victoria grinned and walked into the dark stables. Sir John was leaning against one of the stable doors a shovel in his hands.
“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up, Miss Penwith.” His eyes took in her waistcoat and breeches and she suddenly felt like she should run back and change into something more feminine. She pushed her braid back over her shoulder.
“I assumed you’d be done and gone by now, Sir John.”
He leaned the shovel against the wall and pulled off his gloves. “Just finished the last stall.”
“Really?”
“I do know how to work, Victoria. I take a keen interest in my own stables, my horses. I rather enjoy it.”
She really needed to stop judging him. Granted, she didn’t have a great deal of experience with gentlemen such as he, but she knew a few who took pleasure in a job well done. She glanced into one of the cleaned stalls. “You did a good job.”
He raised an eyebrow. “High praise coming from you. Have you ever mucked a stall, Miss Penwith?”
“Mr. Sims wouldn’t allow me around the horses unless I took care of them. So yes, I’ve mucked my share of stalls over the years.” She glanced around at the cleaned stalls. “I would say we can consider this wager more than settled. You didn’t have to do all of them.”
“I don’t mind the work.” His voice was low and gravelly. “What are your plans today?”
There was an air of intimacy around them that made her squirm. “Father wanted me to make sure you had what you need for your evaluation.”
“I don’t care about your father’s membership, Victoria.”
He moved slowly towards her, his eyes heated. “I like your work clothes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman in breeches before.”
She flushed. “It’s rather difficult to work with horses in a skirt.”
“I can’t begin to imagine.”
“And I prefer to ride astride when I’m working. The side saddle is dangerous with a young, untrained horse.”
He moved close, so close, close enough to cause her heart to pound furiously in her chest.
“I completely agree. Your safety is paramount.”
“It’s kind of you to be concerned, sir.”
He removed his gloves, tossing them to the side, then stepped closer, their bodies almost touching, but not quite. He smelled of soap, starch, and hard work. She found it irresistible. The urge to press against him was strong, like a magnet pulling them closer. Only the shouts of Mr. Sims to the stable hands kept her from giving in to the pull. She fought to keep her breathing under control.
“I fear I must confess something to you, Miss Penwith.”
His voice was soft, and rough. His finger traced her jawline.
“Yes?”
“The look of you in men’s clothing is tempting me in the most inappropriate way.”
Her face heated and there was this fluttery feeling in her stomach. “Inappropriate in what way, sir?”
He stared at her mouth, then brushed his thumb against her bottom lip like the softest of kisses. She inched forward trying to close the gap. Inappropriate was the appropriate word for how he was making her feel. Reckless was another good word. She leaned into him.
“Not here, love.” The breath of his whisper brushed her lips.
Love. The word made her heart thump harder.
It was then she heard the crunch of boots on the ground, and she remembered where they were. He took one step back and dropped his hand, his eyes still warm.
Victoria straightened and put more distance between them. Sir John Townsend was as potent as whiskey when he was like this. Too potent for her own senses to fight, it seemed. “Father wants me to show you the stables and anything else that will help win the approval of his membership.”
The heat in his eyes faded as he put more distance between them. He picked up the work gloves from where he’d tossed them and grabbed the shovel. He moved to put the items away in the small area where the tools were kept.
She wished she could snatch back the words as his demeanor changed, grew cooler.
“Being part of the Jockey Club is very important to him, isn’t it?”
“Yes, very much so.”
“Why?”
There was a question she wasn’t sure she could answer honestly. “It would open up opportunities to extend our breeding program.”
“You could do that without membership.” He looked around. “Given what I’ve seen today, you are doing quite well without membership. What is the real reason, Victoria?”
He wasn’t going to let this go, and frankly she didn’t feel like discussing it with him. Just mentioning the stupid membership had leeched all the fun, tingly feelings out of her.
“Why don’t you tell me what you want to say, Sir John, and make this easier on both of us.”
He crossed his arms. His mouth formed a thin line of opinion.
He had no idea what he was talking about, and she had no desire to enlighten him. “Sir John, if you aren’t going to admit him, then, just make the decision and be done with it.”
He looked down at his boots. “The decision isn’t mine. Mr. Connells needs to provide his opinion. Frankly, he has the final decision.”
“Then why are you in Beetham?”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes for a long time. He was ignoring the question. She opened her mouth to ask again, when he raised his eyes to hers. She could barely control the gasp at the emotion that filled his face. Her heart skipped ahead like a rock across the pond.
“Miss Victoria Penwith, you are an unforgettable woman.” His voice was a low growl.
“What?”
“Three years ago, I saw you in Beetham. You took my breath away.”
Her lips parted as her jaw dropped. He’d admired her for three years? His words sounded like the nonsense that gentlemen spewed when courting favor, but he looked in earnest. She believed him. “I had no idea.”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You weren’t supposed to notice, Miss Penwith. A man must hold to his pride at some point.”
He tangled her good sense like a kitten playing with a ball of yarn.
“Go riding with me. Show me the fields where you train, the paths that you race.”
So tempting. So irresistible. So worth giving up her day for. That tingly sensation was back in her stomach like a thousand fairy wings inside of her. “I would love to.”
Chapter 7
The summer day was growing warm as the sun burned off the early morning mist. Victoria rode before him, and he found himself losing his train of thought each time her hips bounced with the movement of the horse as they raced across the back pasture.
The way those breeches stretched across her plump backside was playing havoc with his focus. It should be illegal to allow a woman to wear them. If thi
s fashion caught on, males of the world were in serious trouble.
She galloped to a copse of trees at the edge of the pasture and pulled the horse to a stop. He reined in his own horse and dismounted, dropping the reins so his horse could graze. He moved to help her dismount the large beast she rode.
Victoria slid off the saddle and into his arms, gazing up at him with heat in her eyes. Her hands tightened on his shoulders and she stretched up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
Shocked parted his lips, then his brain disengaged and he kissed her back. He kept his hands at her waist, afraid that if he moved them, he’d be taking things farther than was proper.
Her head tilted back and her arms moved around his neck as she rose onto her toes to press herself fully against him. Her breasts crushed against his chest. She tilted her head to deepen the kiss.
Bloody hell.
He couldn’t stop himself. He brushed his thumb against her jaw as his fingers curved around the back of her head and into her hair so he could guide her deeper into passion. His tongue traced her bottom lip until he heard a very feminine moan of pleasure.
Good God, this kiss. Victoria was magic in his arms. Never had a single kiss fired his blood as quickly as this one. And he couldn’t stop. He needed her mouth on his like he needed tea in the morning to wake up. Hell, he felt awake in a way he’d never felt in his entire life. This was elemental, as if all the pieces of his life were finally arranged properly for the first time.
He slowed his kiss, pulling back slowly to savor the warmth of her passion for him, easing them down from the fire that had blazed almost out of control.
They needed to talk. She had to know what this meant to him, what she meant to him. That he was learning to be honorable for her.
Victoria dropped back down onto her feet, her arms sliding from around his neck. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the night at the Fairy Steps.”
“I know. Victoria—”
She stepped back and turned to her horse, leading him out to where the grass was thicker. God, she was so pretty. And intelligent. And honest. She deserved honesty from him — about his past, present and future. She deserved to know his best and his worst. He only hoped she still wanted him when she learned the worst.
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