To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  At that prospect, her heart lifted. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  “I hoped you’d give me your opinion, actually.”

  “My opinion?” She stopped herself from taking a step back. “I’ve never heard such a thing.” In her experience, gentlemen did not ask ladies their thoughts on anything of importance, and they certainly didn’t travel out of their way to do so.

  “I can’t imagine why not. You’ve an eye for horseflesh. I was wondering if you’d have a look at my latest purchase.”

  “Certainly.”

  Allerdale collected his hat from Caruthers, and they quit the cushion of carpet and ornate parquet flooring for the packed-earth stable yard. There, a handful of grooms neglected their duties in favor of admiring sixteen and a half hands of solid muscle.

  Caro caught her breath. She’d only rarely seen such a prime specimen.

  “Quite impressive, isn’t he?” Allerdale said.

  “Indeed.” The word emerged on a breathy note that felt like a betrayal of her own mare.

  The sun glinted off the glossy chestnut coat as Caro ran her hand along the arch of the beast’s neck and down a perfectly formed shoulder. The deep chest hinted at endurance. The knotted hindquarters promised power over a jump.

  “He’s certainly showy,” she added, “but how does he go?”

  This horse couldn’t beat Boudicca. She had much less weight to carry.

  “Why don’t we ride out, and I’ll put Caesar through his paces?”

  She would have loved to try Caesar herself, but she could hardly do anything so scandalous as don breeches and ride astride before a member of the ton. Nor could she demand Allerdale’s horse be fitted with her sidesaddle. No, she’d have to content herself with watching from the vantage of Boudicca’s back.

  Boudicca, who was in season—but Caesar, despite his commanding name must be a gelding. Otherwise, he’d have caught scent of a ready mare about the place. The beast would be blowing and calling and sending the grooms flying in his effort to find a mate.

  Safe, then. Perhaps Allerdale would be game for a race. Caesar might be all muscle but Caro would wager Boudicca could still best him on the flat.

  At her order, one of the grooms snapped to attention and brought out a saddled Boudicca. In no time, Caro mounted, and they trotted toward the path through the woods.

  The leafy canopy offered temporary relief from an unseasonable sun. Beneath her, Caro felt the strain of Boudicca’s muscles, and she tightened her fingers on the reins. The mare’s nose stretched against the additional tension.

  “I know you want to run.” Caro patted her mare’s proudly arched neck. “Not much longer. There’s a good open field on the other side of these trees,” she added to Allerdale. “When we get there, you can put Caesar through his paces. What did you acquire him for, if I might ask?”

  Allerdale rose and fell in time to his mount’s trot. “I’ve received an invitation to ride with Sir Bellingham.”

  Caro’s fists clenched, causing Boudicca snort and toss her head. Damnation. She gritted her teeth to keep the word from slipping out. As far as she knew, Allerdale didn’t possess much of a reputation when it came to riding, and yet he’d been asked to join the hunt.

  “My goodness, that is an honor.” Somehow she managed to make that reply sound pleasant and, most of all, nonchalant.

  “Oh, indeed. I’m not quite sure how it happened, myself, but I believe I’ve got the mount for it now.”

  “You’ll want to see how he behaves during the chase before you ride to hounds with anyone so important. It’s one thing to race over the fields with another horse or two. Quite another when you have dogs yammering and ten or twenty others about you, not to mention protocols to observe.”

  Allerdale gave a tight smile. “Don’t I know it.”

  “Perhaps you’d ride with us a week and a half from now. I’ve invited Sir Bellingham and his fellows in for a little practice before the hunting season gets under way. I’m positive you know a good many of them already.”

  “Oh, that sounds like just the thing. And surely I’ll see you at Sir Bellingham’s hunt.” Naturally he couldn’t mean with the hunt itself. Ladies were not invited to ride. They only attended the ball afterward. “You’ll save me a dance?”

  “Of course I will.” She couldn’t tell him she’d yet to receive an invitation, any more than she could come out and say she’d much prefer to get muddy and sweaty haring across the countryside after a pack of hounds.

  “Excellent.”

  They emerged from the woods, thank heavens, so she didn’t have to return his smile or act the flirt—no matter what Papa might wish. “Now you can show me what Caesar is made of.”

  With a flick of her crop, Caro sent Boudicca into a gallop. The thunder of hooves at her back told her that Caesar was very much up to the challenge. A glance over her shoulder showed the beast gaining on her with every stride.

  She grinned and gave Boudicca her head. The race was on. A small shift in the saddle, a cluck of encouragement, and Bouddica’s stride lengthened until they fairly flew beneath the hot sun. The wind tore at Caro’s habit and hairpins.

  If only she could ride so fast, she could outrun it all—ladylike habit and stays and Papa’s expectations.

  But Allerdale’s pace increased to match hers. At his shout, she turned to find Caesar’s nose level with her mare’s hindquarters.

  “Slow down a touch.” Allerdale panted the words in time to his mount’s hoofbeats.

  She settled back, and Boudicca adjusted her stride to a more collected canter. “Am I going too fast?”

  “Well, yes.” Allerdale sounded reluctant to admit as much. “If the point was to observe Caesar’s action, hadn’t you best ride behind?”

  He had her there. “Your pardon. Boudicca cannot resist a race.”

  “Boudicca or her mistress?”

  “Both, I suppose.” She reined to a halt and swept her hand toward Allerdale. “By all means, proceed.”

  He obeyed, easing into a smooth gallop. Caesar’s hooves barely skimmed the stubble left from the haying. Muscles rippled beneath the chestnut coat as horse and rider described a neat arc that curved toward the irrigation channel.

  A movement from that direction snagged Caro’s attention. Several of the tenants had gathered, spades in hand, to dredge the ditch. There, too, a rhythm had been established, as steady as any horse’s legs churning over the ground, as they dug in and heaved up gobs of mud.

  She caught her breath, and all thought of gaits and jumps and hunts fled her mind, for in their midst, Mr. Crosby toiled along with the other men. The sun shone on his bare back, picking up the gleam of perspiration. His shoulders bunched with knotted muscle as he forced his spade into the mire. His arms bulged with straining cords of sinew.

  Her eye followed every movement, while he plunged into the ground and hurled clots of earth over his shoulder again and again. With every thrust of the spade, her mouth dried that much more.

  She’d so rarely seen such a thing. A man like Allerdale would certainly never deign to strip down and wallow in the mire. He’d never risk his soft hands on the rough haft of a spade.

  But Caro understood why such a view might be considered scandalous—or even forbidden. There was something essential and elemental to watching a man perform physical labor, something that hit her as hard as a horse kicked. Instead of an explosion of pain, though, warmth blossomed inside, a flame that somehow unfurled in her belly.

  Fascinated, she watched a droplet of sweat quiver at the base of Mr. Crosby’s neck until it slipped into the furrow that delineated his spine and slid down to the waistband of his breeches. For some reason, that inner flame fed on the sight and grew hot enough to scorch.

  “What do you think?”

  Good Lord, Allerdale. He’d ridden back to her, and she’d barely noticed.

  With an effort, she tore her attention away from the working men to find Allerdale eyeing her expectantly. “How’s his
action?”

  “It’s perfectly fine.” Her reply sounded throaty to her ears. Would he suspect she wasn’t talking about his horse? “I don’t think I’ve ever seen better.”

  Chapter 6

  On Adrian’s order, the stones were removed, and water rushed into the irrigation ditch. He placed his hands on the small of his back and arched, chin to the sun. He was going to ache tomorrow, but they’d done an honest day’s work, he and Sherrington’s tenants.

  Plucking his shirt from the ground, he used it to swab his brow. A burst of giggles sounded off to the left. He pivoted. Several young women dressed in homespun and mobcaps stood in a huddle, casting admiring glances his way and whispering behind their hands.

  The sun seemed to shine twice as hot on the back of his neck, and he donned his shirt.

  Egged on by nudges, one of the young women broke free of the group and strolled in his direction, bearing a pail. “Water, sir?”

  She looked at him from beneath dark lashes, her cheeks plumping into a smile. A fading bruise tinged one of them yellow.

  He accepted a dipperful, fairly sighing as the cool liquid trickled down his parched throat. He dragged a forearm across his mouth. “I thank you.”

  “I know men such as yerself prefer ale. If ye like, we’ve got a barrel laid by at the house.” She nodded over her shoulder to a cluster of thatched cottages.

  One of the older men stepped into Adrian’s line of vision, long and lean, his body honed by decades of farming, his skin tanned to leather by the sun. “That’ll do, Sadie.”

  Her cheeks flushed with the admonition, but she returned his glare with one of her own. The air about them thickened, worse than the unaccustomed summer heat. The farmer’s arm tensed at his side. Work-toughened muscles tautened into ropes all along his forearm.

  “No harm done, Fletcher,” Adrian said evenly.

  Fletcher turned a hard gaze on Adrian. “Ye’ll want to watch that one. Likes to aim higher than her station, she does.”

  With a small screech, Sadie pushed between Adrian and the man, stalking back to join the other lasses. Fletcher’s reaction forced Adrian to watch her go. The bruise on her cheek seemed to stand out like a warning flag.

  He must have leaned in Sadie’s direction, for Fletcher growled, “Leave it.”

  Adrian had no choice but to acquiesce. He needed the tenants on his side if he was to do something with this estate. Today he’d gone a long way in winning their loyalty through the bonds of shared labor. He couldn’t undo that so soon.

  At any rate, he had no business intervening between a father and his daughter, no matter how much it went against his grain. Not only that, something about Fletcher’s demeanor told Adrian that Sadie would be the one to pay for his good intentions.

  “I should get back to the house.” He forced his voice to neutrality.

  “Ye do that.”

  He turned away from Fletcher and stalked toward his horse. Not your affair, he told himself with every step. Not your affair. You need a man like Fletcher on your side if you want the tenants to follow you. But the reminders tasted like bile, and he had to make a conscious effort not to glance over his shoulder.

  Gritting his teeth, he hauled himself into the saddle. From his perch, he let his gaze drift toward the tenants’ cottages. Spades over their shoulders, the men strolled home. Sadie and her giggling friends had already disappeared. So, too, had Fletcher.

  Adrian nudged his mount toward Sherrington’s stables, trotting over the fields toward the cool shade of the woods. At the edge of the trees, he spotted a liveried footman standing in the path, and reined in.

  “Your pardon.” The servant bowed, as if Adrian were the duke himself. “You wouldn’t have seen Lady Caroline perchance?”

  Oh, he’d seen her, tall in the saddle and gallivanting across the grounds, every inch the lady. A gauzy veil had streamed from the ridiculous hat swaying precariously atop her elegant blond coiffure. A tailored habit had hugged her curves, the effect nearly as intriguing as the sodden breeches clinging to her hips and rump.

  Unfortunately, some jumped-up nob on an equally jumped-up steed had raced in her wake. But his identity and relationship to Lady Caroline was no more Adrian’s affair than Sadie and Fletcher.

  “Not recently.” Adrian checked the angle of the sun. At least two hours had passed since Lady Caroline had paused at the side of the irrigation channel and looked her fill. He’d experienced that perusal as a physical touch. Nothing soft and ladylike, as one might expect of a woman of her status. No, it had been rough and wild, belonging to the hoyden who rode out in the rain dressed as a stable boy.

  It had taken the entire force of his will to keep gouging into the mud with his spade, to pretend she wasn’t there, watching his every move.

  “She was out riding.” Somehow he managed to make that sound detached. “I’d think she’d have returned by now.”

  “Oh, not Lady Caroline. Not if she can help it on such a fine day.”

  Good Lord, had she been out with her companion this entire time? Not your affair, he reminded himself savagely. Without a doubt, her gentleman friend was a more appropriate escort than someone like Adrian. “I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

  The footman bowed. “I shall carry on. But on the off chance I overlooked her in the stables, might you deliver a message? I know she’ll wish to learn the news straight off.”

  “News?” Not that it could possibly have anything to do with him.

  “Young Gus has awakened.”

  “That is excellent news.” Better than excellent. Lady Caroline was going to be so relieved. Adrian could almost picture the smile spreading across her face like a warm ray of sunshine breaking through a gray wintry day. Some juvenile part of himself wanted to be the one to inform her so he could bear witness to her reaction.

  So he could live it and share in it.

  “Indeed, sir.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her if I encounter her.”

  “Very good.” The footman took a step toward the fields, as if he still thought to catch Lady Caroline on foot, when she was surely mounted.

  Adrian put out a hand. “How is young Gus?”

  “As well as can be expected. I hear he is already demanding a meal. Oh, and to rise from his bed. He complained quite loudly when Lady Elizabeth prevented that.”

  Better and better. An urge rose in Adrian to look in on the boy for himself, if only to erase the mental image of an overly pale lad lying insensible in the mud beneath the relentless lash of icy rain. The only problem was, Gus had no idea of Adrian’s identity.

  No, best leave the boy to his family. At any rate, Adrian was hardly fit company. He needed to wash away the layer of sweat and mud. A change of clothing wouldn’t run amiss, either, before he was anywhere close to presentable.

  —

  There was an intact stallion in the vicinity. Caro could tell as much from Boudicca’s behavior. For most of their ride with Lord Allerdale and Caesar, the mare had obeyed every subtle shift of Caro’s weight in the saddle and each minor tug on the reins. But the moment they strayed from Sherrington lands, the animal had become less and less responsive.

  When Caro and Lord Allerdale had parted company in front of the village pub, Boudicca had jumped at the chance to put on a real show, dancing sideways, neck arched. No doubt she’d carried her tail aloft, as well. It had taken all of Caro’s strength and patience to make the mare stand still long enough for a courteous leave-taking before turning for home.

  Even now, Boudicca balked, shying at nothing more than the fluttering wings of a butterfly. The breeze bore the echo of a trumpeting call. A stud, indeed, and not far off. If he was close enough to catch the scent of a mare in season, he might be on the neighboring road or already in the next field.

  Boudicca stopped dead in the path, her flanks quivering, her ears pricked. Then she raised her head and let out an answering whinny. A telltale rush of liquid hitting the ground could only mean she’d let out a str
eam of urine.

  “Blast it, no!” Caro dug in with her one good knee. “I’m not about to allow you to stand here and lead him straight to you.”

  Or worse, let Boudicca run toward a potential suitor, which the mare seemed to be threatening, given the way she strained in the direction of that call. Though she hated to resort to such lengths, Caro reached for her crop. A quick reminder of who was in charge, and Boudicca set off with a half rear toward home.

  Caro kept a firm hold on the reins, refusing to give Boudicca her head. The mare had run enough today under the sun’s heat. A steady trot to make her think was just the ticket.

  But all along the path, Caro listened carefully for the thunder of hoofbeats. Should she find herself facing a thousand pounds of stallion determined to slake his natural urges, she knew quite well she’d no chance of winning that confrontation.

  Still, a stud in the area made no sense. None of the locals bred horses. They needed their animals for work, and stallions were unpredictable—dangerous, even. For plowing, hauling, and riding, a gelding was much more reliable.

  Though perhaps not as profitable.

  Did you ever think of having her bred? Mr. Crosby’s suggestion rose in her mind, followed just as quickly by the memory of Pendleton’s almost-threat.

  No. Caro refused to risk her mare. Not while she was still in her prime as a hunter. Once she was in foal, Caro could no longer take chances over high jumps, and even that paled next to the idea of losing her mare altogether. Foaling might be a natural process, but not all dams survived it any more than a woman was ensured to rise from the childbed alive.

  Caro’s own mother had succumbed, after all.

  She shook that thought away and clucked to Boudicca. The mare tossed her head and broke into a collected canter.

  The grooms scattered before her when she entered the stable yard. Boudicca halted next to the mounting block, and Caro alighted, keeping a firm hold on the reins. Still, the mare jerked her head.