“Brighton Gold. Gold both for the color of her coat and because her sire came from the Prince Regent’s stables.”
“Do ye mind if I call her Goldie?”
Alex smiled. No doubt his pompous-ass brother would go into a complete dither about such a common name for a horse from royal bloodlines, even though the filly belonged to Alex. “Goldie it is.”
“Has she had the saddle on yet?” Inis asked.
“Yes, but she is skittish. I am not sure you should ride her yet.”
The boy gave him a direct look. “If ye want me to be your horse handler, ye need to let me ride.”
Alex had his doubts that someone so small should be put on a horse not fully broken, but the filly seemed to respond well to the lad’s touch. “Let me saddle her then.”
“I can do it,” Inis said and opened the stall door to lead the filly out.
Inis did seem to know his way around the horse. Alex watched as the lad brought out the tack, examined the girth, adjusted the stirrups, and then warmed the bit in his hand before inserting it into the horse’s mouth. He was nimble enough in mounting, although he used the block to do so. But then Alex could hardly expect someone barely five feet tall to vault onto a horse’s back like he did.
The lad guided the filly around the paddock next to the stable with light hands. He had one of those rare seats that made him seem part of the horse. He walked, posted, turned in figure eights, and then nudged Goldie into a canter and his cap flew off.
Alex stared at the abundance of long, red curls tumbling down the lad’s back.
Not a lad.
A lass.
…
Inis made a wild grab for her cap, only to feel the wind blowing her hair free. The blood drained from her face and she reined in the horse. She slid off Goldie and buried her face in the filly’s mane. She didn’t dare look at her new employer—quite probably, her former employer. Sweet Mary, what was going to happen now?
“When were you planning to tell me you’re a girl?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice close to her ear. She hadn’t heard him approach. Warmth coursed through her cold hand as he closed his own over it to take the reins from her.
She turned and slanted her gaze upward through her loose hair. He didn’t look angry. He hadn’t sounded angry, either. More like confused. It gave her the courage to look at him directly. “I wasna planning to.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “No? That would be hard to hide for long, even if you are little more than a child—”
“I am almost two-and-twenty,” she said and then clapped a hand over her mouth when Alex’s other brow rose as well. His eyes darkened slowly, as though she’d piqued his interest. She should have let him think her a child. Why could she not control her temper?
Alex folded his arms across his broad chest. “What is a young Irish woman doing in England pretending to be a lad?”
“I…” She had to think fast, if she didn’t want to get sent back to Ireland. “I…my parents came over to look for work. They…were killed in a carriage accident.” She hated lying, but it was a believable fib. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her parents were dead. “I thought…it would be safer for me to dress as a lad.”
Alex studied her. “I am sorry about your parents. If you want to return to Ireland, I could pay—”
“Nae. I doona want to return.”
He frowned. “You do not have kin?”
“I…” By the saints, she hated to lie. “Times are hard in Ireland. I doona wish to burden any kin with another mouth to feed.” She looked at Alex hopefully. “Could I nae stay and work your horses? Does it matter if I am a girl?”
He made a strangled sound that turned into a cough. “I will think on it.”
“Thank ye.” Inis smiled at him. “I willna let ye down.”
He didn’t return the smile. “I have not agreed. I said I would think on it.”
Chapter Three
“I know it all sounds quite insane, but it is true,” Alex said as he finished explaining about Inis to the woman sitting in his parlor that afternoon. “Every word.”
Caroline Nash closed her fan, placed it in her lap, and gave him an amused smile. “You do tend to get yourself into predicaments.”
“And you always offer an ear to listen.” The old adage that misery loved company had proved true. Caroline had been dumped by his brother when he’d decided to marry Amelia. Even though Caroline was the daughter of a knight, Amelia was the daughter of an earl. Alex and Caroline had become friends of sorts as they battled their mutual anger at George, but he scowled at her now, knowing what she referred to. “What happened at the Comptons’ dinner three nights ago was not my fault.”
Caroline arched a brow. “Well, you have to admit Lady Compton’s seating you between the countess and Lady Linford was not exactly a stroke of luck.”
Alex wasn’t at all sure Lady Compton hadn’t done it on purpose. He was well aware the ladies of the ton gossiped about who had romped with whom. Jeannette Compton was one of the worse of the bunch, which was one reason he hadn’t put her on his conquest list. He didn’t mind his name coming up—enhancing his rakish reputation only increased desire on the parts of the bored, married women of the ton—but Lady Compton could bray like a donkey, and she often didn’t think before she spoke. “The situation might have been a bit uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable? If Melanie Linford had moved her chair any closer to yours, she would have been on your lap. Miranda Locke looked like she wanted to scratch the woman’s eyes out.” Caroline shook her head. “You should explain to your mistresses that your favors are not exclusive.”
“I have never told a single woman she is my mistress.”
Caroline laughed. “Of course you have not told a single woman she is your mistress. You only have married ones.”
“That is not what I meant.” Alex frowned. “Besides, those women are not why I asked you to come over.”
“Ah, yes.” Caroline tried to stifle her laughter. “You do have a problem with a single woman. I almost forgot.”
“I have no idea what to do with her.” He eyed Caroline. “Would your father have use for another servant?”
Caroline blinked at him. “Good heavens, what would my father need with a female groom? The stablemen would probably all leave.”
“I thought perhaps your mother might need her in your household.”
“We are already overstaffed. What about your friend, Brice?”
Alex almost started shaking his head before Caroline had even finished the question. Brice Barclay had barely escaped expulsion from Eton for sneaking girls into his quarters. They had remained friends ever since, but Alex wasn’t about to toss an orphaned Irish lass into the hands of someone who was a worse rake than he was. “The last time we spoke, he was having a tussle getting monies released from trust funds.”
“Maybe you could make this girl your mistress,” Caroline suggested with a straight face.
Alex scowled again. “I told you I do not want a mistress. Besides, I do not take advantage of women in dire straits.”
“That is true. I wish I could help, but no one needs extra servants right now.” Caroline rose to leave. “I am sure you will think of something.”
“I guess I will have to,” Alex said as he walked Caroline to the door and then picked up her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “I know how clever you can be.”
“Flattery will not help.” Caroline laughed and batted him with her fan. “I will see what I can do.”
…
Alex took a champagne glass from a passing waiter and looked around the Viscount Pennington’s ballroom. His wife had sent Alex a handwritten invitation that smelled of her perfume when it had been delivered the day after the almost-disastrous dinner. He understood a second invitation was hidden in the note as well.
He spotted the lady near one of the French windows, wearing a low-cut gown in shimmering gold that complemented her honey-blond hair.
She glanced his way and he lifted his glass. She smiled and fluttered her fan and blinked her blue eyes.
Blue eyes. Inis O’Brien had blue eyes, too. What was he going to do with her?
Think on it, he’d said. Hell, he’d not been able to think about anything else the past three days. Alex knew Inis was lying—the pauses in her explanation, the side-glances away from him, her quickness in saying she didn’t want to return to Ireland—but what was she hiding? The only point he’d believed her on was that her parents were dead. Tears aside, her voice had taken a different timbre and he’d seen the pain in her eyes. He’d trained himself to be a master of such subtle signs.
He couldn’t turn an orphan out on the street, especially not one as young and pretty as Inis. And that was the real root of his problem. In spite of telling Caroline he didn’t want a mistress, which was true, he was attracted to Inis. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her gloriously rich red hair and taste her lusciously full lips. He wanted to press the small, delicate curves of her body against his and then undress her to stroke every inch of her satin skin before spreading her thighs wide and giving her real pleasure.
Damnation.
Alex suspected Inis was a virgin and he hadn’t become debauched enough to take a maidenhead casually. He’d assigned her a room on the fourth floor above the other servants’ quarters, where he would not stray. He’d even avoided the stables. Once Jameson, his head groom, had gotten over the shock of a woman handling his horses—and wearing breeches—the man had reported she was quite good. He would have to come to some kind of decision soon, though. He couldn’t avoid her forever.
Alex scanned the room again. Amelia was holding court with the lesser nobility near the unlit hearth at the far end of the ballroom. She liked having the ladies of lower social standing practically dancing attendance on her in hopes of being a regular guest on the invitation list of a duchess. Since he was a fair distance from her, he studied his once-intended. Her platinum hair was swept smoothly into a chignon without any of the loose sausage curls currently favored. Her eyes, glacier blue and so light they looked almost silvery, were highlighted by the pale-blue silk gown interwoven with silver threads. A necklace of numerous diamonds shimmered against her ivory skin. Overall, she looked like an ice queen and totally unattainable, which was perhaps what had once attracted him. She had been as much a prize for George as his title was for her.
His brother was speaking to a group of his cronies not far away. George scowled at him when he took another glass of champagne. Alex was tempted to join the group simply to vex him. Acting foxed would definitely put his stuffy brother’s nose out of joint.
Before Alex could decide, George and his friends left for the drawing room where card tables had been set up. Alex considered the coup-de-grâce of divesting the idiots of their coin and perhaps acquiring vowels as well. But then he caught a whiff of perfume as Lady Pennington passed behind him and paused for a moment at a doorway before she disappeared down the hall leading to the library. Alex considered the invitation while he took a sip of champagne, then he sighed and turned away.
…
Was she living on borrowed time? Inis finished brushing Goldie and returned the currycomb and hoof pick to the tack room, rather proud of her efforts to polish the saddles that sat on racks as well. For the past three days she’d done everything she could think of to impress Jameson so she could keep her job.
And for the past three days she hadn’t seen even a shadow of Alexander Ashley. Well, except for the afternoon of the day that she’d arrived. She’d come around the side of the house and seen him standing at the front entrance kissing the hand of a woman who was quite fashionably dressed. The lady also seemed to know him quite well, judging from the way she’d used her fan flirtatiously.
Inis grimaced. She’d never learned the correct way of using a fan, except to actually fan herself when it was hot. One governess had explained fluttering the thing with the left hand meant “come here” and with the right “you are too bold,” although why a girl would flirt and then tell the man he was too bold when she’d encouraged him, Inis didn’t understand. An open fan in one hand meant “I am married” and in the other “I love another,” but she could never recall which was which. She did remember a closed fan, tapping one’s face, meant “I love you” and she’d always been careful to avoid doing that. She frowned. The lady with the chestnut hair had tapped Alexander Ashley with her fan. Did that signify something?
Was the woman his lover? Or maybe his betrothed? Why that idea would leave a bitter taste in her mouth, she wasn’t sure. It was none of her business what Lord—Mister—Ashley did in his personal life.
He’d said he’d think on allowing her to stay. She’d been tempted this morning to barge into the breakfast room and ask him, but aside from the fact that a servant not assigned to breakfast did not barge in, she was also afraid of the answer. Still, the waiting was fraying her nerves. She had to do something.
As she stepped out of the tack room, she nearly bumped into Jameson leading a saddled bay gelding. “Is Mr. Ashley going to ride today?”
“I doubt I would be leading this horse out if he were not.”
Perhaps the faeries had not deserted her. “I’ll saddle Goldie and go with him.”
Jameson’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. “Unless Mr. Ashley has invited you—”
“Goldie needs to get used to being out in public, nae?” She didn’t wait for an answer, and brought the filly’s gear out and began saddling her.
Jameson hadn’t budged, but he shook his head when she finished. “This decision is not yours to make.”
“What decision?” Alex asked from the doorway.
Inis’s breathing hitched. He looked even more dashing today than when she’d met him. Buff breeches molded to his thighs, the black riding coat fitted his broad shoulders perfectly, and the snowy cravat accented his dark hair. His eyes were trained on her like a hawk as he came forward.
“What decision?” he repeated. “Have you decided you want to return to Ireland?”
“Nae. ’Tis a fine day for a ride. I would like to go with ye.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I tried to tell her, sir,” Jameson said, “but—”
“Goldie needs to be out, and that gelding has a solid temperament to steady her.” She marched past both men to the mounting block and swung herself up. “I am ready.”
Alex opened his mouth, then closed it. He muttered something under his breath, but she didn’t wait to hear if it was a command to stop. Her uncle had chided her often on her willfulness, but Inis was not the type to be docile. Nudging the filly forward, she moved out of the barn.
…
Alex vaulted onto the bay’s back and followed her out. Why in hell had he not told Jameson to saddle Xenos, the stallion he usually rode? That would have put an end to this discussion, since a stud horse was no companion to a filly. Not that there had been a discussion. Inis had simply taken matters into her own hands.
He was tempted to stay behind her so he could watch her pretty rump rise and fall with the horse’s gait, which made him think of how she would look riding him, but he knew the filly would do better with him beside her. “Wait a minute.”
She reined in and turned to him. “Thank ye for letting me come.”
Come was a word she shouldn’t have used, considering he still harbored the image of her riding him. He reminded himself that Inis was a servant and an orphan. What he should do was send her back to the stable, since he was having trouble pushing his lust aside, but then a light gust caught her hair, lifting it like a red flag unfurling in the wind. He thought of how shocked all the proper ladies riding in carriages at Hyde Park would be at the sight of Inis, wearing breeches and riding astride—and how the gossip would get back to George that his decadent brother was at it again. Alex grinned. “I will enjoy the pleasure of your company.”
“Thank ye. I wanted a chance to talk to ye about my staying on
as a groom.”
Inis certainly didn’t mince words. Most women would have responded with a smile, maybe a blush, and perhaps said something a bit coy. But she hadn’t been raised with aristocracy, so there was no reason she would respond like one of them. He found that refreshing. “Why do we not just enjoy the ride? We can discuss your employment later.”
From the way her jaw set, Alex thought she would argue, but she finally nodded. “It is a beautiful day to be out on a fine horse.”
She didn’t appear affected by the sights and sounds of London as they made their way from the West End estate to the park. Given she was an orphan of poor immigrants, he was surprised the fashionable houses and fancy carriages didn’t seem to impress her. Her disinterest was rather intriguing. The daughters of the ton thought Dansworth House almost as imposing as the Duke of Devonshire’s mansion. Inis was spirited, but practical—two traits he admired. The ride should be most pleasurable.
The first people they encountered upon entering through Queen’s Gate were the countess and Lady Compton riding sidesaddle in lavish velvet habits and accompanied by several groomsmen who stayed a respectful distance behind them.
Lady Compton’s eyes turned owlish under her elaborate hat as she stared at Inis. Alex managed to suppress a grin. There was no one better they could have run into. As soon as she got home, she’d be calling on her friends to tell them Lord Ashley had been seen riding in the park with a scandalously dressed female who had wild, unbound hair. He figured it would take only an hour or so for the gossip to reach his dear brother’s ears. Lady Compton would probably even mention Inis’s fiery-colored hair, since red was usually seen only on actresses and singers. The idea that Alex would associate so openly with a suspected lady of the stage would further enrage George.
Although he’d wanted to be seen, he didn’t especially want to hold a conversation. There was no need to subject Inis to the snobbery of the ton. He nodded to the ladies who were still several paces to their right and started down the left-hand path. But Miranda kicked her horse’s flanks, causing the startled animal to lurch forward and nearly barrel into Goldie. For a heart-stopping moment, Alex thought the filly would bolt, but Inis somehow managed to control the reins, turn the horse’s head away, and urge her away from the women.
A Rake's Redemption Page 3