Reckless Rakes: Hayden Islington
BRONWYN SCOTT
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Bronwyn Scott 2015
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Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 9780008134693
Version 2015-05-28
For Catie and Sharper Eagle, the whole staff at El Dorado who brought this amazing team together, and Don and Judi who wanted Sharper to be Catie’s ‘Forever’ horse.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Coming soon from Bronwyn Scott …
Bronwyn Scott
About HarperImpulse
About the Publisher
Chapter One
Kendal, Near the Lake District, Winter, 1838
Hayden Islington believed there were two great thrills in life; sex when it was done well and horse racing when it was done on ice. Last night, he’d engaged in the former. This morning he was moments away from engaging in the latter. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who held with at least the second part of that philosophy. Twelve other madcap riders were assembled with him on the frozen surface of Lake Kendal and a sizeable crowd had left their warm beds to see the spectacle from shore.
Beneath him, Guerre snorted, nostrils flaring as the white stallion caught the scent of the excited crowd and jostled haunches with the horse on the left. “Soon,” Hayden murmured, stroking the beast’s thick shoulder.
The crowd was primed for the race. A collective, high-pitched squeal of feminine excitement drew Hayden’s attention. He scanned the shoreline crammed full of onlookers until he found the source; a group of women, Miss Last Night in their midst, blonde and striking in a bright blue wool ensemble. She waggled a gloved hand his direction. Hayden raised two gloved fingers of his own to his lips and blew her a kiss.
Miss Last Night buried her face against the shoulder of a friend, acting as if he’d showered her in diamonds instead of imaginary kisses which were far less expensive. He wasn’t surprised, or even flattered by the reaction. Kisses from him of any sort, imaginary or not, had long ago attained swoon-worthy status among a certain type.
He knew exactly how he affected the ‘ladies’ who followed the event and he knew why; they were in love with the speed, the danger and most of all, the victory, almost as much as the racers themselves were. Almost as much he was. Almost. They didn’t need it like he did — those precious moments of speed and danger that demanded all his thought and attention. He lived for them, race after race. Those moments kept him sane, and of course, the validation of winning, proving that he was the best at something.
The ladies adored a winner, although their adoration was fickle, changing with the victor. He understood. Should he lose, affections may waiver. So far, there had not been a shortage of women who’d do anything to have all that excitement to themselves for a night and Hayden was happy to oblige. He knew precisely what these women wanted and why.
On his right, Carrick Pierce, his long-time friend and fellow racer, laughed from atop his bay, catching the direction of Hayden’s gaze. “Good lord, Hayden, another one? Do you even know her name?”
“Elaine, Elena, Ella? Something with an E.” Hayden chuckled and shook his head. “No, in answer to your question, I don’t.”
The starter signaled for attention. It was all business now. Hayden thrust thoughts of Miss Last Night aside, giving Guerre his complete focus. There were more where Miss Last Night came from, but Guerre was one of a kind. The safety of his mount always came first. Hayden moved Guerre into position in the center of the pack, the racers forming a horizontal queue at the starting line. He gathered the reins, his body tensed, waiting for the gun.
Boom! At the sound, Guerre’s muscles bunched and he leapt forward, his long legs confidently embracing the ice in their stride. The wind hit Hayden’s face, cold and exhilarating. This was living at its finest. He was ahead early in the race, Guerre surging out to a commanding lead. That could change at any moment; the ice could crack, Guerre could slip, another horse could pull ahead, all of which would require immediate and decisive action on his part. It was the concept of unlimited possibility that thrilled him, that led him to such a dangerous undertaking. The thrill demanded his utmost in concentration.
The course was short, a test of speed over a slick surface more than a test of endurance. Guerre was built primarily for endurance but that didn’t mean he was slow. The big boy could harness his power for speed when he had to. Hayden could feel the big horse settling into a well-regulated pace and pushed him a little. How fast would Guerre be willing to go on the ice? For now, the new shoes on his hooves with their special traction were giving the big boy confidence.
Hayden took the turn at the half way point. He hazarded a backward glance beneath his arm. Carrick was close behind him, keeping a calculated distance in order to thwart any reckless behavior that came too close. That was Carrick’s job, to ride as his lieutenant and keep danger away from Guerre. Not far from Carrick, a sleek chestnut was recklessly moving into the turn, attempting to cut the curve and pull ahead. The rider was pulling too sharply. “They’re
going to crash!” Hayden called, seeing the accident in his mind before it happened, a spill was inevitable at that angle, but Carrick had already seen the danger and was pulling wide to avoid it.
The chestnut slipped, going down on the ice, rolling away from its rider and right into Guerre’s path. “Hayden, watch out!” Carrick shouted, steering his horse around the wreck. Hayden assessed the situation in an instant. The rest of the field was closing behind them fast. If he swung wide as Carrick had done, it would cost him the lead. Worse, it would put him among the pack, a most precarious place to be. In a crowd, anything could happen. The slightest of slips could cause a whole group to go down. There was only one choice.
Hayden rose out of the saddle, his body in a perfect two-point over Guerre’s neck, his weight off the horse’s back, his eyes sighting the jump between Guerre’s ears. Those ears flicked back and forth, catching the sound of his voice calling instructions. Guerre knew what he wanted. They couldn’t go around the wreckage; they would have to go over it. Hayden signaled for the leap with his thighs. Guerre gathered his legs and sprung.
The crowd along the bank went wild as he cleared the downed horse and took the last sprint towards the finish line, outpacing Carrick’s bay by half a length. They’d won! What a race! What a challenge! Adrenaline buoyed him as he and Guerre were led to the winner’s circle amid a cheering crowd.
The celebrity after a race was a rush of a different sort. People he didn’t know reached out hands to clap him on the back, everyone wanting a piece of the victory. Miss Last Night had found her way into his path, her cheeks flushed with excitement. He seized her about the waist and pulled her to him for a showy kiss that made the onlookers roar with approval. She stayed with him until Logan discreetly detached her at the winner’s circle. Then there was a silver cup and a purse to claim from the pretty daughter of an affluent merchant in town who had sponsored a large part of the race. Guerre was handed off to a groom and he was handed off to meet important people, people who had paid money to see him win, who might want to sponsor an event of their own if he’d come to race in their town.
He had given the people their victory, and now it was time for business. Admittedly, he was just the front. He simply raced. It was Logan Graeme who handled all the details. It was Logan now who had him by the elbow, guiding him skillfully through crowds of onlookers who attempted to waylay him. Hayden shook a few hands as he and Logan passed for good measure. The adrenaline was starting to recede, giving way to more clarified thinking.
“There’s a group of merchants who want to talk,” Logan murmured at his ear, rattling off key information. “They’re from Derwentwater and think they’ve got a lake that will freeze every year. They’re looking for an annual race commitment.”
Hayden nodded, taking it all in. An annual event could mean big money and do much to elevate public awareness of the new sport. “Maybe we’ll be as big as Ascot someday.” He laughed.
“Be serious, Hayden. This would be good for us.” Logan reprimanded.
“Do you have anything interesting lined up?” Hayden winked. “I mean, after the merchants? Not that they’re not interesting.”
“There’s a pretty redhead who came by this morning saying she had business to see you about.” Logan conceded. “I wasn’t sure if I should encourage her. I thought you might still be attached to the lovely Emma Stroud.” “Emma!” Hayden snapped his fingers. “That’s her name. When you see Carrick, tell him I remembered.”
“I remembered for you.” Logan corrected.
Hayden grinned. “Same thing. That’s why I keep you around.” he joked. “You’re the brains behind this operation and I know it well.” Ice racing had been his idea but it had been Logan who knew how to sell it, how to turn it into a profit-making venture and it had been Logan who created this notorious celebrity of his that allowed him to strike out on his own and break free of his past.
“Does that mean you want to see her?” Logan asked sotto voce as they neared the group of businessmen gathered outside the tavern door. There would be warm drinks, plentiful food and a private parlor waiting beyond that door, all for the chance to meet him and discuss possibilities.
“Yes, after I finish with the merchants. Give me an hour.” There was no time to say more. Logan drew him forward with a flourish and the voice of a showman.
“Gentlemen, I give you the champion of Lake Kendal, Mr. Hayden Islington.” There was applause and back slapping. He caught the phrase, ‘What a jump!’ as they ushered him inside and put a liberally rummed hot toddy in his hand. Miss This Afternoon would be here later, his belly would be filled, and his purse was full. Oh yes, it was good to be him.
An hour later, on cue, Logan slipped into the parlor and moved the discussion to its close. “I’m sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but Mr. Islington has other business to see to today. However, if you’d like to continue your discussion with me, I can assist you but Mr. Islington is needed next door.”
It was all very skillfully done. Logan was a master of tact. The men were in high spirits and eager to get a contract inked. He said his goodbyes and let Logan whisk him to the parlor next door, not that he’d be there long. He’d be taking Miss This Afternoon up to his chamber and he’d be there until supper. He could think of worse ways to spend a cold winter afternoon.
Hayden stepped inside the parlor behind Logan and came to an abrupt halt. Whoa! Miss This Afternoon was stunning. Not only could he think of worse ways, he could think of worse people to spend it with. Red hair indeed! Logan’s description had not done her justice. It was more like the shade of rich red chestnut, a perfect match to the horse that had gone down on the ice, a silky combination of caramel and russet that begged a man’s hand to sink into its lustrous depths.
She stood in profile to them, warming her hands at the fire and showing off other parts that begged a man’s hand too, starting with those breasts. High and firm in the well-tailored carriage ensemble, they would fill a man’s hands nicely — particularly his. The elegantly-done jacket nipped in at her waist showing off a trim figure and reminding a man how neatly his hand would rest at the curve of her hip. Lucifer’s balls, there were a lot of things his hands might do with that body!
The cynic in him, who understood sex was a game like any other, wondered if she hadn’t planned it that way? Logan had only an hour to track her down and confirm the meeting. Yet she was already here; her outerwear, a warm-looking fur-trimmed cloak of brown velvet, already removed and laying on a chair with her gloves on the small table beside it. She’d wasted no time making herself at home in the parlor. Surely a woman of her looks was not unaware of them or of how she might best engineer a scene to provoke a certain male response?
Hayden’s gaze lit on her face and all thoughts stopped right there. The sharp green eyes that met his suggested she knew exactly what was going through his head and she did not approve. He also had the distinct feeling Miss This Afternoon would not swoon over blown kisses, which only fueled an entirely male stab of desire all the more. What man didn’t want what he couldn’t have? But that wasn’t quite true was it? He was Hayden Islington, ice racer extraordinaire, lover nonpareil. He could have her. He merely had to apply himself.
Hayden gave her a confident grin. She might set herself up to be something of a challenge, but she was here all the same. Challenge or not, the conclusion was foregone, and what a lovely conclusion it would be to peel that carriage ensemble from her luscious form, to caress those breasts, to trace the curve of her hip, to test in practice with his body, what his mind already knew in theory; she would be delicious in bed. Hayden looked about the parlor taking in the possibilities; Or on a table, up against a door, with her back flat on the floor. This was starting to sound like a bad rhyme from the schoolroom, the kind tutors used to drill prepositions into their pupils’ heads. Still, if his tutor had taught grammar that way, he might have remembered it better.
“Hayden, this is Miss Jenna Priess.” Logan was making introductions.
Hayden dragged his thoughts away from erotic school lessons designed to keep adolescent boys’ interest. He would have been one hell of a schoolmaster. But that wasn’t the point just now. He needed to pay attention. It wouldn’t do to forget her name so soon after hearing it.
Hayden bent over her hand, a very well-kept hand with perfect rounded nails, he noted; his eyes careful never to leave hers while his lips made contact with her knuckles. “Miss Priess, Jenna, how do you do?”
“I’m quite well.” Her tone was as formal as her eyes were sharp. Just now, those sharp eyes flicked over the length of his body ever so subtly he might have imagined it. But then, he was Hayden Islington. He knew when a woman was looking him over. There was no doubt Miss Priess had definitely just perused his form. And, he might add, she had done so in a manner that spoke of some experience and skill in the art of the discreet scan.
She was taking his measure, quite literally. It had been awhile since a woman had bothered. Most of them had already decided he’d pass muster before they even met. Reputations were handy things that way. She pulled her hand away with the slightest of tugs and he let her. She could feign indifference all she wanted with that haughty tone of hers but he’d caught her at her wicked little game and he knew better. “Is everything to your liking?”
Her fabulous eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her posture stiffened at the reprimand or perhaps at the insinuation behind it. To her credit, her gaze never wavered in embarrassment or in acknowledgement of having been found out. “I’ve come to offer you a proposal.”
Hayden flashed her a grin. “Is that so?” He let his eyes roam her form, deliberately copying her actions. This was becoming more interesting by the moment. “Carry on then, Miss Priess. I find I’m quite in the mood for being propositioned.”
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