Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  “Whyever not?”

  “Because you’re…so…normal.” And I’m so abnormal. She didn’t say that aloud, but it must be written in the agonized sorrow on her face that had been present since her mother’s death. It’s too late for me to ever win her approval. She’ll never forgive me for having the audacity to be born, let alone taking after my father’s perversion.

  “You’re the bloody Duchess of Blackmyre, easily one of the top five most powerful ladies in the known civilized universe,” Dottie said in a low, fierce voice. “If anyone dare say a derogatory word about you they’ll be meeting me at dawn.”

  Violet patted her friend’s hand soothingly. “No duels, dearest. You know Queen Majel’s opinion about such frivolous acts of honor. Besides, I’m only Duchess at her whim. She refused to hear the Dowager’s plea to disown me since there were no other living heirs to Blackmyre. Whatever cruel acts can be laid at Queen Majel’s feet, I owe her. When dear Mama died, all of Blackmyre could have returned to the Crown instead of coming to me. In all honesty, I’m rather shocked each morning when I’m still alive, let alone Duchess of Blackmyre.”

  “Pish posh, the Queen’s lucky to have you as Duchess. Now about these ponies…”

  Agonizing bliss racked his entire body. Spasm after spasm shook him and he couldn’t stop. He’d never allowed a man to touch him intimately, but the last thing he wanted was for his new friend to cease the gentle stroking. A simple cleansing had never felt so good. After agonizing need and pain for so long, even another man’s touch felt incredible.

  I’m that desperate.

  That’s how low I’ve fallen.

  He collapsed against the smaller man, unable to stop the shaking sobs that escaped. They didn’t sound human. He hadn’t been human for a long time. Surely a real man wouldn’t cry like a baby in another man’s arms.

  “Shhh, you’re going to be all right now,” Cole whispered, stroking his hair with those incredible hands. “You’ll see. Lady Blackmyre’s a rare mistress, good and kind, hard when she needs to be, and so calm, so confident, so…so…”

  “Commanding.” He winced at the rawness of his throat.

  “So you can talk. Can you tell me your name?”

  Better late than never, he tried to think through his options. He’d been kicking himself for one idiotic choice after another. Desperation had driven him to trust someone, who’d then betrayed him to his family. Their betrayal hurt most of all. He’d rather die than let anyone find out who he was, but if he didn’t give out his House name, he doubted even the Duchess would recognize him.

  “Arthur.”

  “Good to meet you, Arthur. Let’s rest here awhile and when you’re ready, do you think you’ll have the strength to make our way to Blackmyre?”

  “I thank you for your help, but I need to be moving on.”

  “You need help.” Cole didn’t make any demands or raise his voice with insistence—but he spoke with the quiet conviction of common sense, which made it difficult for Arthur to argue. “You’re weak and hurt. You’ve been horribly mistreated, which takes quite a toll on a man’s body.”

  You have no idea what toll has been taken on my body. Despite the man’s considerate attention, Arthur couldn’t help the tension screaming through his muscles. Fight, flee, destroy, rage, that’s all he had left. He hadn’t even been able to call his body his any longer. The last thing he wanted to do was put himself anywhere near that deceptively small lady. She had the calm confidence to stand inside a confined space with a wild animal of a man without a single glimmer of fear or doubt. God only knew to what new lows she could bring him.

  “No one will touch you against your will, let alone hurt you,” Cole said softly, as though he knew exactly what fear stirred in Arthur’s heart. “Especially Lady Blackmyre. She’s not that kind of mistress.”

  “I don’t want a mistress. I don’t want a woman to touch me ever again.”

  “I understand. So does she. All we want to do is help you.”

  Arthur couldn’t relax his grim wariness, his muscles aching with strain. He didn’t need the whispered rumors and innuendo centered about the Blackmyre name to be wary. He hadn’t been in the pony games very long before the bad moments had started, but he instinctively recognized the steel core shielded within her elegant, aristocratic demeanor. She might pretend to be a lady of the ton, but his body recognized her. She had the sort of power that could make a man bend knees and kiss her feet.

  A man like me.

  He shuddered so hard he banged his head against the wall. Tears flooded his eyes again and he balled up his fists and fought not to pummel himself into oblivion. Or fling himself in front of the first carriage he could find.

  “Don’t be afraid of her, Arthur.”

  The man rocked him, held him, and God forgive him, he allowed it.

  I’m not afraid of her. I’m afraid of me.

  Chapter Two

  When the irate man showed up demanding stolen property, Violet had arranged for law enforcement backup. The kind of people who would do such injustice to another human being would think nothing of harming a lady. However, to protect her House’s tattered reputation as well as the unknown man’s they’d rescued, this interview must be done delicately. The general consensus in Polite Society was that anyone who played such sick games must be immoral and deviant. They certainly didn’t need any help spreading tales of depravity and cruelty among the ton.

  At least Cole had been able to give her the first clue to their guest’s identity, although there were too many Arthurs in Londonium to count. It would take time for her to discover the truth. Time she might not have.

  Her butler, Mr. Chumlee, introduced the man only as Jemm. He drew up with a righteous glare of indignation when he saw that she wasn’t alone.

  “Mr. Jemm, come in, sir, and make your accusations.”

  “No mister, just Jemm,” the man muttered. He yanked his cap off and twisted the wool in his hands. He might be dressed as a yeoman, but the wool and linen were especially fine quality to her eye. “Your man took something last night and my boss wants it back.”

  “I see,” Violet replied coolly. “Pray tell, what did my man take, and who may your boss be?”

  “He took a slave and my boss wants him back. I won’t tell you who she is because I’m well paid to protect her privacy.”

  “Slavery is illegal in all of Her Majesty’s territories.” While the Sheriff of Blackmyre might have suspicions about exactly what happened at the current Duchess’s parties, she was staunchly for Queen first and Blackmyre (no matter what eccentrics the aristocracy might possess) second. “You must make a formal statement about how this slave was acquired.”

  For a moment, Jemm tensed and glanced at the door as if to make a run for it, but then he grinned and shrugged. “I’ll tell you what I remember but I’m afraid my memory’s not the best. I’ve been kicked in the head a few too many times by feisty horses.”

  Violet narrowed a glare on the man, because his meaning was clear. “If your boss was interested in willing ponies I don’t think you’d have been kicked quite so many times.”

  “What’s the fun in that? Don’t you know, Your Grace, it’s the unruly ponies that are the most fun to break?”

  He gave her a lecherous wink that made her stomach quiver with cold dread. Perhaps she’d made a mistake inviting the sheriff to be present. Her loyalty had been unswerving thus far, but if the truth came out about exactly what kind of pony slave they were talking about…

  I don’t care what Society thinks. But I do care if my own people begin to revile me, like the Dowager hated Papa.

  “I’m confused,” Sheriff Benton said slowly. “Are we talking about slaves or horses?”

  Jemm waited with that awful gleam in his eye, but Violet refused to back down. There had to be a way to reprimand the man without revealing all the cards in her hand. “I’m not entirely sure,” she said just as slowly, letting a frown flicker across her face. “My man found a po
ny being horribly mistreated last night, so badly that we almost had to put him down. Is that what you’re talking about, Jemm?”

  “This pony,” Jemm replied just as carefully, “hadn’t been sold yet and was putting up a good fight at the auction. His handler might have gotten a little out of hand.”

  “An auction,” Violet drawled, leaning forward. “Now that’s something I’d be interested in. I’m always on the lookout for good horseflesh.”

  “I thought as much.” Jemm laughed and rubbed his hands together as though he could already feel the heavy weight of her gold in his hands. “Perhaps my boss will extend an invitation to our next private auction if Your Grace is interested.”

  She pushed one of her calling cards across the glossy desk toward him. “Indeed, I am. Please do extend my regrets to your boss about last night’s unpleasantness. Given the dreadful condition of the pony we recovered, I’m afraid I can’t in good conscience let him be returned. How much would it take to compensate your losses?”

  He quoted a sum that made her arch her brow, but quickly amended, “But since he’s been damaged, as you said, perhaps you’d consider half the price?”

  “Agreed, on one condition. The handler who abused him must be terminated immediately. I’m appalled at the way this poor pony was treated.”

  “I’ll pass your recommendation on to the boss, Your Grace. I don’t have any say in the business dealings between her and the handlers.”

  “Perhaps she could arrange a tour at your next auction so I can see the training procedures. I would surely regret having to call the sheriff if I find any more ponies being mistreated.”

  “You can take that up with the boss.” But the way Jemm shrugged indicated his opinion on how welcoming she’d be to the inquisitive. “I doubt you’d care to have the sheriff digging around in your stable now, would you, Your Grace?”

  She smiled, icy and so damned hard her face felt like it would shatter. “Indeed, Benton’s most welcome to tour my stable anytime she wishes. Any mistress—or master, for that matter—knows that ponies can have delicate constitutions. A beating is inhumane and uncalled for.”

  “I hope you still think so once that bloody stud kills one of your people. He’s done that, Your Grace. He tore one of the handlers apart the first night we acquired him. Watch yourself around him, or you might find your pretty face shattered by his…er…hooves.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t like your method of acquisition.” She stood to indicate an end to this unpleasant interview. “I’d have gleefully killed the bastard who did such damage to him last night. It’d be a shame to have to castrate such a fine stud due to your negligence.”

  It galled to pay a man who’d at least been a witness to that kind of torture on another human being and done nothing to prevent it, but Violet had no choice. At least she’d hopefully secured an invitation to a future event where she could see the auctions firsthand. If they were as appalling as she feared, she’d have no choice but to put an end to the business once and for all.

  As the man left clinking his gold, the sheriff sighed. “I have a feeling that this isn’t the end of some very unsavory business. I don’t know what kind of mischief you caught that man in, Your Grace, but I don’t like him. Not one bit.”

  “Me neither, Benton. We might have to get Her Majesty involved if his business is as bad as I fear.”

  “I’ve never said anything bad about the Blackmyres.” Benton met her gaze unflinchingly. “Some gossiped that the late Duke had too much interest in his stable. I don’t know exactly what that means nor do I care. People have a right to privacy as long as there’s no wrongdoing involved. I just wanted you to know, Your Grace, that I disapproved of the late Dowager Duchess’s treatment of you. Everyone always said she’d married so far beneath her that it shamed the family name, but I say she had no one to blame but herself. Taking her regrets out on her only child was not only wrong but ridiculous, in my opinion. Your father might have been lowborn compared to Her Grace, but I’ve never met a finer man. If you gained your interest in horses from him, then more power to you. If you need law on your side, you can count on me.”

  Before Violet could shut her mouth and frame a reply, Benton tipped her hat and strode out the door. She’d laugh out loud if she didn’t have tears pooling in her eyes. Some of her fondest memories of her father were with horses. When Tiernan Kelly Meacham had walked into the stable, every single horse would nicker a welcome. He’d spoken to the horses like they were people and she’d sworn they’d understood every single word.

  Some gossiped that the late Duke had too much interest in his stable.

  Which is exactly why Mama hated him—and me—so much.

  Chapter Three

  Jerking awake in a cold sweat, Arthur seized whoever hovered nearby and prepared to rip the attacker apart.

  “You’re safe,” Cole whispered, albeit raggedly since Arthur had his throat gripped in his hand. “You’re dreaming.”

  If only the past weeks could be just a bad dream. If only he hadn’t returned to Britannia on a short but necessary leave. If only he hadn’t admitted his secret desires to anyone. If only…

  Releasing Cole was surprisingly difficult. The non-threatening human contact was warm, safe and comforting like nothing he’d known in years. Even if from another man.

  “Are you in pain?” Cole asked.

  He closed his eyes. He hurt all over, but the worst was the constant throb in his groin that kept him on the knife’s edge of rage every single waking moment. “No.”

  The man smelled faintly of straw and leather, a lingering testimony to his work in the stable, both as a man and pony. Maybe that’s why he feels so familiar and safe. I can’t see another pony ever harming me.

  The mattress dipped beside him, making him tense. He fisted his hands, fighting to ignore the fire spreading through his body. I’m a man, not an animal. I can control myself. I can!

  Cole’s palm touched his forehead and cheeks as if he was searching for a fever. Even such an innocent, nurturing touch made Arthur’s blood simmer. It’d been too long. After days—weeks?—of torture with sexual need, he couldn’t ignore the desire pulsing through his body. Sweat poured off him to soak the sheets. At least it was dark, so the man couldn’t see his erection. “You do feel warm.”

  Arthur bit back an unpleasant laugh. I’m burning up with need, slowly slipping into madness like a rabid dog. No one’s safe with me. God help me, I’ve killed people with this rage.

  That dangerous hand slipped down to touch his chest. “You’re sweaty.” Fire spread with each touch as Cole touched fingers to his throat. “And your pulse is rapid. Let me give Dr. Miles a ring—”

  Cole started to get up. Without thinking, Arthur seized his arm and hauled him back down. His bare arm. Muscle moved beneath his palm, warm and alive. He couldn’t help but remember the damnable pleasure of the man’s gentle care that first night. Those strong, soothing hands.

  He trembled, fighting to keep the tide of lust contained. Cole might be a man, not a slim slip of a woman like the Duchess, but he was still smaller. In a fair fight, he wouldn’t have a chance against Arthur. The memory of pounding with his fists, tearing at his tormenters, the screams, the vicious need searing his mind, driving him insane…

  I can’t risk it. Never again. I’m too rough, too big, too—

  Cole made a low, delicious sound, somewhere between a husky laugh and a pleased sigh, and it was too much to deny. Arthur rolled the man beneath him, pinning him facedown on the mattress. Skin and flesh beneath him, hot and hard and surprisingly naked. What kind of man slept naked in another man’s room? Let alone a crazed man who’d been tortured with desire until he’d lost his mind.

  Even worse, the man was slicked with oil, enough that Arthur imagined it would be very easy to sheathe himself in that lean, wiry body.

  He dropped his head against Cole’s shoulders and fought to control himself. Imagining ropes and chains looped about him, holding him back, didn
’t help. It only made his lust worse. He loved the fight, the pain, the rage that filled him when someone tried to stop him. Let that bloody Duchess find me ravaging her man and see if she can stop me.

  Cole didn’t fight or even protest. In fact, he arched his back, rubbing himself against Arthur on a low moan that broke his last restraint. He tried to thrust deep, but even slippery with oil, the man’s body was too tight, the angle too strange and new. Fumbling only made him more frantic. Awkwardly, he rose up enough to guide himself, forcing his way inside. Every gasp and cry made him more desperate, more brutal. Cole’s voice rose to a scream, but he couldn’t stop. He sank his teeth deep into the man’s neck, gripping him close while he savaged him.

  The climax blew off the top of his head but he still thrust as hard and fast as he could. Pleasure roared through him, cresting into another, higher wave that pushed him down to the darkest, deepest pit of hell.

  Exactly where I belong.

  Pulling her wrap tight, Violet paced back and forth inside her bedchamber. Nights were the hardest time for her to be alone. In the wee hours before dawn it was easy to let fear close in. The growing tightness in her chest fueled that nagging fear. It’s too soon for me to die. I have too much to do.

  Pacing only reminded her of her body’s failings. Her knee began to ache after such relentless activity without the rest her body so desperately needed but refused. Even nightmares from the old days came back to haunt her, the explosions and screams of war she hadn’t suffered in ten years or more.

  She missed Cole’s warmth beside her. The soft sigh of his breathing, the sweet way he tucked his face against her neck. It wasn’t intercourse that she missed, but the intimacy. His arms wrapped around her, his hands gliding over her back, the sleepy, tousled smile in the morning. She ached to hold him while she whispered the truth about why she’d freed him from her collar and command.