“And your brother—what happened to him?”
Wellesley lowered his voice even more, until Violet strained to hear. “He disappeared. Grandmama is quite distraught.”
Violet couldn’t help the sneer that twisted her mouth. More than likely the old hag feared the scandal if news got out about Arthur’s equine proclivities.
“I speak truly, Your Grace. I know there’s bad blood between your family and mine, but in this, I fear the worst. Grandmama has hired private runners to search for him. Last night, she admitted that she might well have to throw herself on the Queen’s mercy and beg help in his search.”
“Majel has no mercy,” Violet said automatically, though her mind raced through alternatives. She could absolutely believe that Arthur had been helping Wellington in the war effort, for he’d already proven to be a clever strategist. She might only have their time in the ring for comparison, but in her experience, that’s where a man’s true self was exposed. He was courageous and bold in all ways, bending only to her command when she proved herself capable and trustworthy.
If he’d been leading men to war, then he’d take his recent captivity especially hard as an extreme blow to his pride. He might even doubt his ability to lead since he’d been broken by a woman.
So many things to consider in how best to handle him, not to mention the greater scope of the war effort. If he’d been helping Wellington against Francia, then all of Britannia may soon feel his loss. Yet she couldn’t send him back to Wellington seemingly in disgrace with such a violent distrust of women. He’d be forced to work with ladies of all ranks, from the lowest dragoon to Her Majesty herself.
“I’m not privy to the conversation Grandmama had with the Queen, but I suspect Her Majesty knew exactly who would be making recommendations on the front, and it certainly isn’t Grandmama. For appearance’s sake…”
Violet let out a disgusted growl. “It’s fine to send our young men off to die in war, but it’s not acceptable to give them the honor of leadership positions. Never mind that most of those officers have been bought and paid for by supposedly honorable ladies who’ve never even seen the backside of a cannon.”
From the slack-jawed look on his face, she’d managed to surprise young Wellesley with her radical opinions. “Forgive me, sir, but that’s a very sore subject for me. My father served in the army for nearly a decade and saved countless lives in Bengali, but he was never commended for his service. Meanwhile, my mother drank her way through every officer’s pub between here and Kali Kata and still managed to bring home Her Majesty’s Cross and half a dozen other worthless trinkets, thanks to my father’s dedication. My mother constantly berated him for his low-class birth and failure to even earn a captaincy. If your brother has the ability to command, then he should rightfully possess the honor and rank associated with that responsibility.”
Wellesley gave her a wan smile. “I think Arthur would like you very much indeed. Is there anything you can do to help us find him without alerting the gossipers of our difficulty?”
I knew it. Violet dismounted and reached up to hand the young man down at his door. Inside, a woman’s voice boomed with pompous authority, though Violet couldn’t make out the words. “I’ll see what I can do. Forgive me, Mr. Wellesley, but I’d rather be along. If I must speak to your Grandmama, I’m afraid I’ll issue a formal challenge rather than exchange pleasantries.”
She swung back up on Caesar and thundered down the street. Wellington yelled after her, but she kept riding as though she hadn’t heard.
Arthur Wellesley of House Wellington, whatever am I going to do with you?
Chapter Nine
Violet measured her progress with Arthur by how much less clothing he wore each day. One day he neglected to wear a coat. The next, his neckcloth. It took him a few days of sweating hard before he removed his shirt and stepped into the ring.
It was that day that she decided to reward him—and torture herself—by oiling him down before they started. Of course, without the impediment of his clothing on at least his upper half, she could try some of her fancier tack as well.
“I’ve been wondering how long you’d make me wait before you allowed me to get my hands on this magnificent chest of yours.”
He made a low whuffing sound that she was coming to associate with a proud sort of amusement. He might refuse to speak words in her presence, but they’d worked out a fairly thorough form of communication, granted with typically equine sounds and signals. It’d forced her to read his body language extremely well, which wasn’t a bad thing at all.
When she laid her palm on his bare shoulder, he didn’t shy away or snort a warning. She kept her touch light, trailing her fingers down his thick biceps, back across the impressive breadth of his pectorals, and down his other meaty arm. Heat radiated from his skin, muscles gliding just beneath the surface. He managed to flex without actually moving, as though showing off silently for her.
Which I greatly appreciate. She let a sultry smile curve her lips but didn’t voice her approval aloud. Let him read my body language for a change.
Pouring a small amount of oil into her palms, she rubbed them together, warming the oil before spreading it over his skin. She used firm pressure now, letting him enjoy the strength in her hands. His knees actually buckled a moment when she gripped the back of his neck and worked those muscles.
Standing close enough to his back that her breasts brushed him, she continued massaging the ridge of muscles joining his neck and shoulders. “I’d love to have you spread out in my bed so I could massage every inch of you. Think how good this would feel on your knees, the backs of your thighs. Or perhaps…” She trailed her fingers down his spine to the waistband of his trousers, but no lower. I gave him my word. “Your calves. A pony’s leg muscles can get very sore after running so hard in the ring.”
She stepped back around to his front so he could watch her face as she poured more oil into her hands. Spreading out her fingers wide, she ran her hands over the broad planes of his chest. Chiseled rows of muscle ran over his ribs. Her fingers found a puckered scar low on his right side. “Bullet wound?”
He shrugged one shoulder as though to say nothing to be concerned about.
So many questions burned in her mind. She yearned to talk about the war. Cole said he’d mentioned the front, so he must have been to the Iberian system. In which company had he served? Where had he trained? How many times had he been wounded? Did he prefer traditional weapons or embrace the newer technologies?
She could certainly use her datapad to find out all of these details, but it would be so much more rewarding to hear it straight from him. However, she couldn’t ask him anything. Not when she wasn’t supposed to know who he was, while he refused to give his voice.
She slid her palm up around his throat, working that long, proud column. His jaw flexed, the bit rattling against his teeth. Impatience? Or a growing concern that she was touching him too much? She couldn’t know with one hundred percent confidence because he refused to tell.
She let out a long sighing breath and turned away to the table of tack. Perhaps…
Teeth closed on her shoulder so hard she involuntarily cried out. The harsh snap made her whirl around, eyes narrowed to search his face. Anger? An attempt at punishing her for taking too many liberties?
He whuffed again, his eyes glittering a challenge.
Her shoulder throbbed while she schooled her reaction. She quite enjoyed rougher play, especially a pony’s teeth. Where Cole was playful, Arthur did it more for dominance, a reminder of his strength. He bit like a stallion would grip a mare while he mounted her.
Heat pooled in her abdomen. Which is a very bad thing indeed when I’ve sworn not to touch him sexually in any way.
Her nipples rubbed against her linen shirt. Her palms itched to stroke across his body again, spreading heat and oil and need until he begged her to remove his trousers. Calmly, she turned her back on him again and picked up a martingale of linked chains an
d leather straps that would frame his well-defined pectorals perfectly.
Damnation, is this bloody man ever going to relent and speak to me?
He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to dare a bite, but seeing her reaction, he was glad he’d acted on instinct. Lady Blackmyre needed to be shaken out of her grim control at least every once in a while. It certainly didn’t harm his ego in the slightest to know that he could not only surprise but also arouse not just the woman, but the mistress.
However, he now sailed into dark uncharted territory of the “here be dragons” variety.
So far in the ring, she’d never wavered from the calm, controlled mistress retraining the damaged pony. She’d been steady in her requirements that he obey the smallest command as quickly as possible without once mistreating him. She’d never allowed him to push her into corporal punishment, which both relieved and frustrated him. He’d had enough pain to know he could tolerate fairly high levels before self-preservation would drive him into the same violence he’d used to protect himself before. A little pain would make the pleasure all the sweeter if she used it wisely, and Lady Blackmyre knew very well what she was doing.
She’d certainly know exactly how many times she could cut his back with that whip before he’d break and bury himself inside her.
That thought should have alarmed him. The last thing he’d wanted was a sexual relationship with a mistress. Much better to return to his careful, staid life and hide all of these uncomfortable and frightening longings far away from everyone, especially himself.
So what am I doing?
It’d been one thing to steal a kiss from Lady Blackmyre in the stable. It was entirely another for the pony to dare the audacity of putting his mouth on the mistress in her ring without explicit permission.
She looked at him differently now. Slumberous heat sparked in her eyes. The mistress had touched him and he’d been able to enjoy it. In fact, the memory of her hands lingered on his flesh, an imprint he feared he’d never be able to escape.
She looks at me and sees not just the pony…but a man she desires.
That knowledge changed everything. She buckled a chest harness into place and even the innocent stroke of her fingers licked his skin like white-hot flame. She didn’t stroke him as before, but his skin remembered and hungered for more. She’d deliberately chosen a contraption containing clinking metal. Again, the high and mighty mistress adjusting whatever preferences she might have to bring the fullest pleasure possible to her lowly pony.
No one had ever catered to his desires like this. He didn’t have to ask. In fact, he refused to utter a single word to her, and she’d seen to his unspoken needs anyway. She cared enough to watch his every move and adjust her own actions to better satisfy him.
What kind of mistress is this?
A very dangerous one indeed.
One that would make a man slither across broken glass on his belly if she ordered it.
She sent him about the ring in a controlled trot that jingled the bit and harness, an orchestra that sent his heart pounding harder than the staccato of his boots on the dirt. He wondered what she’d do if he stripped off his trousers. What sort of rigging she might choose to ornament his cock. Certainly not a cage like she’d found on him that first night. No, that wasn’t this mistress’s style at all. Cole went natural, as she said, but was that his preference, or hers?
Would she balk at the thought of leading me about by a tinkling chain held on my body only by my erection? Would she embed a few rings into my flesh so I could feel the metal beneath my clothing anytime I wished?
Cold metal, her metal, piercing my body at all times of the day, jingling each time I took a step.
Dangerous, so dangerous, this game they played. It was terrifying to know she’d been able to arouse him like this without blatant caresses. To plant such dark desires in his head without ever once touching him intimately or putting her mouth on him. No, he’d been the one to put his mouth on her first, not once but twice.
And I burn to do it again and again.
He feared the wool would give way and tear beneath the prodigious size of his erection.
She’ll have me on my belly kissing her boots in a heartbeat.
Which his cock insisted wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Not at all.
Chapter Ten
When Arthur saw the other man in the—his!—ring the next day, he very nearly turned smartly on his heel and marched off Blackmyre lands as quickly as possible.
Not retreat, surely not.
His upper lip curled in a silent snarl but he stepped into Her Grace’s private stable and locked the door behind him.
Cole didn’t even look at him as he came to stand beside him, waiting for Lady Blackmyre’s attention. Arthur certainly didn’t care that the man was nude. Nor that he was already erect. So was he, truth be told, but he blamed it on the pony games. Days and days of playing with the smoldering Duchess and no sexual relief in sight. That’s all this is.
The other man’s scent filled his nose, leather and horse from his real job in the other side of Her Grace’s stable, and he couldn’t help but remember that lean, wiry body smashed beneath him while he savagely plunged out of control. His cock twitched so hard he couldn’t entirely suppress the grunt.
“Impatient, are we?” Chuckling softly, she stopped before them and simply ran her gaze over them both head to toe. Her gaze lingered longer than usual on Arthur’s groin, unneeded fuel for the fire blazing in his body. When she finally raised her gaze to his, the secretive little smile on her luscious lips drew a rumbling growl from him. Which only made her smile wider. “Today, my ponies are going to work together. Of course, if you object, Arthur, you can simply say so now before we begin.”
He gritted his teeth and glared at her.
“Wonderful. I’m so pleased that you don’t object. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you side by side with Cole. Rather, I should say tail to nose. You’re too big and he’s too small in comparison for you to work very well side by side in harness.”
He almost walked out. He did. It was just too much teasing, too strange and new and forbidden to consider on top of everything else she’d been teaching him. He’d fought beside men, even led some to their deaths, which he’d never be able to forget, but he’d never once thought about taking a man sexually.
Until Cole.
And now she brought that tantalizing morsel to stand in front of him, already slick with oil, lean muscle gliding and flexing just paces away. He loved a woman’s curves, but the rounded muscle of the man’s buttocks held his gaze as surely as Lady Blackmyre’s breasts would entrance him.
She knew it, too, the conniving little witch with the smoldering eyes and her secretive little smiles. She put that tempting arse in front of him just to torment him. Cole’s tail to my nose. God, what have I done by submitting myself to her will like this?
Then he suddenly noticed that Cole’s tail was missing. Absently, Arthur shook himself to hear the harness jingle while he tried to decide what that meant. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to keep my eyes off his backside. Where’s that scandalous tail?
Maybe she’s punishing him too.
That thought made Arthur feel a little better. He didn’t want to be the only one powerless beneath her will. Maybe he burns to have that plug crammed up his arse as much as I burn to seat myself firmly in him again.
Hot shame flooded him and he took an involuntary step back, dragging the surprised Cole with him. I had to have hurt him. What has he done to earn such punishment that she’d put him defenseless and naked in front of his rapist? In the end, I’m no better than the clods at the auction house, taking and abusing the helpless.
Cole bumped into him, naked ass pressed to his groin, and he jerked away, stumbling, tangled up in the rigging until he struggled harder, desperate to free himself. He tripped and went down, dragging the other man with him, on him, rolling and fighting the harness, bucking to get away before h
e hurt anyone again.
“Arthur!” He’d never heard that sharp tone in her voice, cutting more fiercely than her whip. “Stop it!”
The dragging weight pinning him suddenly disappeared and he leaped up, backing away until his back slammed into the railing. Shaking, he panted, trying to clear away the darkness suffocating him.
Lady Blackmyre had cut the traces binding him to Cole, and she held the man in her arms, smoothing his hair.
Dear God, he’s crying.
“I told you,” Cole choked out. “It’s no good, Mistress.”
“I’m sorry, pet, so sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have harnessed you together so quickly. I didn’t know he had such a hard limit or I never would have taken him there.”
She didn’t even look up at Arthur, which allowed him to settle himself without her all-knowing prying eyes. He ached all over like a herd of real horses had trampled him. Cole must feel even worse.
Despite the horror churning in his stomach, Arthur made himself ease closer to them. He deserved punishment. Maybe then he’d feel better about what he’d done to the poor man.
“I knew you’d like him the moment I saw him.” Cole peeked up at Arthur through his tangled hair. “I liked him too, all big and mean and violent, a terror on the loose. Even then I wasn’t afraid of him.”
That made Arthur hesitate a step. He’d avoided Cole as much as possible, assuming the man would rightfully despise him. He couldn’t bear to see fear or shame in the other man’s eyes. Cole had seen him at his worst, his most desperate and broken, and the man had held him in the straw while he cried.
Arthur had paid him back by taking him as hard as he’d ever taken a person in his entire life. Even now, Cole could still look up at him with a naked longing and compassion that made him feel an inch tall.
“Now I know why you freed me.” Cole’s voice broke and he buried his face against Lady Blackmyre’s neck. “I didn’t know he’d hate me so much.”
Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 Page 8