CHAPTER SIX
Lord Haversham had avoided his cousin’s threatening stare for the last several hours. Unfortunately, this also meant not making eye contact with Harold, who rode on the far side of Rodney.
“Must you set such a fast pace, cousin?” Rodney held the pommel as his legs flopped against the horse’s flank, his feet having lost their purchase in the stirrups long ago.
The ride to Foldger’s Foals had started with Rodney poised as the dandy he was, his maroon riding coat hanging over his bright yellow breeches in the most fashionable of ways. That had been hours ago. Now, his yellow too-tight pants were smudged with dirt and his hair bounced to and fro to the rhythm of the horse’s steps.
Brock found it hard not to laugh at the obvious discomfort Rodney had insisted on putting himself through. “As I said before we left, we are expected and I don’t wish to keep them waiting. Do not worry, the drive is over the next ridge.”
“Why would I be worried?” Rodney straightened in his saddle. “The journey has been delightful thus far.”
“The way you’re clutching the pommel tells a different story,” Harold chimed in with a laugh.
Brock slowed his pace to an even trot, knowing they’d soon arrive. Lady Posey wouldn’t be expecting him for another few days, but he could not stand another day in his cousin’s presence. He’d thought when actually confronted with the reality of several hours in the saddle, Rodney would change his mind and flee back to London like a rodent before the storm. That had not been the case, much to Brock’s disappointment.
“Is that the drive there, dear cousin?” The chipper tone of his cousin’s voice proved how wrong he’d been.
Perfectly trimmed boxwoods bordered each side of the well-traveled lane leading to the stables. Although nearly the dinner hour, the ranch hummed with activity. Stable hands rushed here and there carrying feed and other supplies.
“Fear naught, we have arrived.” Brock turned Sage down the drive, Rodney and Harold following suit.
The trio pulled their mounts to a stop outside the well-maintained stables and dismounted. Two young boys rushed out, taking the reins of all three horses, and led them into the covered stable yard without a word.
“Gentlemen, you are early!” a voice called from behind them. Brock turned to see Connor Cale ambling over from the office.
“Mr. Cale, may I introduce my cousin, Sir Rodney Swiftenberg, and Mr. Harold Jakeston.”
Connor issued a curt bow in Rodney’s direction. “It is a pleasure to have you both here at Foldger’s Foals, welcome.” Next, he inclined his head to Harold. “Are you in the market for foals, as well?”
“They have only accompanied me to retrieve mine,” Brock said.
“Well, welcome all the same. They are a feisty lot and the extra hands are appreciated.” Connor turned from the men to the pasture on the far side of the stables. “Lady V—Posey is working with the young, as we speak. Would you gentlemen like a gander at our training process?”
Brock nodded, noticing Harold did the same. Rodney looked like he wanted a hot bath and possibly a stiff drink. “We would, thank you. Wouldn’t we, Rodney?” He poked at his cousin.
“Indeed, indeed. You are correct, as always, dear cousin. I must endeavor to gain as much knowledge as possible to efficiently run my stables,” Rodney countered.
“Are the foals not going to Haversham House, my lord?” Connor’s confused stare moved from Brock to Rodney and back again.
“Forgive my cousin. He is a little too eager to claim his inheritance.” Brock’s penetrating stare settled on Rodney, daring him to speak out of turn again. “Let us have a peek. Do you employ a stable master or horse trainer?”
“Ah, no my lord. Lady Posey prefers to handle the foals herself.”
“What?” Harold asked beside Brock. “I’m not the man-about-town, but this sounds highly irregular for a lady of the ton.”
“As you will see, Lady Posey is anything but a traditional lady of the ton. Have a look for yourself.”
Something about the flippant comment made Brock stiffen.
Connor turned and headed around the far side of the stable. “Right this way. We have a training area in back.”
As they rounded the back of the stables, Brock stopped dead in his tracks. Before him stood Posey, dressed in breeches as she put a foal through its paces on a long lead rope. The young colt went from a walk to a trot to a gallop with an artful grace, requiring barely a word from its mistress. While Lady Posey held a long whip in one hand, Brock sensed she had never used it on a foal, or any creature, before. The whip tapped a rhythmic motion on the ground beside her; as the tapping increased so did the speed of the foal.
“Amazing!” Brock hardly noticed the word exited his mouth.
“Yes, our foals are superbly trained.”
Was the man daft? Brock wasn’t staring in awe at the foal, but at the sight of the most beautiful woman he’d ever had the pleasure of gazing upon. The breeches hugged her toned legs as if they’d been tailored to fit her body alone. But that was impossible! What modiste in her right mind would create a pair of breeches for a woman?
“This way, gentlemen. There is a better vantage point over here.” Connor moved to stand closer to the enclosure that held Lady Posey and the foal.
“Is that a woman out there?” Harold’s brow furrowed.
“Undoubtedly a woman, you buffoon,” Rodney countered, slapping Harold across the back, causing him to stumble.
Harold’s hands shot out to stop himself from colliding with the railing.
Brock bit back a harsh reprimand that would have more than likely embarrassed his cousin and opted for another cold stare, which only gained him a smirk and raised eyebrow from Rodney.
A soft clicking sounded from the pasture. Relaxing his posture, Brock turned from his cousin and back toward the heavenly creature effortlessly commanding the foal. She’d stopped the young beast and gently pulled it in her direction. Brock waited, his breath held, at what she’d ask of the foal next.
“As entertaining as this is, I think I’d enjoy a sip of tea or a nice scone,” Rodney addressed Connor. “Might there be a place I can freshen up?”
“Of course,” Connor said. “My apologies for not offering sooner. Where are my manners?”
“No harm done,” Brock stated. “Rodney and Harold, why don’t you go with Mr. Cale, and I’ll consult with Lady Posey on the preparedness of the foals? I will meet up with you after.”
Harold looked from Brock to Rodney and back again. His eyes said quite clearly that he wanted nothing less than to be in a room alone with Brock’s cousin.
“I’ll not be long,” Brock said, hoping to soothe Harold’s unease. He only sought a few minutes alone with Lady Posey.
Harold nodded and moved to follow the retreating forms of Rodney and Connor as they made their way to the stable’s office.
The clicking continued, drawing Brock’s attention back to the pasture. Lady Posey called the animal back to her once more. She’d cast the lead rope and whip to the side. As the animal came to a halt in front of her, she reached out and took its head between her hands and softly nuzzled the foal’s velvet muzzle.
The breeze carried a song his way. The familiar melody brought memories crashing into his mind.
“I saw a fair maiden, sitting and sing, she lulled a little child a sweet lording,” Lady Posey sang softly.
Brock’s mind filled with images of his mother as she sang him to sleep, his small frame cradled against her body. He hadn’t heard the tune in how long? Twenty-nine or thirty years? How time had flown. Life always changing, rarely moving in the direction he’d hoped.
He pushed the memories back where they belonged and cleared his throat. It wouldn’t do to sound choked up when he spoke with her.
Lady Posey’s head raised and she looked in his direction, bringing her hand up to shield against the glare from the late afternoon sun. “Connor?” she called.
Brock ducked under the top railing of
the fence and slipped his leg over the bottom. “No, Lady Posey. It is I, Lord Haversham.”
“My lord! We hadn’t expected you for a few days yet.” She rubbed her hands down the front of her pants and started in his direction. The young foal followed as if it were a pup.
“Alas, I could not tarry another day to inspect the progress of my investment.” Nor wait another hour to see you, he wanted to add. He trained his eyes to the ground to avoid tripping on the rocky, uneven soil.
“While I understand your concern, you must remember I’ve been responsible for training foals for nearly eight years. I assure you that my staff and I are quite capable of accomplishing our duties.” She stopped a few feet from him.
“It is not as you think, my lady.” Why did Brock always feel he had to soothe her ruffled feathers? “I only mean that I greatly anticipate the addition of your foals to my own stable. That is all.”
Lady Posey’s head tilted to the side, as if judging the truthfulness of his words.
The foal moved in close and nudged her lower back, seeking attention. “If you will await Connor in my office, I will send him round to finish any outstanding paperwork.”
“I have already met with him. He actually led me here.”
Her eyebrow shot up in question. “He did?”
“Yes, he is preparing refreshments as we speak.”
“Lovely,” she mumbled. “Allow me to return Star to her stall and I will come round to the office.”
She made to walk away when her booted foot caught on an uneven clump of earth, causing her to stumble. Brock’s arm shot out. Before he knew what was happening, he had encircled her waist. The rough material of her clothing rubbed against his forearm and he drew her to him, halting her downward trajectory.
With her body pulled firmly against him, she only reached his chest. Her labored breath swept across his neck, drawing his mind to the pounding drumbeat that started there and echoed everywhere else. The intimate encounter was unexpected.
But he intended to use it to his advantage.
“My lord, thank you ever so much for the assistance.” Her body stiffened. She attempted to push against his chest, but his arm was wrapped around her tightly, trapping her to him.
He looked down, shifting the brush of her breath so that her sweet exhale washed over his face and her almond-shaped blue eyes came to focus on his. His gaze traversed lower, where her heaving chest strained against the cotton material of her brown tunic.
Did her body have the same electric response as his own? Lightning had surely forsaken the heavens to course through his body.
She wiggled in his grasp, but didn’t utter another word of protest. Not that he was capable of hearing her speak with the blood crashing through his veins, creating a loud humming in his head.
How long had it been since he’d kissed a woman? Not the doxies who followed his troop of men, no—Lady Posey was far above their class. While she smelled of the earth and hard work, she was every inch the lady those women could never be.
His head lowered slowly, so as not to startle her, and he settled his mouth against her soft lips. Suddenly, she no longer pushed away from him, but rather leaned in. Brock accepted her slight weight against him and moved his lips against hers, coaxing them to match his movements.
Faintly, he registered her hands moving from his chest to slide up his sides, her fingers digging roughly into his shoulders.
Brock needed to be closer to her, yearned for her to be one with him. His hands ached to move from her back lower to her round posterior, to grasp her firm flesh and hold her body securely to him.
As if from afar, a foal whinnied and reality returned.
Brock trailed his lips from her mouth to her ear and down her neck before pulling away.
Posey sighed. He held back from capturing her mouth once more, certain he would never release her again. Instead, he moved his hands to her hips to stabilize her and stepped back.
As he watched, her eyes snapped open and her face flushed an endearing shade of pink that spread from her cheeks down her neck—the slender neck his lips had caressed only moments before. Her hands fell from his shoulders to rest at her side, unsure and awkward. “I must seek out Conn—Mr. Cale and see if he needs assistance,” she whispered. She averted her eyes and her back stiffened once more.
“Until then, my lady.” Brock took a step back and bowed low as she turned and stumbled to the gate leading into the back of the stable. The only thing that looked better than her toned legs in her skin-tight breeches was her firm, round derriere.
A smile pulled at his lips as he visualized her working around his estate. Her leaning over to nail in a wayward board that had come loose, or scooping grain into feed buckets as they completed their morning chores.
Without warning, the portrait of a smiling Posey cradling a young son to her side, Brock standing proudly behind them, replaced the family portrait in his estate foyer.
This was the type of woman he could marry—nothing like the chit his brothers had fancied.
Lady Posey was anything but idle and vain.
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