Unbefitting a Lady

The haughtiness, the hardness, was gone, her defences unguarded in that moment. This was Phaedra Montague revealed. She was utterly lovely when she smiled like that. The man in him went rock-hard at the age-old paradox of wanting to protect that loveliness while wanting to claim it for his own. Such a treasure spoke to the primal nature that lived at the core of a man.

Bram held her gaze intentionally, watching the pink tip of her tongue flick ever so slightly across her lips, watching her eyes flit away and then back. She was unsure and yet excited about the emotional undercurrent rising between them.

She blinked first. ‘You wanted to talk about the colt.’ She stared out over the lake, breaking the spell.

‘Yes, what are your plans for him? Are you going to make a hunter out of him?’ Warbourne would be passably good in that capacity, although Bram thought him a bit on the slim side to truly match the broad-chested strength of Isolde.

Phaedra’s gaze swivelled towards him, her authority returning. ‘I mean to race him on the flat. Have you forgotten already or do you think, as my brother does, that it can’t be done?’ She was defensive over the colt, protective. She had her armour on now.

Bram gave a considering nod. He’d not forgotten. She’d said as much to Giles in Buxton and the implication had been clear when she’d shown him the wagon. Bram ran over the colt’s features in his mind; the long, thin cannon bones in the colt’s legs and the lean hindquarters bespoke the potential for speed—if that speed could be channelled. If Warbourne was anything, he was a racer.

That was the great ‘if’ with Warbourne. Then there was his age to consider. As a racer, Warbourne was running short on time. ‘He’ll be four soon. Most colts race earlier. That could be a problem.’

‘I’m not waiting until next year,’ Phaedra said resolutely. ‘I’m racing him in the Derby. It’s only open to three-year-olds.’

Bram shot her an incredulous look. ‘The Derby? The Derby at Epsom? That’s in May, less than three months away.’

‘May twenty-second, technically speaking,’ Phaedra corrected without hesitation. ‘I’ll need every week I can get.’

Bram had no argument there. Heavy training had just begun for most stables in preparation for racing season opening in April. If Warbourne was the usual horse, it might be enough.

‘Has your brother approved?’ He seemed to recall Giles Montague being a bit reserved on the subject when it had come up yesterday. He could understand why. Warbourne was that rare commodity of the known and unknown and a female trainer was rarer still. Her reception in the racing world was not guaranteed. Giles Montague was right to worry. His sister could be a scandal in the making.

Phaedra shrugged noncommittally. ‘He will once he sees what Warbourne can do.’ Which might be a polite way of saying she’d cross that bridge when she came to it … if she ever came to it. Bram saw the merit of her strategy. Why argue with her brother until she absolutely had to have his permission? If Warbourne wasn’t ready, or if he failed to qualify, what would be the point?

‘No one just shows up at Epsom,’ Bram prodded. Maybe she didn’t know, maybe she hadn’t thought about the precursor races. He wasn’t sure what she knew about the horseracing world.

She gave a curt nod. ‘I know.’ But he could see from the little crease between her eyes she was in deep thought. She was still trying to manage the logistics. He could guide her on that point if she’d let him. Many of his connections and obligations in London had centred around the turf.

‘I’d love to race him at the Two Thousand Guineas in Newmarket but I don’t see how I’ll manage it. I think we’ll have to simply risk it all on Epsom,’ Phaedra said at last.

‘I admire your tenacity,’ Bram began, hoping he didn’t sound patronising. She would not respect condescension. But she had to be made to understand the enormity of her goal. ‘To take a colt like Warbourne all the way to Epsom is a difficult task even if there was more time.’ Bram shook his head. For all she knew, Warbourne was past his prime, ruined. ‘To do it in a single spring borders on impossibility.’

‘But just borders,’ Phaedra said staunchly. Her gaze returned out over the water, stubbornness etched in the tightness of her jaw.

Bram let out a deep breath. He could add annoying and obstinate to the list of adjectives describing Phaedra Montague. ‘I don’t think even I could do it.’

That did bring her gaze back to him. She raised perfectly arched eyebrow. ‘Not too proud, are we?’ She tossed his words back at him from yesterday.

Bram chuckled. He could play that game. ‘Not proud. Just honest. Sound familiar?’

‘Honesty’s been quite the theme today,’ Phaedra said. Her hands were on her hips, emphasising the slimness of her waist. Bram’s hands ached to take their place. ‘While we’re being honest about preferring shirts to no shirts, and who can or cannot train a colt in time for Epsom, let me say this. I am not interested in whether you can train him in time. I am only interested in whether I can.’

If there had been doubt about her seriousness, Bram would have laughed, thinking her comment nothing more than sassy words from a spoiled young miss. But she was in deadly earnest and she meant every last one of her sharp words. Why shouldn’t she? She was the Duke of Rothermere’s daughter. To her, he was nothing more than the latest in a string of temporary grooms.

There wasn’t much he could tell her to change that without giving himself away. But there was plenty he could show her. Maybe he couldn’t read a horse’s mind but she wasn’t the only one who could train a champion or ride like hell and he’d start showing her right now.

‘You say she’s the best jumper in the county?’ Bram eyed Isolde, who’d finished drinking and had turned her attentions to cropping the sparse tufts of grass.

‘Untouchable,’ Phaedra said with her customary confidence.

‘Merlin seems to be a prime goer. I’ll bet he can give her a run for her money.’ Competition sparked in Phaedra’s eyes. Bram grinned. It didn’t take much to stoke that particular fire. She rose to the bait all too easily.

Phaedra gave one of her shrugs. ‘He’s fast, tends to tire over long distances, but he’ll jump any fence you find in the meanwhile.’

‘Then let’s go.’ Bram winked and tossed her up into the saddle before swinging up into his own. He wheeled Merlin around. ‘One point for every log, two points for every fence. First one back to the stables claims a prize. On your mark, get set, go!’

Chapter Five

Phaedra pulled Isolde to a halt a half-length behind Merlin in the stable quadrangle. ‘I win!’ she crowed triumphantly, sliding off the horse’s back and loosening the girth. Isolde was slick with sweat. She’d run hard and jumped harder, much harder, than Merlin.

Bram dismounted and shot her a mischievous smile that boded ill. ‘You can’t possibly think you won?’ Phaedra drew the reins over Isolde’s head. ‘I counted fifteen points for me and only eight for you.’ It had been no small feat to keep track of logs and fences for the two of them while flying breakneck over the Castonbury lands.

Bram fell in beside her, leading a lathered Merlin to the stalls. ‘I believe the rule was first one back to the stables wins, not who accrues the most points.’

‘Then why jump anything at all?’ Phaedra retorted.

‘Yes, why indeed?’ Bram’s white-toothed grin was insufferable in its arrogance and twice as enticing. It was almost impossible to be angry at a smile like that.

‘Next you’ll be telling me you only jumped a few things to humour me.’

‘No, I jumped a few things so you wouldn’t suspect anything. Once you told me Merlin wasn’t keen on longer distances, I knew I didn’t have a chance unless Isolde tired herself out.’ Bram called for a stable boy to take the horses. ‘Give them both a good rub down. They’re sweaty and could take a chill. Put on their blankets and turn them out to their paddocks.’ Then he gave her all his attention. ‘Now it’s time to claim my forfeit.’

‘You can’t be serious. You cheated. You deliberately implied certain things,’ Phaedra argued.

‘I’m always serious about winning. I didn’t peg you for a sore loser, Phaedra. Are you refusing to pay up?’

That stung. ‘Of course not.’ But it took all her bravado to admit it. The way he was looking at her right now made her wonder exactly what kind of forfeit he wanted to claim. She probably should have defined those terms as well. She gave it a belated try. ‘I won’t kiss you for it, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

Bram stepped closer, making her aware of the sheer maleness of him, a potent combination of muscle, leather and horse, all the things a man should be. ‘Why not? I am of the opinion you need kissing.’

‘I’ve been kissed before, if you must know,’ Phaedra said in low tones. Good heavens, she hoped they weren’t overheard. This was the most unseemly conversation. She tried to end it by walking to her office.

Bram gave a chuckle that sent butterflies to her stomach in warm flutters and followed her. ‘I’m sure you have if you count parlour games and mistletoe.’

They’d reached her office door. He should take the hint it was time to part. But he didn’t. Instead he rested his arm on the door frame over her head and leaned towards her, his arm, his body, effectively trapping her against the wall before she could go in and escape behind the security of her desk. ‘That’s not the kind of kissing I’m talking about, Phaedra.’ There was a wealth of innuendo and invitation in that short phrase and it sent a jolt of warm heat straight to her belly.

She should tell him to stop using her name. He was hired help. He should know better. She should be outraged at his bold behaviour, maybe even frightened. Aunt Wilhelmina would be. But all Phaedra could conjure up in response was excitement.

‘What kind of kissing are you talking about?’ Phaedra bit her lip wincing at her words. Had she actually said that? ‘Never mind, I don’t want to know.’

‘Of course you want to know.’ His blue eyes dropped to her lips, his mouth a teasing half-smile full of knowledge.

‘I think you’re the most outrageous man I’ve ever met.’ It was the most sophisticated set-down she could manage under the circumstances and the most true. None of the young bucks she’d encountered could match him in his relentless pursuit of … of what? Of her?

Bram stepped back, releasing her from his intimate cage, that ever-present smile on his face when he looked at her as if he could read her every thought. ‘Good, that gives us something in common. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to see to.’

A little flame of temper flared. How dare he imply she’d been the one keeping him when he’d been the one to follow her to the office and … and what? Phaedra went inside and shut her door, craving solitude.