Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 (20 page)

And he trusts me enough to let me see him like this, free and wild and fierce in his joy.

After a few minutes, he slid to a halt. Tossing his head, he pranced to the side, making that tail swish against his long, powerful thighs. He turned to face her, head high, waiting her command.

So he could challenge it.

Smiling, she picked up the crop she’d laid on the table. His eyes flared and he shook his head, as though in disbelief that she’d trust such a meager weapon to protect her from him. A whip would give her the ability to keep him at a distance, and she didn’t want that, not tonight.

No, if he wants me to lay a few stripes on his back, then he’ll have to come in close.

As if she were going on a Sunday morning stroll, she turned away from him and ambled toward the center of the ring. He blew out a loud snort and trotted past on her ride side, deliberately prancing to give her plenty of warning with all the jingling of his tack. She waited until the last possible moment and then gave him a sharp blow to the back of his right thigh.

Releasing a low, rattling nicker that sounded more like a growl, he cut across in front of her, one eye carefully locked on her even as he pretended to be ignoring her entirely. He came back on her left and again she waited, walking, until she had to whirl and clip him a smart blow as he passed.

Again and again he came in close, baiting her. Or she turned away unexpectedly, giving him her back and enticing him to come back for another blow. The crop delivered a stinging cut for him and a nice solid thud to her arm. She couldn’t deny the exhilarating rush of blood thumping in her body. Cole didn’t care for pain. He was certainly too obedient to ever intentionally earn corporal punishment, let alone play this cat and mouse game like Arthur. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the physical release of tension she could gain by giving pain.

She held back some of the strength of her arm until he made it clear he wasn’t afraid of the pain or her. In fact, he deliberately bumped into her as he passed, a rude “accident” for a pony to commit on his mistress. The more he bumped her, the harder she whipped him. He’d already ruined her gown by smearing it with oil from his body, and he hadn’t even put his hands on her yet.

He paced in a tight circle about her, so close that he filled her nose with the raw masculine scent of desire. Lowering his shoulder, he plowed into her again, but this time he stepped on her gown, sending her tumbling backward beneath him. She slammed the crop against his back and seized a hold of his shoulder with her other hand, trusting him to break her fall to the ground.

Material ripped, whether from their fall or his desperate hands working to find a way beneath her skirts, she didn’t care. She lashed him with the crop again and his breath hissed out. He rose up enough to throw her skirts up toward her waist and she wrapped her thighs around him. He surged deep and she couldn’t keep the choked cry from escaping. It didn’t matter how much she wanted him, because he was too damned big and she’d driven him too hard to allow any gentleness now.

Exactly the way we both want it.

He worked himself deeper, fighting through the tightness of her body. Finally he pushed to the hilt and paused to look down into her face. He hesitated, blinking his eyes with a vague shake of his head as though he was trying to fight up through layers of pony enough to speak, despite the bit in his mouth.

She brought the crop down in a sharp blow on his hamstrings. Shuddering, he hauled himself out and thrust again with a guttural cry. Every time he filled her, she rewarded him with a cutting blow until he was savage with lust, sweating and grunting like a massive beast.

Like my stallion.

Fisting her free hand in his hair, she buried her face against his chest and held on for the ride of her life.

Gasping for air, Arthur tried to push up off her before he crushed her, but his trembling arms gave out. He tried to ask her if she was well, but the damned bit garbled his words. Furious and sick with dread, he fumbled with the bridle, nearly choking himself before he managed to drag the leather off his head.

Why had she driven him so hard? She knew exactly what sort of vile, perverted sort of man he was. Instead of helping to rein him in, she’d pushed him so far over the edge he might have killed her. Dear God in heaven, she was barely recovered from technologically induced consumption and here he’d ravaged her like a mindless beast.

“Mistress? Your Grace?”

She nuzzled his neck, so at least she was still alive. “Arthur.”

His shoulders sagged with relief for a moment, but then he redoubled his efforts to get off her so he could see how much damage he’d done. But she still had a handful of his hair. Every time he tried to push up, she tugged his head to the side. At least he managed to get his knees beneath him so he wasn’t crushing her.

She sighed heavily and released him. “Very well, if you insist, but I rather like your weight against me, dearest. I wasn’t quite ready to let you escape my evil clutches so quickly.”

He hovered above her on hands and knees to survey the damage. Her gown was streaked with dirt and oil. He’d managed to tear the hem and split the material almost all the way to the waist. The bodice, too, had been shredded in his desperation to get to her breasts, now spilling out of her modest and proper corset. He could only imagine the damage he’d done to her body. He’d always been so careful with Kitty after that first time, mindful of his size, both of his massive body and his cock that she professed to be the largest she’d ever beheld.

For the first time, he wondered why she’d continued to dally with him when his needs were so repellant to her. Why she’d continued to have sex with him without making their engagement formal. Then the truth hit him like a locomotive right between the eyes.

She was using me, even while she made me feel like a dog for wanting things she couldn’t give me. I was good—and big—enough to bed, but not good enough to wed.

The tip of the crop lifted his chin, stilling his frantic thoughts. The Duchess met his gaze levelly, without any fear, pain or recrimination. “I believe you said you wanted to fuck me like a wild, uncontrollable stallion. Did I not give you exactly what you—and I, dear boy—wanted?”

Silently, he nodded, not trusting his voice for fear it’d break.

She cupped his cheek and smiled. “That was glorious. Exactly what I dreamed about night after night lying in my big bed alone.”

“You’re not hurt?”

“Of course I’m hurt. I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of horses. I’m going to ache in places that Cole never managed to touch. Who says that’s a fearsome thing? Now help me up and let’s go soak in a nice hot tub before I take you to my bed like a proper husband.”

Dumbfounded, he pushed to his feet and took her hand, steadying her while she fought to right her balance. “Proper husband?”

Laughing softly, she started unbuckling the leather strapped across his chest. “That is, assuming you don’t mind Cole. I’m afraid he’ll just sleep outside my door on the floor if I don’t invite him to join us.”

“I thought you might make us both sleep on the floor.”

She paused, eyes narrowed and a grim slant to her mouth. “Do you
want
to sleep on the floor?”

“No.”

“Do you mind if Cole sleeps with us?”

“Sleep? Or more?”

“Does it matter?”

Heat seared his cheeks but he couldn’t find the idea repugnant. In fact, a stirring in his groin indicated a physical interest if he thought to verbally deny it. “No.”

She slapped him on the backside and winked. “Then the matter’s decided. Let’s go to bed. Though you may want to dress before we walk through Blackmyre. Mr. Chumlee might pretend to believe that I took a fall off my horse, and he might even forgive the pony tack, but I don’t think we can convince him to ignore the tail.”

Chapter Eighteen

The maid touched the display panel, shutting off the stream of hot water into the massive copper tub. “Anything else, Your Grace?”

“No, thank you, Beth. I won’t need you until morning.” Violet settled back into the deliciously hot water and sighed. “Make that midday. I’ve a mind to sleep in shockingly late.”

Winking at Arthur, who hovered at the door like he was afraid he’d be arrested if he stepped foot into a lady’s private water closet, Beth handed him a fresh stack of warmed towels. “I’ll wait for your ring, Your Grace. Cole just arrived. Shall I send him in?”

“Yes, please.” Arthur didn’t say anything, but Violet read his surprise in the stiffness across his shoulders. She waited until Cole came in and shut the door before saying anything. “The servants already know where Cole slept before my illness, Arthur. Did you expect me to tip-toe about my own house?”

“Of course not, Your Grace.” He hesitated, his dark eyes searching her face as if trying to assess how hard to push. “I’m new to this.”

“There’s no need for formality between us, especially here. I’d much rather hear you bellow my name when you come rather than ‘Your Grace’.”

Chuckling, Cole knelt at the tub’s edge and began washing her hair.

“By
this
, do you mean a complicated
ménage a trois
?”

“You said proper husband. I thought you meant…well…proper,” Arthur finished lamely, spreading his hands. “What do you expect of me? Your House is grand compared to mine. One moment you’re the Duchess, the next you’re the Mistress, both formidable ladies with enough power to send me packing if I offend.”

Eyes burning, she crossed her arms and leaned on the edge of the tub, chin cushioned by her arms.
My dear strong, proud man. He just wants to know his place.
“The only expectation I have is that you live happily with me until the end of our days. I would never send you away, even if we quarrel every single day.”

Arthur jerked his head at the other man. “You sent him away.”

She started to protest that she’d been ill, but Cole interrupted. “He does have a point, Violet.”

Shocked, she gaped at him over her shoulder. “So now you want assurances too? Perhaps you ought to petition Her Majesty to leg shackle me to you both.”

“I have no such aspirations.” Cole laughed and dumped enough water on her head that she spluttered. “I know my place. Whether I’m with you in private or in public, I’m yours to command. I’m your servant and that’s the way I like it. Is that what you expect of Arthur too?”

“You know it’s not.” She sighed.
But he doesn’t.
“We’ll be husband and wife in public, just like any other married couple.”

“And then in the ring… You’re the wife who puts a bridle on her husband?”

She shot a glare at Cole.
You’re not helping.

“Look at the two of you.” Arthur knelt in front of her and took her hands, his face twisted with anguish. “I’m not jealous, I swear, but you have a long and rich history together. He knows what you want without you ever having to say a word. I don’t have that history. I don’t know what you want. I’m not the sort of man who can obey without question whether in the ring or your bed or the ballroom. I can’t, Your Grace.”

She arched a brow at him and he flushed.

“Violet. If all you want is a handsome husband on your arm to laugh and smile at the parties, then I can’t marry you. Even if the thought of leaving you makes my chest so tight I can’t breathe. Please, tell me what you could possibly want from me when you already have an eager and obedient servant who loves you as much as I.”

She gripped his hands firmly. “Didn’t I show you this afternoon exactly how much I want you? I know you’re not obedient like Cole. There’s not a submissive bone in your body, even if you are a pony through and through. But that doesn’t mean I love you any less, Arthur. You’re the greatest challenge of my life.”

“And what if that challenge grows cold?”

“We’ll continue to grow together. We’ll find new challenges. We’ll invent new ways to torment Cole. You entrusted me to be your mistress, so I’ll do whatever you need me to do, even if it means whipping you until I can’t lift my arm.”

Arthur kissed her knuckles fervently. “In the ring, you’re Mistress.”

“Yes.”

“In your bed too?”

“Yes, to a point. I can’t help being in control most of the time, but I like to simply make love and cuddle too. It’s not always a power or head game for me either.”

“In your House?”

“You’ll be my husband and a Duke in your own right. My staff are yours to command. I dearly hope that once this blasted war is over that we’ll come home to Blackmyre and you’ll take over managing the estate lands for me. I’ve no interest in the crop reports and the tallies of how many pigs my tenants have raised. But if you don’t care for such details either, than my steward is a good and just woman who’s served Blackmyre well thus far. We’ll find new interests. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at raising horses like the Kellys. Maybe even racehorses.”

He raised his head, his eyes solemn. “On the battlefield?”

“I know my strengths and my limitations,” she replied calmly. “I’m an excellent strategist. I did my best to kill myself in Kali Kata before the Dowager forced me to come home, so I’ve seen the front. I’m not the sort of officer who hides in my tent while my men die, or arrives drunk and late every morning. But I’ve had my fill of life in the trenches. I’d much rather run a war room on Her Majesty’s flagship and sift through intelligence reports than lie awake in the cold and damp while men screamed all about me.”