Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 (9 page)

It was the large woman who’d been walking with the Duchess. She gave him a very pleased smile, all toothy friendliness. A predator eyeing a tasty snack. Worse, though, were the waves of the purely powerful presence that rolled from her.

This isn’t a mistress to play with, figuratively or otherwise.

“You must be Blackmyre’s new project.”

He drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. He was taller than her, but she had him beat on width. He started to open his mouth, but at the last moment remembered he refused to speak to the likes of her.

I’ll beg the bloody Duchess before I speak to this woman.

“Ah,” the woman breathed out, nodding as though he’d answered her. He narrowed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut firmer. “A right challenge, you are. No wonder she’s so flustered. What do you think of her other darling?”

Her jovial tone warred with her formidable demeanor. Concentrating on guarding his expressions, it took him a moment for her words to sink in. Her other darling could only be Cole.

Why would she ask me about the other man? Unless…
At that thought, a dull flush flooded his cheeks.

“I knew it.” She grinned widely and clapped her hands together like a little girl. “I don’t know why she removed her collar, but I doubt you know about that. Not yet.”

She took a step toward him and he rocked forward on his toes, fisted his hands and prepared to fight for his life.

“Yes, dear boy, I see your warning. Not to worry, I’ve got a strict policy against tampering with my students’ projects, even when they graduated long ago. Win or lose, she’ll have to get her saddle on your back in her own time.”

Dear God, the Duchess used to be this woman’s student? Even though Blackmyre was formidable in her own right, he didn’t envy anyone with such a teacher.

“So you’ve had her darling.”

Heart pounding, he fought to keep the dread and guilt off his face. He clenched his jaws firmly, refusing to begin blurting out explanations or excuses. If anyone deserved to hear his apology, it was Blackmyre, not this stranger.

“Was he very good?” The woman walked her fingers up his chest with an alarmingly seductive lilt to her voice that had his eyes bulging from his head. He wouldn’t have thought she could be sultry, not with manly attire and such a commanding presence. Her fingers were teasing, but also firm, each seemingly innocent thud marching closer to his throat. Like she intended to collar him.

And he couldn’t move a muscle to protect himself.

“I bet you enjoyed rutting on him, didn’t you? Out of control, fierce, brutal. I can see it now. Poor little Cole trapped and squealing beneath you while you drilled him into the mattress.” Her palm settled over his heart, measuring the frantic thud with a grin. “But that’s the way you like it, isn’t it? You don’t have to answer me, boy. Your body’s telling me what I need to know.”

Trembling, he fought to breathe. Sweat beaded on his lip and forehead. His hands throbbed, gripped into fierce fists, whether to protect himself or to keep from answering her, he didn’t know.

“Get your hands off him.” Blackmyre’s low voice echoed with menace, each word carefully enunciated. “Now.”

Chuckling, the woman reached up and patted his sweaty cheek. “There, there, young man. Your mistress has come to save you.” She stepped away and turned to Blackmyre. “He’s told me what I need to know. Good luck with him, my dear. You’ll need it.”

The woman sailed back down the aisle, whistling a lively tune. Relieved, Arthur leaned against the wall, the only thing keeping him on his feet. Sweat trailed down his back and his chest burned like he’d run from here to Town pulling Her Grace’s coach alone.

“We’re finished.” The harsh tone of her voice brought his head up so he could search her face. She stared after the other woman, her mouth tight in a grim frown. “You’re free to go. If you need a ride somewhere, I’m sure Cole will be more than obliged to take you.”

Straightening from the wall, Arthur opened his mouth, caught her arched eyebrow, and clamped his mouth shut. Instead, he shook his head.
I’m not leaving, Your Grace. I’m not done with you yet.

She planted a palm in his chest and shoved him back against the wall. Her face was white but her cheeks were splotched with red. Stunned at how easily she’d pushed him off balance, he could only stare down into her face, trying to figure out why she was so angry. “You’re refusing to obey me? Why should I be surprised?”

The flash of ire in her eyes couldn’t hide the glimmer of hurt. Despite the tightness of her lips, her chin wobbled faintly.

Ah, hell.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her into a hug.

She stiffened with shock, but she didn’t pull away. As the moments passed and she didn’t rebuke him, he dared to mold his hands more boldly to her back.

With a sigh, she dropped her head against his chest and let him hold her.

It was…nice. The ironclad mistress had been irresistible from the beginning, but certainly not warm and approachable, let alone vulnerable. He loved the way she could make him run around the ring exactly how she wanted, but he hadn’t dared hope she’d allow him a peek of her feminine side. That the softer, smaller woman might like a bigger, stronger partner to wrap his arms around her, even if just for a short while.

“Basset always takes a toll on me,” she finally said, her words muffled against his chest. “Always judging, evaluating. It’s exhausting trying to live up to her expectations.”

He knew all too well how easy it was to grind oneself to dust trying to please other people. For so long, he’d been striving to impress Kitty’s family enough that she’d relent and ask him to marry, but he’d finally realized the truth.

She’ll never be happy with me. Nor would I be happy with her.

So many years wasted, striving to win new honors and titles just to gain another notch on his career that might cast a more favorable light on his House for a woman who couldn’t care less.

He let a low murmur escape, confirmation that he was listening and understood what she was saying.

“Basset’s nothing like the Dowager, though. She’s tough on me, but I know she’s only trying to make me better. Dear Mama wanted nothing but to forget my very existence.” She forced out a wry laugh and lifted her head. “Listen to me go on.”

She studied him, head tilted slightly, her eyebrows arched in expectation. He knew very well what she wanted.

Forgive me, my lady, but I can’t.

As if he’d spoken aloud, she gave a small nod. “Very well. Then there’s just one question remaining, Arthur. I expect complete honesty at all times, but how you answer this question will be particularly crucial in whether I allow you to enter my ring ever again. Do you understand?”

He nodded curtly, tightening his hands on her shoulders. He didn’t want to leave. What choice would he have, though, if she ordered him off Blackmyre lands? He had no recourse, no right to be in her house or ring, let alone her bed.

“Did you speak to her?”

When he denied her the most basic communication, she wouldn’t take it too kindly if he’d spoken to another mistress. Let alone her old mentor.

“Because I’m sorry, Arthur, I can’t forgive that. If you responded to her, I’m sure she’ll take you on. She’s the best mistress I know, but she’s hard, very hard. I don’t know…”

He squeezed his hands tighter on her shoulders until her words fell off into silence. Then he shook his head.

“You don’t want to go to her? Or you didn’t speak to her?”

He lowered his head and glared fiercely while he gave a single, adamant shake of his head.

“Are you sure?” Her mouth quirked into the wicked smile of a young hooligan stealing pies from the kitchen. “You seemed quite…shaken after meeting her. We all used to joke that she had eyes in the back of her head, or at least spies of her own as thorough as the Queen’s Ravens because she always knew what we were about before we even began to get into mischief. I do believe—”

Her constant talking—when he couldn’t return the banter—was driving him insane. He did the only thing he could do. He sealed his mouth over hers.

Caught with her lips parted, she didn’t pull away or refuse him. In fact, she let out a low, rich sigh and opened her mouth wider, letting him sample the heat of her mouth.

He’d never kissed a mistress before. Somehow he’d always thought it would be forbidden for a dominant female to let a man into her mouth. It was too personal, surely even more vulnerable than intercourse. Eye to eye, nose to nose, her very breath inhibited by his. She hadn’t ordered him to action, but she didn’t put a halt to such a display.

Certainly the other mistresses who’d played with him had never consented to share the privacy of their mouths. They’d been eager to give him orders about how to pleasure them, but never had they allowed any crack in their iron wills, as if once a man was allowed even a small indulgence, he’d be worthless as a pony.

Lady Blackmyre softened even more against him, her arms sliding around his shoulders, her fingers curling in his hair. Her mouth was sweet and soft. Not iron. Not cold. Not punishing. Her tongue played with his, stroking and twisting, driving him to haul her closer to the erection that hadn’t completely faded since he’d awakened in her house.

She let him kiss her, without reining him back or snapping at him. Even better, she didn’t attempt to wrestle control from him.

Shaken, he released her mouth, but didn’t pull back. He wasn’t ready to let her see the confusion that must be written in mile-deep grooves on his face. What kind of mistress let a pony steal a kiss? And enjoyed it?

A mistress that I want very much indeed.

“Apology accepted, Arthur.” She patted his cheek and stepped out of his embrace. Heart pounding, he watched her stride back toward her guests. “But I must admit that I’m looking forward to the day when you’ll beg me to let you kiss me again.”

Chapter Eight

Drumming her fingertips on her desk, Violet let a plan of action form in her mind. Cole stood before her with an eager air of expectancy, hoping, no doubt, that she’d send him on some clandestine mission to determine the identity of their stable guest. All the bits of information he’d provided rattled about in her mind like one gigantic puzzle she burned to solve.

She wasn’t familiar with anyone named Kitty but she was hardly an expert on the multitudes of Houses who crowded the ballrooms and parlors hoping to find a suitable matrimonial prospect, whether titled or moneyed or both. The Wellesleys had been relative nobodies until Wellington had been promoted to Field Marshal. If the engagement hadn’t been made formal, perhaps the infamous Kitty had been holding out for a more socially attractive mate. Though how she could have looked at the explosive strength in Arthur’s impressive body and not snatched him up formally, Violet had no idea.

I shan’t make the same mistake.

However, the thought that Arthur’s own grandmother had had a hand in his suffering made her so violently furious it was all she could do not to call Wellington out and risk the Queen’s wrath. She’d had her own run-ins with the hateful bitch, but she’d never expected Wellington would mistreat her own family with such betrayal.

“Has he mentioned any other names?”

“Only Corbus, the mistress at the auction house.”

Violet froze but kept her voice even and hopefully unalarmed. “She’s the one who hurt him?”

Cole nodded. “He said she wore a black bird’s mask with feathers that covered her hair. She led the others.”

Dread the size of a cannonball rolled about in her stomach and her mind buzzed. It couldn’t be Majel. She wouldn’t risk her throne. But it could be one of her daughters. House Krowe was certainly wealthy enough to own every warehouse on the Thames and likely did.

The name, the black mask, Majel’s feathers. A deliberate message? Or a deadly ruse?

Only the eldest princess, Jane, was rumored to be insane enough to risk such a blatant challenge to her powerful mother. How many knew or suspected that the Queen’s heir might be torturing young men?

Her skin prickled. All of Dottie’s whispered tales about spies and electronic bugs throughout the grand dome protecting Londonium made Violet’s blood run cold. “Let’s not repeat that name again. Ever. Tell him to forget he ever heard it if he cares at all who lives or dies around him.”

Cole’s eyes widened with surprise. “You won’t let this woman escape punishment for hurting him.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but he wanted, needed, confirmation. “Of course not. But it’s going to be a very delicate, dangerous matter.”

Relieved, he nodded. “Anything else, Your Grace?”

She forced herself to broach the painful topic of their relationship.
As his former mistress, I must ensure his wellbeing, no matter how much it hurts.
“Have you been happy with him?”

Another man might have dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet in embarrassment, but Cole continued to meet her gaze levelly. “No, Your Grace.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not there with us.” At the stricken look that must be on her face, he quickly moved on. “Besides, I don’t know that he particularly likes men. I mean, he didn’t hesitate to use me at first because his need was too great to ignore. But he told me it wouldn’t happen again.”