To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst) (10 page)

“Yes, of course.” She gave a slow nod, attempting to absorb everything he had revealed. And failing miserably. She’d had no idea he felt as strangulated as she, hedged in by the expectations of their designated stations. She was to marry, and marry well, before Society deemed her past an age necessary to capture a man’s attention. And he…he was pressured by the mores of his rank.

He disappeared into the barn, returning moments later with a massive steed at least three hands taller than the horse she had ridden the day prior. “Let us work on the refinement of the skills we touched upon yesterday.”

The memory of those “skills” brought a rush of heat to her cheeks, no doubt staining them a bright red. Albina turned toward her mare, lest Mr. White see her very physical reaction to his words. “Of course. Would you like me to lead us out?”

“At a steady gait. And mind the fox holes and mole mounds. The horse’s health is your prime concern. You cannot race without an able horse.”

“I may not be an adequate jockey, but I know my way around a horse, Mr. White.” She slid her foot into the stirrup and hefted herself onto the mare’s back. Albina’s bottom melded into the saddle’s leather, her thighs clenching the beast’s muscular back. Restrained power thrummed beneath her, the horse snorting in eager anticipation of the promised ride.

With a click of her tongue and a gentle jab of her heels, the mare was off at a respectable walk toward the upper pasture and away from the streaks of pink and orange lighting the early morning sky.

Mr. White followed behind, the hard clomp of his steed’s hooves falling into rhythm behind hers. She adjusted herself on the saddle, well aware of his gaze on her. She rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath. She was a capable rider, having been in the saddle since she was first able to walk, albeit a sidesaddle and not the masculine contraption that now sat beneath her legs. It had not taken her long to venture into the freedoms riding astride possessed. Her father had even encouraged such behavior, providing her with her first pair of breeches, stating that if a woman was going to ride as a man, she should be clothed as one—so long as no one bore witness to the indecency, in particular, her mother.

Albina glanced down at her threadbare jacket and waistcoat. While not her first set of men’s clothing, they were the last her father had provided before his death almost six years prior.

Wind whistled past her ears, the early-morning chill seeping through her thin coverings. Perhaps Mr. White was right and a new set of garments was necessary. Especially were she to continue training in the ungodly hours before dawn. She slowed her mount, allowing him to come alongside her.

“Have you forgotten your way to the pasture, my lady?” he asked, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Hardly, Mr. White. I know Plumburn better than its new master, though you didn’t hear that from me.”

His mouth lifted. “Duly noted.”

“I was, however, thinking.”

His auburn brows lifted. “And what consumes the mind of a lady?”

“Her attire. And its current condition.” She took a deep breath and swallowed. “I wondered if you might be able to procure me a new set of clothing. Something a bit more suitable for our mornings together.”

She waited for a laugh, a smug retort, an acknowledgment of his prior foresight concerning her attire.

“Are you cold?”

Albina frowned. He was asking after her? She studied his face and saw naught but sincere disquiet. “I-I am.”

He transferred the ribbons to one hand while the other tugged at his coat sleeves, working them off his arms. With a shrug, he slid out of his coat and extended it to her over the gap between their horses.

Perplexed at his generosity, she stared.

He sighed and shook the dark wool. “You will need this. I intend to see you perform at top speeds. I cannot expect any compliance or true assessment if you are stiff with cold.”

She took the jacket with tentative fingers. “Careful, Mr. White. One might be fooled into thinking you a gentleman.”

He snorted. “Oh, I’d say I’m in as much danger of that as you are of being mistaken for a lady—especially when I secure you attire befitting of a jockey racing for the Earl of Amhurst.”

Albina started at his words. “You’ve spoken to the earl—on my behalf?” She shoved her arms into the welcome warmth of his jacket. Scents of the barn, of oats and feed, of freshly oiled leather, and…and lye soap clung to the dense wool.

“I had to account for Mr. Abbot’s absence and my hours spent training.”

Her blood raced loud and fast in her ears. “And? What did you say? What did you tell him?” She had thought more of a trial period was required before he would go to the earl, that she would have to prove herself worthy of the groom’s time.

He stared forward, at the expanse of grass and weeds stretching before them. “That you were worthy of his horses. Now, prove me right. And show me you’re ready to learn.”

…

Edmund was no stranger to the unexpected. Life had dealt him his fair share of surprises, the first at the age of seven, when his otherwise healthy, robust father had keeled over whilst supping one evening, never to eat again.

When his mother remarried four years later, Edmund was once again caught unawares. As he was when Lydia took ill, her eyes once so full of life and spirit, dimmed first by fever and snuffed by death. The series of upsets continued with wagers lost on horses guaranteed to win and culminated with an earl’s daughter who not only wished to race in the Emberton Derby, but had the earl’s permission to do so.

Life, it seemed, was determined to take him by surprise. Therefore, he should not have been startled by Lady Albina’s determination or willingness to work harder than any lady, or any person for that matter, he had ever encountered.

Her focus was remarkable, her obedience to his demands, no matter how petty or relentless, appreciated. He no longer doubted her capabilities or her willingness to follow his lead, for in the two and a half hours he had critiqued, berated, and directed her, she had done precisely as asked, never once questioning his abilities, his experience, or his rank.

If she continued in this vein, he might win the Thoroughbred after all. Her performance this morning had buoyed his hopes, had lifted, ever so slightly, the burden pressing upon his shoulders. For the first time he dared to hope… A Thoroughbred. Of his own. Along with the recognition given by not only the Earl of Amhurst, but the bloody damn Duke of Waverly. Should word spread of his teaching capabilities, of how his talents were so great he was able to achieve the impossible by training a woman to not only race, but to win the duke’s prestigious derby…

First, however, he was owed compensation for his instruction. And if she was as receptive to his orders on top of a horse, he was more than excited to see if the same held true within the sanctity of his arms where he was, as she had stated herself, a man first.

Edmund worked a finger under his cravat, loosening the tightly tied linen. He glanced over his shoulder, at the golden orb rising in the sky. Time was a precious commodity this morning, having slipped away unnoticed, so absorbed was he with his instruction.

And his student.

Who was determined to shake the
beau monde
with her radical ideologies. First as a female jockey, second, as a lady genuinely concerned with the staff’s, namely
his
, interests. He smiled. Perhaps Lady Sarah was wrong, and the earl’s daughter could be wooed by a groom.

Sliding two fingers in his mouth, he whistled for the mare and her rider to return. Time was of the essence, and he had yet to be paid for services rendered. Services that had seemed much less the work he had expected and far more like pleasure.

And why should it be anything less? An attentive student not only listened to his instruction, but complied and strived for his affirmation. In racing technique. A passion that was obviously enjoyed and shared by a woman who was quickly consuming his thoughts, both waking and in slumber.

Edmund let out a chuckle. A woman. Who enjoyed racing horses. It was no wonder he could not stop thinking of her. She did not belittle his passion but appreciated it, her respect for the horses clear in her handling of the beasts. He’d guided many a rider before, but Lady Albina stood apart from the others. Her regard for the horse more a reverence than an appreciation, resembling something more akin to that of a jockey than a lady…

Clomping hooves stirred Edmund from his reverie. Lady Albina’s bay mare snorted her arrival as she skillfully eased the horse beside him. She smiled, her cheeks flushed, strands of loosened, windswept hair splayed across her face. His pulse quickened at the mere sight of her and raced with the knowledge she was minutes away from delivering a kiss. From her lips to his.

“Would you like me to run her again? Once more down the ridge?” she asked.

He chuckled and quirked his head toward the eastern sky. “I believe we are out of time, my lady. More instruction will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“But we have yet to go at a faster pace,” she persisted. “I need to test her abilities, her willingness, her—”

“Which we shall,” Edmund assured her. “The mare has been run hard and is owed a rest. As are you.” He slid off his saddle and walked toward the horse. The beast sniffed at his hand, the velvet-soft muzzle searching for an apple or a handful of oats, neither of which he had with him. The clover-studded ground would have to do until they returned to the barn…and his payment was received.

He lifted his hand and crooked his forefinger toward Lady Albina, urging her to get off the horse. “If you do not pace yourself, my lady, both you and the mare will be unable to train tomorrow.”

She grudgingly placed her hand in his and slipped down into the thigh-high grass. “I shall be back at the stables for an afternoon ride, Mr. White. As I always am. I think—”

“No doubt you shall.” He gripped her fingers tighter and pulled her into his chest. He gazed down at her bright, widened eyes. “But you will be in a dress. Accompanied by the day’s guests and sitting sidesaddle in an expected, ladylike manner.”

“I suppose so.” She placed her hands on his arms. His body tingled at her touch, as though her fingers belonged to the fay, conjuring a magic he had never before experienced.

Which was an absolutely ridiculous notion. He’d held numerous women in his arms while receiving far more than the mere kiss Lady Albina promised. He was not a lad, green with inexperience, but a grown man with more than one tumble beneath his belt.

And yet, the slightest pressure of Lady Albina’s fingers on his forearms sent his heart palpitating as though she were his first love. And had him actually questioning his decision to remain as head groom.

As a viscount, she could be much more than his student. She could very well be his wife.

Edmund held back a snort at the absurdity of his woolgathering. Were he to accept his great-uncle’s offer, sheep would be his primary source of livestock, not Thoroughbreds. And Lady Albina had not skillfully ridden ewes this morning, but champion racers from a world that appreciated pedigree and order. If she thought he had little to offer in his current status, as a sheep-gathering viscount, he had nothing more than a title to afford her. And what good was his rank if he lacked the happiness given to him through racing horses?

“I…I…presume you wish to be paid, Mr. White.”

Edmund cleared his throat and gazed down at an imploring set of sage-green eyes. “For services rendered, my lady. As previously agreed upon. Unless you did not think my instruction adequate—”

“No.” Her cheeks flushed a becoming shade of scarlet as she adjusted in his arms, shifting her shoulders. “You…you did as requested. And very thoroughly so. I cannot recall a time when I’ve had so knowledgeable an instructor.” She rolled her lip between her teeth, her gaze darting away from his.

Uncomfortable did not begin to describe the woman in his arms, all stiff and unyielding, much like the tension in his breeches. Adjustments needed to be made. Directly. Fingering a lock of her errant hair, he tucked it behind her ear. “I could not have asked for a more receptive and attentive student this morning.”

Her gaze lifted. “You think I performed well?”

“I would not say so if it were not true.” He nodded toward the mare and his stallion, both of whom were happily devouring a patch of clovers. “You ran the mare with exceptional skill. With continued instruction, I have high hopes of your performance at Emberton.”

She continued to peer up at him, her eyes shifting from green to brown. “I-I-I don’t know what to say.”

“I believe a thank you is the general and preferred reply.”

She laughed, her hands relaxing on his arms. “Of course, it’s only that…” Her voice trailed off, her focus shifting away from him to some distant point on the horizon.

“Only what?” he asked, eager to have her attention return.

“Only that… Do you really mean what you say? Are you…are you sincere in your compliment?”

He frowned. “I would not say something if it were not, in fact, the truth.” He clutched her closer, willing her to put her mind at ease as the light floral scent of her soap tested his control. “How else should it be perceived if not in a sincere manner?”

“However, I cannot help but wonder”—she paused, her gaze flicking to the side—“if your compliment was given to ease the delivery of my payment.”

He blinked, both startled and surprised by her sudden insecurity. The woman had been nothing but confident and assured this morning, secure in her place both on the horse and in Society. But here she stood, as vulnerable as a freshly hired kitchen maid, uncertain of the house hierarchy.

Which had him revisiting his earlier theory. Was her determination to race fueled not only by a desire to win, but also a curiosity spurred by a dark yearning for forbidden pleasures? Of a need to explore the sensuality denied by her status and restricted by her innocence? Such thoughts could confirm her sister’s fears and damage her reputation with his kisses.