Unbefitting a Lady (7 page)

Their mouths weren’t all that was engaged. She was acutely
aware the kiss had aroused more than her mouth. Heat pooled in her stomach, low
and hot, while the core of her burned for more, helped along by the intimate
press of his body to hers. She’d seen the glorious muscle of him revealed that
morning, but to feel a man, to feel
him
against
one’s own body, was far headier than the visual.

He was a granite wall against her, all planes and firm muscle,
generating an erotic male heat. The wanton in her longed to stroke those planes,
to run her hands down the contours of his torso. He danced her backwards to the
wall, their duel becoming more insistent, inspiring her own boldness. Her hands
were in his hair, then at his shoulders, gripping the muscled expanse of them
beneath the fabric of his shirt. His mouth moved to the curve of her jaw,
nipping ever so lightly at the column of her throat. She gasped at the pleasure
of it.

‘Does that feel good, princess?’ Bram feathered a breath
against her ear and she shivered delightfully for an answer. His hands were more
adventurous now, casting away the coat he’d draped her in and pushing down the
scooped bodice of her gown. Every last thought she possessed was centred only on
the present, on the wicked caress of his thumb across her nipple, on the heat
building in her body, and the hardness of him where their bodies met, that
unmentionable part of a man pressed against her.

‘Do you feel what you do to me?’ he asked, his own breath
ragged at her ear now, evidence that he was enjoying this as much as she.

‘Yes.’

He kissed her hard one last time and stepped back. ‘That’s why
we have to stop this right now.’ He gave her one of his teasing half-grins. ‘If
we don’t, in a half minute or less, I’ll have your skirts about your ears and
your legs around mine.’

Phaedra flushed and tried to gather her hauteur as she
straightened her clothing. ‘
Your
ears? I doubt
that’s possible.’

Bram leaned forward and adjusted the shoulder of her gown. ‘I
assure you it is, princess.’

She grimaced, doubtful. ‘Sounds uncomfortable.’

Bram laughed. ‘Sounds like a challenge.’

Goodness, the man was arrogant, a fact she’d conveniently
forgotten when he’d kissed her. She couldn’t believe she’d let things go so far
or that she’d told him so much on such short acquaintance. She must be missing
Kate more than she thought, but that didn’t change the fact she’d enjoyed it—all
of it, the conversation and the kiss.

Phaedra gave a regal sweep past him with a pointed ‘
Goodnight
, Mr Basingstoke.’

He gave her a short bow. ‘Goodnight, Lady Phaedra.’ She didn’t
have to turn around to know he was laughing again. She could hear it in his
voice. She kept her shoulders squared until she was out of sight. Aunt
Wilhelmina would say she’d gotten exactly what she’d deserved for sitting in the
stables late at night with a man who so casually ran around shirtless.
Unfortunately for Aunt Wilhelmina, her just deserts were proving to be quite
delicious.

Chapter Seven

K
issing Phaedra Montague was
not
an antidote for sleeplessness. If anything, it was
the cause, that and her infernal ability to talk without telling him anything at
all. He was well aware she’d not fully answered his question.

She was dead set on Epsom but she’d not given him one clue as
to why. There had to be more to it than merely a consideration of Warbourne’s
age. What had she said at the last?
It wasn’t that hard if
someone knew what they were doing?
She had a secret, at least she
thought she had a secret, that she knew something about Warbourne others had
overlooked. A beautiful woman with a secret was a potent lure indeed and one he
knew he’d take in spite of the potential risks.

Bram pushed a hand through his hair and strode out into the
courtyard of the stable quadrangle. He breathed in a healthy dose of the night
air, letting the cold bathe away the heat of his body.

In all fairness he hadn’t done this by himself. She’d been a
veritable fever of passion in his arms, an untried wildfire burning out of
control. And he’d stoked it, knowing full well what it was doing to him and to
her. But Lord, how intoxicating it had been! Bram could not recall the last time
an encounter of that nature had aroused him so completely, so beyond
control.

Bram paced the quadrangle, squaring it in long, fast strides,
trying to rid himself of excess energy and other manly excesses too. Usually, he
guided these encounters, took what he wanted, gave what was required, chose when
it started and when it ended. That had not been the case tonight. Tonight, he’d
barely been able to exert enough influence to bring it to a close before he’d
taken things too far.

This boded ill for his plans and he was only one day in. When
he’d first spied her, he’d not planned on desire riding him quite this hard or
so soon. Tonight, she’d been an irresistible picture of loveliness and
vulnerability, mostly because she hadn’t tried to be either of those things.

Bram laughed out loud to the sky. He suspected Phaedra would
hate to be called vulnerable. It was the last thing she wanted to be. That tilt
of her chin, the nonchalant shrug that masked the importance of what she felt,
the haughtiness that did little to mask the passions within her, were all
telling attributes attesting to her strength and the efforts she took to
cultivate it.

She
was
strong. Her strength was
not a facade but that did not mean she was without susceptibilities. Neither was
he, and that was a problem. Bram stopped his pacing and breathed easier, his
body sweat-slicked from the exertion but feeling the better for it.

This physical-mental attraction to Phaedra and her wild dream
presented something of a conundrum; it required him to behave honourably, not a
practice he was used to exercising. Most of his women didn’t demand it. They
were women who understood the rules of their liaison—short, physical and with no
future expectations. These were not rules he could apply to Phaedra.

Bram climbed the stairs to his quarters, a dissatisfying
solution having suggested itself. There was nothing for it. Until he could
figure out which rules
did
apply, or until he could
convince his body to subscribe to her charms a little less ardently, he would
simply have to stay away from her. He hoped he’d come up with a better answer
sooner rather than later because kisses like that were the gods’ own ambrosia
and the devil’s due. It would be impossible to stay away for ever.

* * *

Phaedra let out the
lunge
line, slowly leading Warbourne through his paces, letting him learn her signals.
The shorter line asked for a walk; slightly more meant a trot, and at full
length a canter. In the fourteen days since she’d brought Warbourne home, he’d
made remarkable progress. True, he had undergone training before but it was hard
to know how much he’d been taught and where the mastery of those skills had
broken down. She’d started her regimen from the beginning, wanting to assess his
ability and his obedience from the start.

Warbourne pulled on the
lunge
line,
wanting to canter at his own behest instead of hers. Phaedra held firm,
tightening her grip on the line instead of letting out the slack. He
would
listen to her, or rather to her signals. Above
all else, a horse had to believe his master’s hands and his master’s legs.

Warbourne returned to a collected and obedient trot. She was
starting to see where the problems might have occurred. He was a wilful colt and
wilful colts were easily spoiled, usually by accident. She’d seen it happen a
time or two with the younger stable hands working with their first horses, their
own minds not strong enough to comprehend what it took to truly master such
intelligent creatures.

Phaedra let out the
lunge
line,
asking for a controlled canter. Not just any canter would do. Warbourne could
not run around her willy-nilly in a circle. This would be a canter on the right
lead and at her pace. Even well-trained horses could spoil without a strong,
consistent hand. Merlin was proof enough. Without Jamie’s strong hand, Merlin
had put his own strong personality into action. It had worked until Bram
Basingstoke had come along and reasserted mastery.

Of the two of them, Merlin was seeing far more of the elusive
Mr Basingstoke than she was, however. Since that night in the stables, she’d
caught only glimpses of him. Most of his messages to her were conveyed through
Tom Anderson, whose hip kept him confined to the stable block. Tom thought the
arrangement was working out admirably. Mr Basingstoke could do the heavy
exercising and any business with the horses that required leaving Castonbury.
These days there was plenty of business to arrange. Breeding season was
beginning and there was always interest in the Castonbury broodmares.

This morning, Tom had informed her Bram had taken one of the
mares over to Gordon Weston’s to be covered by the Weston stud, a gorgeous
seventeen-hand bay hunter. The match was technically very welcome, but there was
resentment too. She’d tried to arrange something earlier in February but Gordon
Weston had politely refused. She highly suspected he simply hadn’t wanted to do
that sort of business with a woman.

Phaedra drew the line in on Warbourne and walked towards him.
She gave the horse a rub on the shoulder and slipped him a piece of apple. ‘Good
boy.’ She smiled to herself. Warbourne was coming along nicely, even if she was
taking it slowly. But she would show them all, from Sir Nathan Samuelson and his
overt dislike of the Montagues to Mr Gordon Weston and his mannerly reserve on
the subject of female abilities. Tomorrow, she would trade the
lunging
halter for a bridle and a bit.

‘Time for some grooming.’ Phaedra led him outside the riding
house where they’d been working and to the stables. This had been their routine:
lunging
work, paces and grooming. She wanted him
to be fully used to her hands and her voice before she put anything on his back.
Tomorrow she would add the saddle pad too.

The stable yard was busy with horses being brought in for the
end of the day. The ‘supper feeding’ would get under way within the hour after
the horses had been settled and brushed for the night. A stable boy ran up,
offering warily to take Warbourne for her but she shook her head. She wasn’t
ready to trust anyone with her colt yet even for a simple grooming.

She nearly had Warbourne settled in his loose box when a light
commotion in the courtyard drew her attention. A rider had arrived and the
stable boys jumped to take his horse. For a moment she thought the rider must be
Giles with all the fuss his appearance had commanded. But it was an assumption
immediately discarded. The horse wasn’t Giles’s, but one of the geldings kept in
the general string. There was no mistaking the rider for anyone other than
Bram.

He swung off the horse with the fluid ease she recognised from
their ride and barked a few commands. ‘Rub him down good, boys, and give him a
hot mash tonight. He’s ridden a long way today.’ He tossed the reins to one of
the waiting grooms and quartered the yard, looking for someone. Her, perhaps?
Her insides fluttered irrationally only to be disappointed. His gaze landed
somewhere else. ‘It’s done, Tom. I’ll come by and tell you all about it.’

Phaedra stepped forward. ‘You can tell me about it first. We’ll
want to get everything written down in our records. Come by my office after you
get cleaned up. I’ll expect you in ten minutes.’

Bram shifted his gaze to her, his eyes narrow and cold, making
her rethink the order. Perhaps her order
had
sounded
a bit high-handed but he’d left her no choice. He’d assiduously avoided her for
two weeks now. While he may have personal reasons for doing so, she did worry
about the professional implications of the avoidance. If everyone thought they
could simply go through Tom Anderson, she would quickly be ignored in the chain
of command.

Ten minutes later to the second, Bram presented himself at her
office in a fresh shirt, his hair slick from a good dousing at the pump. ‘Lady
Phaedra, I’ve come to give my report.’ His tone was stiff and slightly mocking
as he stood in the doorway.

‘You’re prompt.’ Phaedra decided to pretend she didn’t hear his
subtle scold.

‘You gave me an order.’ His eyes flicked to the chair in front
of her desk. ‘May I sit?’ She’d forgotten how blue his eyes were.

‘Stop it, obeisance doesn’t suit you,’ Phaedra snapped. ‘I had
to do something. You’ve been ignoring me.’

Bram folded his arms across his chest. ‘I disagree. I’ve been
busy. If you needed to see me, you know where to find me.’

Phaedra’s temper flared at his surliness. The man was
positively arrogant. She rose and leaned across the desk for emphasis, hot words
tumbling out of her mouth before she could think them through. ‘You kissed me.
That was all. Don’t flatter yourself that I would spend my days traipsing around
the stables behind you in hopes of getting another. You report to me, not the
other way around.’

Bram rose, meeting her across the desk, his expression hot with
his own agitation. ‘I work for myself, Lady Phaedra. Your brother might have
hired me but I’ll decide how long I’ll stay. I’m not a creature of service like
Tom Anderson who’s devoted his life to the high and mighty house of
Rothermere.’

She held his gaze steady, her body remembering the potent
masculinity of him. Her stomach quivered with a trill of butterflies. ‘That does
not give you permission for insolence and insubordination. If others see you
circumvent my authority, they will do the same.’

‘Then keep the damn door shut because I’m about to “circumvent
your authority” right now.’ Bram stretched a booted foot behind him and kicked
aside the chunk of wood holding the door ajar. The door slammed closed with a
resounding thunk. In that moment, everything changed; Bram reached for her, his
hand rough at her neck, his mouth covering hers in a bruising kiss that both
punished and aroused.

Phaedra matched him, nipping at his lower lip in retaliation
and in desire; this was rough play indeed and not entirely unpleasant. He
growled against her neck, his hands yanking her shirt from the waistband of her
trousers, his fingertips on her bare skin beneath the fabric, cupping her
breasts, thumbing her nipples into wanton truancy. This was not the time for
exploring the desires he awoke in her. She shoved hard at his chest. ‘I will not
be mastered like this.’

‘Neither will I, princess. You can save your orders for the
common servants.’ Bram’s eyes glittered dangerously but he let her go, let her
take a step backwards.

She would be wise not to push him any further. Phaedra pulled
at her shirt, tucking it back in, and sat down with all the dignity she could
rally. ‘Tell me about the Weston stud.’ She hoped her tones were appropriately
convincing. She’d put the incident behind her, he should too. Phaedra pulled
down the ledger in which all the breeding records were kept and opened it,
another suggestion that their conversation had moved on.

Bram sat too, and talked as she wrote, offering a physical
description of the Weston stallion for the record. ‘It went well. We should know
in a couple of weeks if it was successful. It’s still early. Weston said we can
try again if it doesn’t take.’

Phaedra humphed at the news of Weston’s generosity and shut the
book. ‘That’s more than I ever got from him. I proposed the exact same match
back in February and he turned me down.’ It was unfair. Bram had been here a
handful of weeks and already Weston had been eager to set up a match.

Bram gave her a wry smile. ‘I imagine most men feel
uncomfortable discussing breeding with a female. It’s a fairly blunt
conversation, to say nothing of the act itself.’ He chuckled. ‘Gordon Weston’s a
nice enough man but I can’t exactly picture him standing at the fence with you
calmly watching his stallion take your mare while you discuss the weather.’

Phaedra blushed, this time more from the scrutiny of his blue
eyes than the forthright nature of his language.

‘For that matter, Phaedra, could you?’ His voice was a rough
whisper. ‘Could
you
watch and not get just a bit
excited?’

‘Now you’re being shocking on purpose.’ She rose and put the
book back on the shelf. It was time for him to go. She had to get ready for
dinner, had to regain her equilibrium. Whenever she was around Bram Basingstoke,
she was constantly off balance.

Bram stood. ‘Maybe I am. Let that be lesson number two,
Phaedra. Never tempt a man who’s watched a stallion breed all day.’ He fixed her
with one of his hot gazes and melting smiles, his voice a low caress in the
quiet privacy of the little room, before he slipped out the door. ‘Do you want
to know what I learned? I learned that sometimes a lady likes a bit of
rough.’