.
A short while down the road, when Gunner was showing signs of flagging and even the remarkable Tempest looked like she might want a rest, James waved to get the girl's attention, gesturing off the road. A short trail led down to an old hunting lodge, and though she gave him a wary look, she followed him.
Some part of James still couldn't believe a girl had outraced him so neatly on the trail, though after seeing her willing to fight off three grown men, he thought he might believe anything of her.
The hunting lodge was hidden from the river road, and the girl looked around curiously as they pulled to a halt.
“What is this place?”
“Belongs to a friend of mine in town. He told me I was free to use it while I was here. It goes beyond rustic to downright primitive, but I've been making do.”
She shot him a wry look. “You know that it's easily large enough to hold a family of eight by its size alone, right?”
James grinned at her. He much preferred the sharp-tongued girl to the sullen boy.
“Are you saying no to the food I've had sent in?”
Before she could answer him, her stomach rumbled, but still, she looked cautious.
“No one gets anything for free. What will it cost me?”
James sighed. “Spoken like a true Yorkshire lass. I suppose I could play the rake and ask for all sorts of things, but how about your name and your story? I know your horse's name and not yours, and I find I dislike that.”
“I don't know your name, either.”
“Then you weren't listening closely. I'm James Finely, Lord Westmont, but you can call me James. Does that put us on even footing yet, or would you like to know where I went to school and how my reputation stands with the matrons of the ton?”
She hesitated and then shrugged. “All right, as long as you give me a chance to take care of Tempest first.”
“Of course.”
There was a small paddock behind the lodge, and while James worked the pump to get some water into the trough, the girl quickly and efficiently removed the tack from both Gunner and Tempest. As he worked the pump, James watched her out of the corner of his eye.
With her cap off and a braid of pure auburn slung over her shoulder, it was hard to believe he had ever thought she was a boy. He had thought her stocky, and now he could see she must have bound down her breasts. A rather enormous men's jacket hid her hips, and when she was walking and not on horseback, the illusion was much lessened.
When she caught him watching her, she glared.
“What are you looking at?”
“Just trying to figure you out. Come on. The trough's full enough, and there's some food waiting for us inside.”
The lodge was cozy, if small by James’ standards, only a single room warmed by an enormous hearth, and above was a loft where people could sleep. Gesturing for the girl to take a seat at the table, James went to the cupboard and retrieved a loaf of bread, a lump of hard cheese wrapped in paper, a thick sausage, and a jar of mustard.
“Just about everything's mediocre except for the mustard. It has a good kick to it.”
The girl didn't comment one way or the quality of the food, but from the way she devoured what he set in front of her, he guessed she was too hungry to care.
“How long has it been since you ate?”
“Late last night, and it wasn't much.”
He poured her a tall glass of water from the clay ewer, and she murmured her thanks. Finally, both of them were sated with their meal, and she leaned back in her chair.
Without looking at him, she said,
“I suppose you'll be wanting my name and my story now.”
“That was what we had agreed upon, yes.”
“All right. My name's Jo Sallings, well, properly Josephine, but no one calls me that unless they're angry with me. My father was the Marquess of Fairport until he died, and now the whole estate goes to my uncle.”
“Who is demanding that you marry a man of his choosing?”
She gave him a wry look. “Do you read a great many romances then? No, though I don't doubt my uncle will be getting around to that at some point. And marriage… I've no objections to it. I think I could make some man a very good wife, providing he agreed with me on the care and disposition of our horses.”
James laughed. “Spoken like a true Yorkshire lass, with all your wisdom of what, eighteen? Nineteen?”
“I'm twenty, as a matter of fact, and do you want this story or don't you?”
“I do, forgive me. Please continue.”
“My father died, my uncle inherits, and he starts selling off my father's stud farm. Some forty horses, and inside of a month, four are gone.”
“Your father was a horse breeder?”
She shot him a withering look, which for some reason did not lessen her appeal at all. “Now I can see that you are not from Yorkshire at all. My father was one of the most famous horse breeders in the region. He knew horses, history and health and all. It was his legacy, and my uncle is in the process of destroying it. That's why I need to take Tempest to London.”
“So, in your grief, you've turned to horse thievery.”
She turned a look of such hot indignation to him that James sat back.
“Absolutely not! Tempest is mine. It is in the paperwork, and she has been ever since she was a foal. One of the reasons she is mine is because my father and I were worried about her dam. We stayed in the stall with her all night and all day for three days. I was there when Tempest was born, very early in the morning and out of season as well. My father was impressed with my dedication and gave her to me.”
“Why does it always feel as if I know more about your horse than I do about you?”
“Well, Tempest is actually better bred and more beautiful.”
James laughed out loud at her wry words, and he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her. In London, he could say with ease that he had a type. He liked tall and slender blondes well enough that the Society pages had written it up, and as a matter of fact, it was a tall and slender blonde who had been at the base of the incident that sent him to Yorkshire in the first place. However, in the country, apparently plush and curvy redheads were very much to his taste, and he found his gaze tracing along the curve of her cheek and the redness of her mouth.
She looked slightly startled by his regard. “What is it?”
“I think you are underrating yourself. But Tempest is yours, and you are taking her to London?”
“Yes. He's already started selling off the bloodstock, and I don't think he's going to stop there. He'll want to sell Tempest, too, and he won't do it right.”
Jo took a deep breath. “That's why I have to do it.”
James felt whatever quip he had been about to make fall away from his lips. There was nothing funny about this. The girl looked more heartbroken over the horse than she had about her father. When she spoke about her father, the grief was contained, disciplined, and understood. This was raw and savage, something he could instinctively sense she felt to the very core of her.
“He'll sell her to whoever shows up and has the right price, and I can't stand the idea of Tempest winding up as some carriage pony in Devon or being spoiled or broken by some careless hunter who has no idea what he has or how to manage her. I want to sell her to the Earl of Leaford.”
James’ eyebrows went up. “Truly? You think the Earl of Leaford will take her?”
Jo's chin went up defiantly. “He was the only man my father trusted in all of England to do right by fine horseflesh. Tempest is a direct descendant of the Byerley Turk, and her mother was an akhal-teke, a desert horse brought all the way from Istanbul.”
“I see what you mean by having a noble lineage. And you would sell her?”
“I would, but only to someone who knows what she is.”
“And if I were to make an offer for her?”
The look Jo gave him was frankly skeptical. “Do you own a stud farm?”
“I do not.”
“Then no. Tempest's fate is to the founding dam of a dynasty, not a horse only ridden for pleasure or the hunt.”
“Grand ideas indeed. And you think he'll talk to you?”
She gave him an uncertain look. “Tempest is—”
“Tempest is splendid, but I take it you have never met the earl in person.”
“No.”
“Then you likely don't know that the Earl of Leaford has a personal grudge against female riders.”
“What?”
“Can't abide them, unfortunately. He routinely sneers at the hunt at Canterfield led by Lady Carolyn Mulroney, and he has been known to refuse to sell horses to female riders for any reason.”
Jo's face fell. “But surely he'll make an exception for Tempest.”
“Not likely. So, you have a problem. Fortunately, I have a solution.”
She went from crestfallen to suspicious, and he laughed a little. “What is it?”
“I'll present Tempest to the old reprobate. I won't mention you, but I'll make sure you get every cent of the sale.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because then I can be first in line to try to convince him to sell her to me.”
“I told you—”
“Yes, well, for a horse like Tempest, I might be willing to start a stud farm. But if Tempest is everything you believe her to be, there's no way the earl will let her go. And if he does, he's not the man you thought he was, and she might as well be with me.”
For some reason, James couldn't stop looking at her bright teeth bit into her plump lower lip. When she spoke, there was a quiet note in her voice he hadn't heard before.
“I really don't have much of a choice, do I? You're not lying to me about the earl.”
“No, I'm sorry, but I'm not. He's famous for this sort of thing in London.”
She seemed to come to a decision. She looked up at him with a determined gaze.
“Help me get to London. Help me keep away from the men my uncle hired to bring me back. Sell the earl the horse, and you may make whatever offer you care to make for Tempest then.”
She offered her hand for a shake, but instead, James took it gently. He brought it up to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckle. The spark of heat that flew through him he could tell was mirrored in her, and she drew back hastily, eyes wide.
“I... that's quite enough. Do we have a deal?”
“We do.”
She rushed outside, muttering something about making sure that Tempest was comfortable, and James leaned back in the chair thoughtfully. He had been telling her nothing but the truth. The Earl of Leaford was notorious for his hatred of the fairer sex, and James itched to have Tempest for his own. However, he thought with some amusement that he was just as interested in Tempest's current owner as he was the mare. Given the fact that the mare was a descendant of the Byerley Turk, that was saying something.