Chapter Eleven
“Well, Miss Somerset, what’s it to be this morning? Slow and gentle, or swift and rough? Choose your pleasure, and we’ll begin at once.”
Iris’s lips pressed together, and her fingers tightened on her riding crop. Lord Wrexley had invited her to take a ride with him this morning after breakfast, and he’d politely escorted her to the stable to help her choose her mount, but despite his gentlemanly attentions, she didn’t miss the note of amusement under his polite tone, or the tiny smirk flirting at the corners of his lips.
As little as a day ago, she would have admired his easy manners, and returned his charming smile with a flirtatious one of her own, but today it was as if Lord Huntington were a devil perched on her shoulder, whispering in her ear.
He isn’t a man you can trust. Stay away from him.
“That’s quite a ferocious grimace, Miss Somerset.” Lord Wrexley’s smirk widened into a smile that was both angelic and suggestive at once. “I’m referring to horses, of course, and riding. But perhaps you thought I meant something else?”
Iris wasn’t sophisticated—or, she hadn’t been before she began her reading lessons with Lady Annabel—but she also wasn’t an utter half-wit. She knew precisely what Lord Wrexley was insinuating, and her lips turned down in a stern frown. “You’re not as subtle as you imagine, my lord. Indeed, you’re rather wicked, I think.”
He threw his head back in a hearty laugh. “And you’re far more charming than you imagine, particularly when you scold. You get the most fetching little furrow, right here.” He dragged a finger lightly between her eyebrows.
“Violet said the same thing, but she didn’t think it was at all fetching.” Iris touched her forehead, her fingers brushing his away, but she tried to shake off her uneasiness with him. It wasn’t proper of him to tease an innocent young lady, but surely he couldn’t be as bad as Lord Huntington made him out to be? Lord Wrexley wasn’t licentious or debauched—only high-spirited.
“She’s quite wrong. But come, we’ll start over here.” He took her arm and led her to one end of Captain West’s enormous stables, stopping at the first stall. “This mare is a sweet, slow, gentle sort, and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a prettier horse. She’s a perfect mount for a lady.”
Iris ran her hand down the nose of the chestnut mare inside the stall. “She’s beautiful, yes, and perfect for a certain kind of lady.”
“But not for you?”
Iris shook her head. She should be in fits of ecstasy over such a lovely horse, but the mare wasn’t any better suited to her than the pink gowns were. “No. Not for me.”
“All right, then.” Lord Wrexley led her to the next stall. “Another mare. Perhaps a bit livelier than the first, but still gentle and easy. She’s the kind of horse a lady might ride on the promenade in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour.”
Iris reached out to pat the horse’s smooth neck and tried to hide her disappointment from Lord Wrexley.
“You must enjoy riding on the promenade?”
“I—” Iris began, but this time the lie she’d been telling all season lodged in her throat.
Much like gentle mares and pink gowns, the promenade was another thing she should enjoy, but secretly despised. She loathed mincing along with scores of simpering, tedious aristocrats. She couldn’t say that, of course, because all fashionable ladies adored the promenade, and a gentleman like Lord Wrexley would expect her to adore it, too.
But her father had been a devoted horseman, and Iris had been riding from the time she was old enough to toddle to the stables. She’d ridden every day in Surrey, was exceptionally skilled with a horse, and preferred a challenging mount.
At least, she used to. Since she’d come to London she didn’t ride much anymore. There never seemed to be time for it. She was forever at her modiste’s for a fitting, or occupied with her dancing master, or practicing her music. When she did manage to steal an hour or so, her rambles were confined to Hyde Park during the fashionable hour, and always on a gentle mare like this one.
Iris watched the dust motes dance in the shaft of sunlight pouring through the open stable doors, and a heaviness that had become familiar to her since she came to London squeezed at her chest. Somehow, what she should want had become much more important than what she did want. How long would it be before she couldn’t distinguish one from the other?
Despite her efforts to hide it, Lord Wrexley noticed her disappointment. “Not this mare, I think.” He led her to the next stall, and then the next, pausing at each one to tell her about the occupant. Iris listened, and stroked her hand over one velvety nose after another, but by the time they’d made it halfway across the stables, she was still frozen with indecision.
The wisest course of action was to choose one of the mounts Lord Wrexley suggested. It was a compliment to his judgment, and it wouldn’t do to irritate her potential betrothed by dismissing his recommendation.
“Perhaps you could tell me what kind of mount you prefer?”
Yes, one would think she’d be able to tell him that much. It was a simple enough thing to choose a horse for a day’s ride, particularly in Captain West’s stables, where each stall contained an animal more beautiful than the last. And yet all Iris seemed able to do was stare dumbly at one horse after another, her mind in turmoil.
Over a horse. A horse, for goodness’ sake.
“Why don’t I choose one for you?” There was a slight edge to Lord Wrexley’s tone now, as if he’d grown impatient with her. “If the horse doesn’t suit, we’ll choose a different one tomorrow.”
“Yes, all right.” It was either that, or stand around the stables all day, gaping at horses like a half-witted child dithering over a tray of sweets.
“Very good. I think the chestnut mare, then, the one in the first stall. She’s—”
“Good morning! Are you off on a ride?”
Iris turned at Lady Honora’s voice, her smile stiffening on her lips as she watched her friend approach on Lord Huntington’s arm.
Iris’s gaze darted at once to his lips, her face flushing at the memory of their firm warmth before she jerked her gaze away. Dash it, why did the man have to show up now? She’d lain awake half the night thinking about how he’d pressed that tiny kiss on her fingertip. She’d finally managed to banish him from her thoughts and turn her attention to Lord Wrexley this morning, and now here he was again, his lips more distracting than ever.
It was too much. She couldn’t even manage to choose a horse, never mind attract a new betrothed while the one she’d jilted stood there scowling at her, his brows lowered over his hazel eyes.
“Good morning, cousin. Huntington.” Lord Wrexley tapped his riding crop against his boot. “We’re off, yes. Miss Somerset had some difficulty choosing a mount, but I think we’ve settled on one.”
“You don’t know what kind of mount you prefer, Miss Somerset?” A mocking smile curled at the corners of Lord Huntington’s lips. “I’m surprised to find you so indecisive. Indeed, I’ve known you to make crucial decisions on nothing more than the merest whim.”
“Don’t tease, my lord.” Lady Honora gave him a chastising look, then smiled at Iris. “Miss Somerset spent most of her childhood in Surrey on the back of a horse, cousin. I daresay she can manage any mount in the stables.”
“Indeed? I had no idea you were such an accomplished rider.” Lord Wrexley’s gaze sharpened as he turned to Iris.
“Any mount in the stables? Surely you exaggerate, Lady Honora.” But Lord Huntington wasn’t looking at Lady Honora. His eyes were a clear gray color this morning, and they were assessing Iris with cool disdain. “I don’t believe I’ve seen Miss Somerset on the promenade more than once or twice this season.”
Iris managed a sweet smile, but her blood began to heat with temper. “Surely you don’t mean to suggest prancing about the promenade in the latest fashions is a measure of equestrian skill, my lord?”
His eyes darkened to slate, and Iris watched them with a strange mix of fascination and anger. Such a troublesome color, hazel—nothing like Lord Wrexley’s pale blue. A lady might look into a pair of hazel eyes, and see nothing of the man behind the shifting colors, from a clear green to russet brown, and, when he was angry, to a forest green so dark it was nearly black. Why, a gentleman could hide anything behind such changeable eyes.
Any secrets and any sins, and Lord Huntington had plenty of both.
“The promenade is an adequate measure of horsemanship for a lady, yes.”
“You underestimate the ladies, my lord. Ladies of an equestrienne turn prefer a hard ride in Richmond Park to a measured amble on the promenade, but then I suppose fashionable marquesses don’t trouble themselves much with such unpredictable ladies, do they?”
Lord Huntington’s jaw tightened, and Iris couldn’t quite contain her satisfied smile. Not very ladylike, that smile, but it was difficult to care.
Both Lady Honora and her cousin were quiet during this exchange, but now Lord Wrexley cleared his throat. “What kind of horse did you ride when you lived in Surrey, Miss Somerset? It might help me to choose your mount today if I know.”
“An enormous coal-black stallion with hooves nearly as big as my head.” Iris laughed, thinking of her first horse. He’d been a heathenish creature, quite the worst-tempered horse she’d ever encountered, but she’d loved him with a fierce affection. “I christened him Typhon, in honor of his relentless bad temper, and his tendency to send riders hurtling to the ground.”
“Typhon?” Lord Huntington frowned. “What, you named him after that deadly creature with the hundred dragon heads?”
“Yes, from the Greek mythology. He was stubborn and irascible, but I adored him nonetheless.”
“My goodness.” Lady Honora clutched at Lord Huntington’s arm, her eyes wide. “He sounds quite menacing. How did you end up with a horse like that?”
“My father.” Iris laughed at Honora’s horrified expression. “He was a former cavalry officer, you see, and mad about horses, rather like Captain West. He gave Typhon to me when I was eight years old. Flying across the Surrey countryside on horseback with my father are some of my fondest memories of him.”
Lord Wrexley leaned a hip against the stall door, his curious gaze fixed on her. “If you could ride a horse like that, then of course the mare won’t do for you. What happened to Typhon?”
Iris bit her lip against the familiar ache that pressed behind her eyes whenever she thought of Typhon. It was foolish to cry over him after all these years had passed, but there were some wounds even a lifetime couldn’t heal. For all his flaws, Typhon was the most perfect of animals to her, and she’d never since had a horse to equal him. “He escaped from the barn one night during a storm. He was running wild, and he fell and broke his leg. He had to be shot.”
Iris heard the quaver in her voice, and no one spoke for a long moment after she fell silent, but then the rhythmic tap of Lord Wrexley’s riding crop against his boot ceased. “I have something to show you, Miss Somerset.”
There was an odd, calculating look in his eyes as he held out his arm to her. He didn’t spare a glance for his cousin or Lord Huntington, but they followed as Lord Wrexley strode with Iris toward a dim corner of the barn.
Iris heard him before she saw him. A few irritable snorts, a warning nicker, and finally the slam of a massive body against the wooden walls of the stall.
“Stay back,” Lord Wrexley warned. “Captain West says he has a wicked temper.”
Iris hardly heard him. She took one cautious half step toward the stall, itching to reach her hand in to stroke that glossy dark coat, but she knew better than to get within biting distance of the horse’s snapping teeth. “Oh, you’re in a temper, are you?” she murmured. “But I’d wager you’re the sort who’s always in a temper. What’s your name?”
“Chaos. Proper name for him, isn’t it?” Lord Wrexley stood back from the stall, keeping a safe distance between himself and the horse. “Captain West keeps him in this corner of the stables for a reason.”
Chaos tossed his head as if he knew he’d been maligned, and a shaft of sunlight fell on his neck. He wasn’t black, as Iris had originally thought, but a dark, sleek gray, and even from the quick glimpse she got, she could see he was enormous. “What reason is that?”
Chaos jerked his head toward her and bared his teeth.
“He bites.” Lord Wrexley chuckled. “Kicks, too, among other nasty habits. Captain West said he’s the finest runner he’s ever seen, but it seems Chaos here is particular about who rides him. He told me Chaos nearly threw Lady Hadley once and would have trampled her under his hooves if he’d managed to unseat her.”
Lady Honora gasped. “My goodness! I wonder why Captain West keeps him at all.”
“He’s a remarkable animal, Honora, truly one of a kind, but he needs a firm hand.” Lord Wrexley spoke to his cousin, but he was staring at Iris, his pale blue eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Do you suppose you could manage him, Miss Somerset?”
“What? Certainly not!” Lady Honora gasped again, and her voice had gone shrill with fright. “What do you mean, suggesting such a thing, cousin?”
Lord Wrexley ignored her. “Miss Somerset? Could you manage him?”
Iris took another cautious step forward, her breath held. Chaos kicked and whinnied and butted his head against the sides of his stall, but he was watching her, assessing her with those liquid black eyes, and everything inside her vibrated in response. Her body went rigid from the effort it took not to touch him, but she held back, because he wasn’t ready to be touched by her.
Not yet. But he would be, and soon. She’d touch him, and she’d ride him.
“Miss Somerset?” There was a thread of impatience in Lord Wrexley’s voice.
“He’s not the kind of horse you manage, my lord, but if you want to know whether or not I could ride him…” Iris paused, and a small smile tugged at her mouth. “In the right circumstances, and given a chance to become more familiar with him, yes. I could ride him.”
Lord Huntington hadn’t said a word up to this point, but now he stepped forward, and the shaft of sunlight fell over his face.
A soft gasp escaped Iris’s throat.
“A word, Wrexley?”
It was a low growl, dark and furious, and a shiver darted up Iris’s spine. Lady Honora shrank back, away from him, her eyes wide.
His lips were white at the corners, and his eyes had gone black with suppressed fury. His powerful body shook with barely leashed rage as he approached Lord Wrexley, and Iris froze, her heart thundering in her chest as she stared at him.
He was beautiful—and terrifying.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
* * * *
Finn jerked his head at Wrexley to follow him, then strode toward the stable door, where the ladies couldn’t overhear them.
“What’s the matter now, Huntington?” Wrexley sauntered after him, a mocking smile on his lips. “Christ, you haven’t changed at all since school. Still fuming over one thing or another, aren’t you? It must exhaust you to sustain that outrage day after day. Well, what is it?”
“What the devil do you think you’re doing, suggesting that horse for Miss Somerset? He’s not a safe mount for her, and you bloody well know it. Do you want to see her hurt, or worse?”
The light flooding through the stable door stabbed at Finn’s eyes, and for a moment a horrifying image of Iris Somerset trampled under those enormous black hooves flashed through his mind.
“Why would I wish for that, Huntington? I think I’ve made it clear how taken I am with Miss Somerset. The lady likes a challenging mount.”
Finn flexed his fingers to keep them from clenching into fists. He wanted to wrap his hands around Wrexley’s throat until he’d squeezed that smirk right off the scoundrel’s face, but he held back, his pulse throbbing with impotent fury.
“Challenging? That horse is more than challenging, Wrexley. With the wrong rider on his back, he’s deadly.”
Wrexley glanced behind him, and Finn followed his gaze.
Lady Honora had ahold of Miss Somerset’s arm as if to pull her away from the stall, and her face was pale with fear. Miss Somerset, however, had inched closer, and even from this distance Finn could hear her murmuring to the horse in a low, soothing voice.
Wrexley turned back to Finn with a shrug. “She seems happy enough with him, and you heard my cousin. She assured us Miss Somerset can manage any horse in the stables. I can’t see what reason you have to object.”
Finn was taller than Wrexley, so when he stepped closer, his chin was right in Wrexley’s face, and the other man was forced to back up. “I object to your putting Miss Somerset in danger. That horse is aggressive and much too big for her. If he chooses to bolt—and you only have to look at him to see he will—she won’t have the strength to stop him, no matter how skilled she is in the saddle. Tell her you’ve made a mistake, and suggest a different horse.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Huntington. Look at her. She’s besotted with the animal, and I wouldn’t dream of disappointing a lady.”
“You’re all gallantry, aren’t you, Wrexley? But gallantry will be of little use to Miss Somerset when that horse breaks every bone in her body.”
“What a happy thought. One can always count on you to dampen the spirits. But I think you underestimate the lady. Tell me, Huntington. Is that why she jilted you?”
Finn didn’t so much as twitch a muscle at Wrexley’s jab. It took every bit of his control to keep his expression blank, but Wrexley saw something there that made his lips twist with a satisfied smirk. “Unfortunate, but your loss will be my gain. I expect Miss Somerset and I will be betrothed before the end of the house party. When the happy event occurs, I hope you’ll be the first to congratulate me, Huntington.”
Finn’s jaw went rigid. It was just as he’d thought. Wrexley intended to take advantage of Miss Somerset’s precarious situation with a whirlwind courtship. He’d already begun to ingratiate himself with her, and like most scoundrels, Wrexley was adept at feigning sincerity. He wasn’t making an empty threat—there was a good chance he really could have the entire business settled before the end of the house party.
Finn’s chest tightened with something that felt suspiciously like panic.
“As far as the horse is concerned,” Wrexley went on, “you’ll recall, Huntington, you’re no longer betrothed to Miss Somerset. She may do as she pleases, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
“I think you’re far more concerned Miss Somerset do what you please.” Finn’s voice was soft, menacing. “A naïve young lady with a substantial fortune, a recently broken engagement, and at a house party, no less, with all the freedom it affords. You’re not one to let such an opportunity slip away, are you, Wrexley? She must be irresistible to you.”
“Oh, she is. But then, I’ve always admired her. That’s the difference between us, Huntington. You’re the kind of man who doesn’t value a jewel until you no longer hold it in your hand.” Wrexley shook his head as if in regret, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I think you see your mistake now though, don’t you? Pity it’s too late.”
Finn swallowed, but the bitter, acid taste of regret lingered in his mouth. There was nothing more galling than being taunted by a man with so little discernment as Wrexley, unless it was knowing he was right.
“But even considering Miss Somerset’s many attractions, I don’t deny I’m delighted to have the additional pleasure of taking her away from you. It maddens you, and that makes her infinitely more enticing to me. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it, how fate has offered me another chance to steal the heiress you’d chosen as your own?”
Wrexley saw at once he’d hit a tender spot and was quick to follow up his advantage with another blow. “I suppose it’s difficult for a controlling man like you to find such a prize has slipped through your fingers, but I must say I’m relieved, for Miss Somerset’s sake. What a pity it would be for such a passionate lady to be wasted on someone as cold and emotionless as you. I wonder, do you think she knows how narrow her escape was?”
Wrexley’s smiled widened when Finn didn’t answer. “I daresay you wouldn’t have known what to do with her, but perhaps it will comfort you to know, Huntington, I intend to keep her very much in hand when she’s mine, and I can think of quite a few things I’ll do to her, and even more I’ll have her do to me.”
Things happened quickly after that.
A roar echoed in Finn’s ears, and he grabbed Wrexley by his coat and yanked him off the ground. “She may not be mine, but she’ll never be yours, either. You’re very much mistaken if you think I won’t look out for Miss Somerset’s interests. I’ll be damned if I stand by while she falls victim to a scoundrel like you.”
“Take your bloody hands off me, Huntington.” Wrexley tried to pry Finn’s fingers loose from his coat, but Finn tightened his grip until his knuckles were white. Wrexley kicked and squirmed, his face and neck flushing a dull, angry red, but there was nothing he could do except dangle like a ragdoll until Finn chose to let him loose.
Finn took his time.
When he dropped Wrexley to the ground at last, he shoved past him without another glance, and strode to the back of the stables, forcing himself to smile at Lady Honora as he approached. “Will the chestnut mare your cousin chose for Miss Somerset do for you, my lady?”
Lady Honora was still pale, and she gave him a blank look. “The chestnut—oh, yes. Of course. She’ll do very well.”
“Fine. Your cousin will have the groom saddle her and bring her out to the yard for you. I’ll join you in a moment.”
“All right.” Lady Honora cast one last worried look at Miss Somerset and the dark gray stallion; then she followed her cousin out into the yard without further argument.
Lady Honora never argued.
Finn doubted he’d be as fortunate with Miss Somerset. It seemed incredible he ever could have overlooked the obstinate thrust of that chin, or the dark blue flash of temper in her eyes.
Christ, what a fool he was.