Chapter Sixteen
As soon as Iris slid her foot into the stirrup and swung herself onto his back, she knew she’d been right about Chaos. She might have been wrong about everything else, but when she laid her hand on the horse’s sinewy neck, she felt as if she’d come home.
“Very pretty, Miss Somerset. I don’t know of any lady in London who is as skilled in the saddle, and your seat puts half the gentlemen of the ton to shame.”
Iris turned and blinked at Lord Wrexley, who cantered along beside her on his gray stallion. She’d nearly forgotten he was there.
“Thank you, my lord,” she called back with a quick smile, but she turned away from him to discourage more conversation. She only had time for one gentleman this morning, and it wasn’t Lord Wrexley, or Lord Huntington.
It was Chaos.
Lord Huntington, of course, had no intention of allowing her to banish him from her thoughts. Just when she managed to forget him for a brief moment, he’d sneak past her defenses and batter his way back in. It was his hazel eyes that caused her the most trouble—his eyes, and those sensuous lips, and that delicious little—
No! For pity’s sake, not the dimple again.
She didn’t want to think about her former betrothed, or her future betrothed, or indeed about any gentleman at all this morning, so she’d simply have to ride harder and faster to dislodge Lord Huntington.
She tightened her knees and leaned forward in the saddle, just the tiniest shift of her body, but Chaos stretched his neck forward and lengthened his gait in response, as if he knew before she did what she wanted and had only been waiting for her to realize it and issue the command.
Oh, it was glorious to be running wild again, riding toward the glow of pale orange light just emerging over the horizon. It was early enough the dew was still fresh on the grass. The rising sun illuminated each tiny droplet of water, and it felt to Iris as if she were riding through a field of glittering diamonds.
She laughed aloud at the fanciful thought and lifted her face to the wind. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ridden like this, with the rolling hills flying by her in a blur of spring green, on a horse who was so attuned to every twitch of her muscles his body was like an extension of her own. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this, so filled with joy she thought her heart would burst out of her chest.
When was the last time I felt like myself?
Several years, ever since she’d left Surrey for London. Or had it been longer than that? Long enough to lose the girl she used to be, when she’d raced across the countryside on Typhon, with her father by her side shouting his encouragement, the wind teasing his fair hair, and his eyes, so like her own, alight with pride and love, and that joy he’d always known how to coax out of life, like coaxing a tender green shoot in the ground to blossom into a flower.
It was the same kind of joy she felt now, but more poignant, and more beautiful, somehow, from the loss of him. Grief was strange that way, like a violent storm that was both terrible and exquisite at once.
A single tear leaked from the corner of Iris’s eye, but she didn’t bother to wipe it away, and the wind took it before it could stain her cheek.
That had been another lifetime, hadn’t it? A time before her parents died, before she’d become a London belle and let herself be wrapped so tightly in yards of pink silk she hadn’t known how to fight her way free of it. How had she drawn breath, with the weight of so many expectations upon her?
Despite her vow to banish him, an image of Lord Huntington as he’d looked in the drawing room last night crept into her thoughts. He’d been so still and perfect as he’d listened to Honora play, his face arranged into a proper attitude of attentive appreciation, but otherwise expressionless—nothing at all like the man who’d watched her with burning eyes as she’d traced her fingers over his lips.
Did he struggle against the same smothering weight of expectation she did? If he could heave it away with one mighty shove and crawl free of it, what kind of man would he be underneath? That man with the gentle voice, and the world of longing in his soft hazel eyes?
I could love that man—
“I see the summerhouse just ahead. Do try to keep up, Miss Somerset!”
Lord Wrexley grinned over his shoulder at her just before he shot forward with a triumphant shout. Iris shook the confusing thoughts of Lord Huntington from her head and charged after him, heading for the tiny summerhouse at the crest of the hill in front of them.
She reached it just before him, and Lord Wrexley gave her an admiring look as he drew his horse to a halt beside her. “Ah, very good. Shall we rest here for a bit? Spectacular view. I can see why Lady Hadley enjoys it.”
“The property seems to go on forever.” Iris shaded her eyes and gazed down at the panorama spread out below them. “I daresay we could ride for hours and never reach the boundary.”
“I hope you aren’t suggesting we ride for hours.” Lord Wrexley gave her a sly grin. “No, no, it wouldn’t be at all proper. We’ll have to return before the rest of our party rises for breakfast as we planned, or I might find Lord Huntington’s pistol pointed at my heart at dawn tomorrow.”
Iris knew better than to encourage his nonsense, but he’d twisted his face into such a comical look of despair she couldn’t resist a laugh. He glowed with good-humor, and his cheeks were ruddy from the wind and exercise. He was so handsome and charming, it would be easy to dismiss Lord Huntington’s warnings about him.
But charm could hide any number of sins, just as the lack of it could hide a heart overflowing with tenderness.
“You’re rather hard on Lord Huntington. Why is that, my lord? You’re not still angry about that wager you lost, are you?”
Lord Wrexley went still, and a long, tense silence fell between them. Iris patted her gloved palm with her riding crop and waited.
“You mean the wager over…”
“The one between you, Lord Harley, and Lord Huntington, over which of you would offer for me, and which for Lady Honora.”
Lord Wrexley shot her an apprehensive glance, saw at once he was caught, and to his credit, he didn’t try and deny it, but gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, I did wager for you, you know.”
Ah, so it was true, then. Now Lord Wrexley had confessed it, Iris was surprised to find she’d believed Lord Huntington all along. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t asked Lord Wrexley about it sooner—she’d already known the truth.
“How very flattering, my lord. Though I suppose one could argue Lady Honora is rather like a sister to you.”
He shrugged. “First cousins often marry, as you know, but I never considered offering for Honora.”
“You weren’t reconciled to your loss, I think, or else you would have honored the terms of the wager, instead of resorting to that trick with Lady Beaumont.”
Another long silence followed. Iris held her breath as it stretched between them, but even before Lord Wrexley turned to her with guilt written plainly over his handsome features, she knew it was true.
“I’d reconciled myself to the courtship, but I suppose I never thought you’d accept him. Once you became betrothed, well…I didn’t think you’d be happy with Huntington.”
He didn’t say anything more, or explain himself further, and Iris didn’t ask him to. She knew very well he’d been motivated by her fortune, but then many gentlemen married for money. It didn’t disqualify him as a husband, any more than Lord Huntington’s mistress disqualified him. Lord Wrexley was selfish, yes, and careless, but he’d been one of her first friends in London, and in his own way, he cared for her.
He simply cared for himself more.
Sadly, that also didn’t disqualify him as a husband, especially in her present circumstances.
“Well, what do you plan to do then, my lord? About Lord Huntington’s pistol, I mean. Perhaps you’d better have an excuse in mind, in case our scandalous secret ride this morning is discovered.”
He gave her a relieved grin when he realized she wasn’t going to pursue the discussion about the wager or Lady Beaumont. “I’ll simply explain I couldn’t rest until I’d discovered if you’re as skilled a horsewoman as my cousin claims you are.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Well, what’s your conclusion?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say with any certainty.”
He shrugged as if the subject didn’t interest him and looked away to fiddle with his glove, but Iris saw the grin hovering at the corners of his lips. “You can’t say? We’ve been out for an hour, and you haven’t yet made a determination?”
“My dear Miss Somerset, anyone with adequate equestrienne skills can plod along as we’ve done all morning. We haven’t gone above a canter. Forgive me if I question whether you can handle such an enormous beast with equal expertise in a flat run.”
“Are you challenging me to a race, my lord?”
His brows rose in feigned horror. “Certainly not. A gentleman doesn’t encourage a lady to risk her safety in such a way, and that’s to say nothing of my own safety. If Huntington discovers I’ve encouraged you to race, he’ll shoot me twice.”
Iris was confident in her ability to handle Chaos at a run, but that didn’t mean it was wise to go tearing across unfamiliar terrain on his back. She’d only ridden him this one time, after all.
But the moment Lord Wrexley mentioned Lord Huntington, she swept her doubts aside.
She might dream of dipping her tongue into that dimple in his chin, but that didn’t mean she’d allow Lord Huntington to control her every move, as if she were nothing more than a chess piece he maneuvered around a chessboard.
He’d behaved with unbearable presumption toward her since they’d arrived at Hadley House. Even if she hadn’t jilted him she wouldn’t tolerate that kind of nonsense, but the fact that they weren’t even betrothed any longer made his behavior that much more infuriating. First it had been the footrace with Lord Wrexley, and then Chaos, and last night, when he’d come upon her in the library and found her with that book…
Heat washed up her throat. She’d spent half the night squirming against her damp bedsheets, lost in memories of his smooth, warm skin under her fingertips, his quiet groans.
Had she really read those passages from School of Venus aloud to him? She’d never done anything so scandalous in her life.
When he begins to warm he lays his hands on my…breasts.
He’d stopped her before she could finish it, but the next word in the last sentence she’d read aloud to him was breasts.
She’d almost said the words my breasts to Lord Huntington.
By the time she’d gotten as far as the breasts, his hazel eyes had gone black, and he’d had such a…well, primal was the only way she could think to describe the way he’d looked at her. But however one described it, it made her shiver every time she thought about it.
If she’d gone ahead and said my breasts aloud at that moment, anything could have happened. That is, quite a bit had happened, but she knew from her reading there was a good deal more to it, and if she had said the word breasts, perhaps he wouldn’t have stopped her when her hand slid close to the edge of his breeches. Another shiver fluttered down her spine at that thought, but this was no time to indulge in illicit fantasies about Lord Huntington.
She forced her attention back to Lord Wrexley. “Lord Huntington isn’t here, and even if he were, I don’t need his permission to race, or indeed, to do anything at all.”
“Very well, then. Shall we race?” Lord Wrexley took care to sound bored, but there was a thread of tension underlying his words.
How odd. Was he afraid she’d best him in a race?
Before she could determine if she’d imagined it, his sweet, sly grin was back. “I’ll give you a start on me, if you like.”
Iris shot him a disdainful look and drew herself up in the saddle. “No, indeed. Where shall we race, my lord? We’ll start from the bottom of the hill, I think.” She wouldn’t risk Chaos’s legs by taking him down the hill at a flat run. “A sprint, to that tree line in the distance?” She pointed with her riding crop toward a thick line of trees about a half mile away.
“Yes, all right.” Lord Wrexley nodded his agreement and followed her down the hill. “You’re certain you don’t want a few seconds start, Miss Somerset?” he asked, when they were side by side at their mark.
“Are you in the habit of offering your competitors a start in a gentleman’s race, Lord Wrexley?”
“No, indeed.”
“And didn’t you just tell me not half an hour ago I have a better seat than half the gentlemen of the ton?”
He grinned. “I did, and it’s true enough.”
She gave him a sweet smile. “Then why would I need a start?”
He threw back his head in a laugh. “Well said. On my count, then?” He pulled his horse into position beside hers and raised his riding crop. “Ready? Set? Go!”
They took off in a flurry of damp grass and flying hooves. As it happened she did get a start, because Lord Wrexley’s horse hesitated for the barest fraction of second before he registered the command, whereas Chaos leapt into motion almost before Iris’s fingers had a chance to tighten on her riding crop.
They shot forward, Iris low over her horse’s neck, her hands firm and steady on the reins. Lord Wrexley was right behind her, so close she could hear his harsh breath and feel the earth shake with each of his gray’s pounding hooves, but they hadn’t taken more than a dozen strides before she knew she and Chaos couldn’t be beaten.
Not by Lord Wrexley, and perhaps not by anyone.
They were so seamless, so completely in sync it was as if Iris had been born on Chaos’s back, or he’d grown into place beneath her. She could see his every stride forward in her head, anticipate the bunch and release of the muscles in his powerful haunches, and she made constant, minute adjustments in position with every ripple or jerk of his body beneath her.
Iris reached the tree line five or six seconds before Lord Wrexley, an unquestionable victory. Chaos twitched restlessly underneath her as she slowed. He wanted to keep running, but she brought him to an easy, gradual halt, and leaned over to murmur in his ear. “Next time, all right?”
Wrexley came up beside her in a whirl of pounding hooves. “Astonishing, Miss Somerset. Truly.”
Iris smiled at him and stroked her hand down Chaos’s sweaty neck. “Chaos deserves the credit, my lord. Did you see how smooth his gait is?”
“It’s the two of you together that are so remarkable. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a more natural match between horse and rider. It seems incredible you’ve only ridden him this once.”
“I know. It’s feels like I’ve been riding him for years. He loves to run. He was born to race, I think.”
“Yes, I think so, too.” Wrexley gave her a strange, speculative look, and there was an odd light Iris couldn’t decipher in his pale blue eyes. “But the sun has risen, and our friends will be at breakfast soon.”
He wheeled his horse around and began an easy trot toward Hadley House. Iris rode beside him, but they were both quiet. She was absorbed with Chaos, and Lord Wrexley seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.
When the stables came into sight, however, he cleared his throat and turned to her. “If you and Chaos ever raced, you’d stand a fair chance of winning.”
Iris’s brows drew together. It wasn’t unheard of for ladies to race, of course, but still unusual, especially for ladies of quality. Public races could attract large, unruly crowds, and they generally included a great deal of wagering. No respectable lady would attend, particularly not as a participant. “A fair chance of being injured, as well—both my person, and my reputation.”
“I would never risk either, I assure you.” He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I refer to a private race. Just you and Chaos, and two gentlemen of my acquaintance from London.”
“I doubt Captain West would approve of such a thing.” Iris didn’t mention Lord Huntington, but it went without saying he’d have Lord Wrexley’s head for suggesting such a dangerous scheme, despite the fact that he didn’t have any claim on her.
None at all.
“Yes, well, if you did choose to race, it would be best to keep it between us. We could sneak away just as we did this morning, and I would attend you the entire time. No one else need know about it.”
“If we have to hide it, my lord, then it can’t be at all proper.”
That should have ended the discussion, of course, but a familiar flutter of excitement tickled behind Iris’s breastbone. She’d loved racing since she was a girl, and she and Typhon had won many races together in Surrey. How wonderful it would be to race again, especially with a horse like Chaos.
“Propriety is a matter of opinion, Miss Somerset. If you asked me, I would say it was proper enough, but if you asked Lord Huntington, I have no doubt he’d disapprove.” His tone implied it would be absurdly rigid of Lord Huntington to do so. “It would be good fun though, wouldn’t it, and such a great triumph if you won.”
Iris bit her lip. Lord Wrexley was the very devil to suggest such a thing, but like the devil he was most persuasive, and Iris was tempted in spite of her better judgment. “Well, I suppose I don’t see any real harm in it. It’s not as if it’s a public race.”
“No harm at all, since I’ll be with you the entire time. No one else can know of it, however, or they’ll forbid you to go.”
Iris shifted uneasily in the saddle. She didn’t like to lie, and if her friends would forbid her, it meant she shouldn’t be entertaining the idea at all, but it seemed like a lifetime since she’d raced, and really, it wasn’t so very shocking, or so much different than the races she used to run in Surrey. Lord Wrexley would be there the entire time, after all.
“Very well, my lord. I’ll race, as long as I can ride Chaos.”
He’d been watching her with narrowed, glittering eyes, but now his face relaxed into a smile. “Of course. I’ll arrange everything just as you wish. What good fun you are, Miss Somerset! I confess I’m rather besotted with you.”
His forwardness, and the look of undisguised admiration he gave her, made a flush rise in Iris’s cheeks.
He let out a soft laugh. “What a charming blush. It flatters you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen bluer eyes than yours.”
They were approaching the stables, and Iris was saved from having to reply as they both looked to see if anyone was about.
“I think we’re safe. Quickly, before someone sees us.”
Lord Wrexley kicked his horse into a trot and headed for the stables, and Iris followed, letting out a sigh of relief when she darted inside and found them empty but for the stableboy, who came at once to attend Lord Wrexley’s horse.
“I’ll assist the lady.” He dismounted, tossed the boy his reins, and held out his hand to Iris as the boy led the gray off. “May I help you?”
Iris frowned a little as Chaos tensed underneath her and sidestepped nervously, away from Lord Wrexley. “I’m perfectly capable of dismounting.”
“Of course you are.” Even as he agreed, Lord Wrexley reached up and wrapped his hands around her waist. “But you must be tired after our race, and famished, as well. I’d hate for you to fall.”
She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as he lifted her easily from the saddle and lowered her until her feet touched the floor. “Thank you, my lord.”
“My pleasure, Miss Somerset.” He should have released her then, but instead his fingers tightened on her waist, and his eyes warmed as he looked down at her. “I’ll set the race for the day after tomorrow, but shall we sneak out again tomorrow morning? It will give you another chance to ride Chaos before the race.”
Iris nodded, aware as she did she was far more tempted by Chaos than she was by Lord Wrexley.
He didn’t seem to notice. He lifted a hand and smoothed a tendril of hair away from her cheek. “I’ve always found you lovely, but more so today than ever before. I didn’t realize you were a lady of such spirit.” He trailed a gloved fingertip over her cheek. “It shows here, in the curve of your face.”
He was gazing down at her with the same look in his eyes he’d had last night when they’d walked together on the terrace.
She knew what it meant. Lord Wrexley wanted to kiss her, and she was going to let him, because she wanted something from him, as well.
To know if another man’s kiss could devastate her the way Lord Huntington’s did.
Iris drew a deep breath and forced herself to remain still as Lord Wrexley’s mouth drew closer, but just as he was about to touch his lips to hers, the memory of a pair of hazel eyes drifted through her mind.
She gave a tiny shake of her head to knock it loose, to focus on Lord Wrexley’s blue eyes, which were really quite nice. Why, any lady would be thrilled to gaze into those eyes as he lowered his head for a kiss.
Except the hazel eyes were still there. Iris closed her own eyes to shut them out, but she could still see them, a cool gray brown at first, darkening to a warmer green, and then going darker still, a forest at midnight, the long, thick lashes growing heavier as she ran her fingertips over his lips and throat and inhaled the warm, fresh scent of his skin.
A sigh escaped her, and she just had time to see Lord Wrexley’s lips curve in a satisfied smile before his face was so close it grew blurry, and the voice in her head spoke then, so clearly, as if the words had been whispered in her ear.
I don’t want to kiss Lord Wrexley. I only want to kiss Lord Huntington.
And then, as if she’d conjured it from her fevered imagination, another voice, low and vibrating with fury.
“Take your hands off her now, Wrexley, or be prepared meet me at dawn.”