Untamed Rogue, Scandalous Mistress

‘Don’t want the village knowing the women ride astride and in trousers?’ he queried with keen insight.

‘We have trouser days just as we have habit days here at my school. Riding astride is a much safer way to learn the jumps,’ Aurora countered fiercely. She did not care to have her methods challenged or her secrets exposed. It was not public knowledge the girls rode in trousers on occasion, or astride. It was one of the reasons she banned unannounced outsiders from practices.

Petra moved past them with her horse, leaving them to sort out the details. Smart girl, Aurora thought. She’d like to leave too. Better yet, she’d like him to leave. Once the girl was out of earshot, Aurora delivered her next dictate. ‘She’s off limits. I will not have you behaving as you did with me in the road this afternoon. I don’t want to catch you with her, not walking with her, not talking with her. Nothing.’

The man had the audacity to laugh. ‘That might be a bit difficult. Petra Branscombe is my sister in-law.’

Aurora’s mind did the genealogical maths at rapid speed. ‘Then that makes you…’

‘The earl’s brother,’ he finished for her.

‘The Honourable Crispin Ramsden?’ Aurora said drily. It seemed the height of irony that this rough-around-the-edges, broad-shouldered man would bear such a title.

He seemed to think so too. ‘Technically speaking.’ A slow smile spread across his mouth, highlighting the lips that had kissed hers only hours ago.

Crispin raked her form with a gaze that seared as it travelled down every inch of her in deliberate contemplation. ‘I would have thought someone like you would be less tempted to judge, Miss Calhoun. It appears you have already catalogued and classified me. I wonder? Should I do the same to you?’ He chuckled at her overt reaction. ‘That’s what I thought. You don’t care to be pigeonholed any more than I do.’

He took a step towards her, his strong gaze holding hers with a teasing glint of challenge. ‘So, you think you know all about me after our brief acquaintance?’

He didn’t look honourable so much as rakishly unprincipled. Not even the moment he’d taken at some point to pull his long hair back with a leather thong into something more orderly could give him an added measure of respectability. Aurora made a special effort not to back up under the onslaught of his advance. ‘I’ve met men like you before, earl’s brother or not.’

He had a seductive smile for her alone as he leaned close to her ear and whispered, ‘I doubt it, Miss Calhoun. There are no other men like me.’

Four hours later, Aurora was ready to concede Crispin Ramsden might be right. She’d succeeded in getting him out of her stables, but not her mind. Aurora stretched her long legs out, feet resting on the fender of the fireplace absorbing the warmth of the flames in her converted apartments at the back of the stable. By rights, this was her favourite time of day. The horses were bedded down, their quiet snuffles keeping her company as she ate her dinner. But tonight, the usual peace the evening routine brought didn’t come.

She was restless. She’d made endless excuses to herself: it was the rain drumming on the roof that made her restive, it was because she had a new horse in the stables. But she’d been out to check on Sheikh twice now and the visits hadn’t alleviated her agitation. Neither the rain nor the horse was responsible for her current state. It was Crispin Ramsden that made her uneasy.

Perhaps it was nothing more than like recognising like. She’d certainly seen more than one set of horses test each other out before mating, nipping and biting. Their methods weren’t all that different than Crispin Ramsden’s. Aurora thought of Crispin’s kisses in the road and blushed, glad no one else was there to see her. There had been plenty of nipping and biting involved that afternoon.

Aurora bent forwards and stirred the fire, forcing her mind to focus on more pleasant issues. There were tomorrow’s lessons to plan. The rain would make the outdoor arena too muddy to be useful or safe. The Wednesday class would have to ride in the indoor arena. Eleanor, one of the girls in Petra’s class, had wanted to talk with her after the lesson today, but by the time she’d dealt with Crispin Ramsden Eleanor had left. She’d have to make a point to speak with Eleanor on Thursday when Petra’s class returned.

She knew what Eleanor wanted to talk about. The girl’s father, Gregory Windham, was a very wealthy gentleman who wanted a title for his daughter. He was dead set on seeing her married to an impoverished baron who led a dissipated life. Eleanor was frankly against the match, but Aurora could feel the girl weakening under her father’s pressure.

Eleanor wasn’t the only student with needs. Young Mrs Twilliger was new to the area after marrying an intimidating older man who clearly had her cowed. Catherine Sykes was worried to death over her impending London Season this spring, fearful she’d be a wallflower, and Lettie Osborne spent most of her days dreaming up ways to bring the new, single vicar up to scratch.

Whatever their needs were, the riding school was a place to start. Here, Aurora gave them a place in which they could discover their own power and build their confidence. If one could master a horse, one could master a man. That was Aurora’s philosophy. Perhaps a lucky few would do more than master a man. Perhaps a few would find a true partner for life if they had the confidence to do so.

It was the same principle with riding. She’d ridden two horses in her life that had been her partners. When she rode, she and the horse were equals. Nothing could compare with that. The other horses had been mounts to be mastered. She could get them to do what she wanted, but ultimately it hadn’t been about giving and taking with them, it had been about control.

Aurora understood the enormity of the task she’d set herself. Her girls came here to learn to ride, to learn the art of looking pretty in the saddle, their habits spread out behind them, the traditional teachings of young English womanhood firmly ingrained in their minds. Aurora wanted to change that for them, wanted to show them how to think on their own. On a horse there was no one to think for them; they had to rely solely on themselves. If they could do it on a horse, they could do it in other places in their lives.

She didn’t pretend her task was an easy one or an acceptable one by the standards of most people. It had been her experience that the local men wherever she’d been weren’t receptive to her lines of logic regarding male and female behaviour. On more than one occasion she’d been forced to leave a village once word got out that she was imparting more than horsemanship to the women she instructed. She wondered what Crispin Ramsden would make of that? Would he be a man who supported tradition or a man who could open his mind to the possibilities of equality between the sexes?

Crispin Ramsden. Again. Apparently she’d not been successful in directing her thoughts away from the earl’s brother. She gave herself a mental scolding. This was not the time to be considering any kind of flirtation. There were more important concerns. The St Albans steeplechase was coming up in March. She’d trained hard, her hunter, Kildare, was ready. Kildare was the best horse she’d ever ridden, better even than her beloved first stallion, Darby. If she could win, it would garner a great amount of prestige for her fledging stables, opening the gateway to good breeding opportunities.

There were difficulties to be worked out, not the least was how a woman was going to legally ride in a gentleman’s race. She could always hire a rider, but the thought of turning Kildare over to another rider filled her with trepidation. The other option was to risk all and ride in disguise. She’d done such a thing before, but only in small venues with very little at stake.

If she were caught, she’d be disqualified and made the fool. Her stables’ prestige would be sacrificed. But where would she find a rider that could work intimately with Kildare in the short time remaining? Rebellious images of Crispin Ramsden and his midnight stallion threatened the edges of her mind. Aurora rose from her chair and stretched. She’d do best to leave those contemplations for another day or she wouldn’t sleep at all. It was time for bed. Morning always came early at the stables.

Dinner came early in the country, but it was still half past seven before the Dursley clan was assembled at the long dining room table. As Crispin had expected, Tessa turned his sudden arrival into an excuse for an impromptu dinner party, which explained the slight lateness of the meal. Even on short notice, the Dursley clan managed to fill up the table: Petra and her fiancé, Thomas; Annie, Tessa’s youngest sister who was thirteen now; and Cousin Beth, who had run Peyton’s household for years before Peyton married Tessa.

‘Where’s Eva?’ Crispin asked, taking a mental roll call in his head once they were all seated and realising one of the four Branscombe sisters was missing.

‘She’s in London with Aunt Lily,’ Tessa answered from the foot of the table.

‘Isn’t that a bit early?’ Crispin had never liked the Season and it was beyond him to imagine why anyone would go up to town earlier than necessary. That Eva had gone months in advance bordered on the point of ludicrous.

Tessa smiled. ‘She’ll come out this year. She turned eighteen immediately after Christmas. She and Lily wanted to get a good start on her wardrobe.’

Crispin wondered how his brother did it, acting as a legal guardian for Tessa’s three sisters; three Seasons to put together and then weddings to follow if those Seasons were at all successful, extra Seasons to follow if they weren’t. Either way, there would be more endless twaddle. The very thought of all that frippery and nonsense was enough to put a man off his oats. Yet, Peyton looked as if he’d weathered the first two débuts quite well. In fact, his brother looked to be a well-satisfied man, sitting comfortably at the head of his table. There’d been a time not long ago that Crispin had doubted Peyton’s ability to embrace such a life. Then Peyton had fallen in love with Tessa and that love had changed him, as it had his other brother, Paine.

Crispin took a bite of excellent roasted beef and suppressed a shudder. He was not falling in love. He had no desire to be changed. It was all right for his brothers to change. But he had no intentions of giving up his wandering and adventures. He liked his life just the way it was. All he needed was a horse beneath him and the wide world spread out before him. Women had other expectations.

Still, coming home for a while felt good. Crispin ate the well-cooked food with gusto and enjoyed the conversation flowing around him as everyone brought him up to date on events in the family. Although there were several family members at dinner, there were others missing besides Aunt Lily and Eva. His brother Paine had taken his family to visit his wife’s cousin, Greyson. Greyson was interested in Paine’s opinion on some new investments and Greyson’s wife, Elena, was expecting their second child in late spring. Petra and Thomas had set the date of their wedding for September particularly out of consideration for them. Crispin wondered if he’d still be here for it.

At last, Tessa rose, giving the signal for the women to join her in the drawing room. Thomas rose too. ‘I’ll join the women tonight, Dursley, and leave you alone with your brother. No doubt there is still more to catch up on and I don’t wish to intrude,’ he offered graciously.

‘He’s a very nice young man,’ Crispin commented as the group trooped out of the room.

Peyton nodded with a smile. ‘We couldn’t be more pleased for Petra. They’re very happy together and wellsuited.’ Reaching for the decanter, he poured them each a glass. ‘Cheers, brother.’

‘Ah, this is the good stuff.’ Crispin drank down the brandy with relish. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had brandy of this calibre.’

‘The perks of being home,’ Peyton offered cryptically. ‘Did you work out an arrangement with Rory?’

Crispin chuckled. ‘Tessa could have told me Rory was a woman and a sharp-tongued one at that. A little forewarning wouldn’t have gone amiss.’

Peyton grinned. ‘Aurora Calhoun is strong minded.’

‘To say the least.’

Peyton poured them each another glass. ‘Tessa likes her. She and Petra helped her get the riding school started a couple of years ago.’

Crispin eyed his brother over the rim of his snifter. He wasn’t surprised to hear that Tessa had championed the unconventional Miss Calhoun. Tessa might look like an English angel on the outside, but he knew his brother’s wife well enough to know it was merely a façade. ‘Do you know what goes on out there?’

‘You mean the riding astride and wearing trousers part? Yes, I am quite aware of it, although I must caution you that it is not common knowledge. Don’t tell me you’re shocked? You’re the most untraditional person I know besides Tessa. I would have thought you’d applaud her. A woman’s lot alone in this world is almost impossibly difficult, yet, against all the insufferable odds, Aurora Calhoun has found some degree of success. As much as she can hope for, I think, given the circumstances of her gender and situation.’

Peyton’s remark was quite telling. Crispin took a moment to digest the layers of his brother’s comment. His brother was devoted to his wife. He would tolerate his wife’s eccentric friends for her sake. But Peyton’s comment implied he did more than tolerate Aurora Calhoun; he respected her and, for that reason, was willing to make exceptions on her behalf. Such a concession from Peyton made the interesting Miss Calhoun all that more intriguing.

‘I don’t care what she does. She’s entitled to her own eccentricities,’ Crispin said shortly, realising it was true. It wasn’t the unconventional nature of her school that bothered him. It was simply she who had him all churned up inside for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She definitely stirred his blood.

‘I rather thought the two of you would be good friends. She knows horses as well as you do,’ Peyton was saying. ‘That black of yours looks exotic. She’ll be interested to hear about him. For that matter, I’d be interested to hear about him too.’

Peyton fixed him with a friendly stare and Crispin knew what was coming next. Inquiries about the ‘exotic’ nature of the stallion were Peyton’s prelude to the bigger question. Whatever else changed about Peyton, this one thing would not: Peyton would always be his older brother.

‘So, Cris, before we rejoin the others, why don’t you tell me what you and my government have been doing for the last three years? The short version, of course.’

Crispin grinned and drew a deep breath. It was good to be able to talk with someone who appreciated the depth and importance of his work. This was something Peyton understood with extreme clarity. ‘Let me start with the Eastern Question…’ he began, his passion for his work evident in his recitation of events and astute analysis of the many evolving situations on the Continent.

At last, Crispin leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its two hind legs, and drew his report to a close. ‘And that, dear brother, is the short version. I haven’t even begun to tell you about British interests in America. There’s another powder keg just waiting to ignite.’

Peyton nodded noncommittally at the implied reference to a future posting. ‘Well, you’ve done your duty for Britain. Perhaps it’s someone else’s turn this time.’

‘Perhaps,’ Crispin replied vaguely, knowing the direction of his brother’s thoughts. Tonight was not the time to discuss his next assignment. When the posting came, Crispin was almost certain it would be an assignment to the American South, a place he was itching to explore on a personal as well as political level. Such a posting would make the sale of Woodbrook imperative. He’d be in America a very long while, more of a relocation than a temporary assignment. Crispin reached for the decanter. There’d be time to quarrel with Peyton over that later. Tonight he simply wanted to enjoy the peace of being home.

‘The long and short of it is, I am running out of time.’ Gregory Windham leaned forwards across the cherrywood desk in his estate office, pushing a small leather pouch of coins across the desk’s highly polished surface to the man on the other side. The blacksmith, Mackey, had been the one villager he’d been able to actively recruit to his side. The others remained quietly neutral with regards to Aurora Calhoun. Damn them.

His laissez-faire strategy had not worked. He’d patiently waited for Aurora Calhoun’s own unique situation to work against her. He’d originally thought the local gentry and the villagers wouldn’t tolerate such a ‘modern’ woman; a woman who ran her own business and sauntered around in men’s clothing. But Aurora had proved wily in that regard, keeping her trousers and lifestyle heavily obscured from the local populace. It had not helped matters that everyone knew she was an especial friend to Dursley’s countess and Dursley’s ward.

Aurora had lived out of sight and out of mind and the villagers had been happy enough with that. Such contentment needed to change. The villagers had to be rattled out of their complacency. He needed to force Dursley to make a stand. Dursley might quietly countenance such a friendship for his wife if no one complained about it. But the earl was also a traditionalist at heart. Windham thought it would be rather interesting to see what Dursley would do if there was a fuss over Aurora Calhoun.

It was time for a more direct approach if he meant to succeed in launching himself as a respectable horseman and sending Aurora Calhoun down the road of ruin. He tapped his long fingers on the desk.

‘The St Albans steeplechase is a month away. That race is mine to win. I won’t have her and that hunter of hers interfering.’ He possessed a stake in the wellfavoured horse, The Flyer. The stake had been an expensive purchase, but money was no object. The Flyer might not be the favourite in the race, but the horse was poised to be a contender if not a winner in the prestigious steeplechase.

‘What do you propose we do?’ The big man across the desk hefted the coin pouch in a meaty hand. ‘I could make items disappear around the stable, or plant a burr in a saddle…?’

Gregory Windham dismissed those suggestions with a wave of his long hand. ‘Those are the second-rate tactics of an amateur.’

He pointed to the bag of coins. ‘Take the money and buy drinks tomorrow night at the tavern. Tell everyone what really goes on at the riding school of hers.’ It was time to reveal his daughter Eleanor’s confession and lift the veil of obscurity Aurora kept around her lifestyle at the stables.

The big man thought for a moment. ‘I’m scheduled to go shoe her horses this week. Won’t it look odd if I’m spreading those rumours and still doing business out there?’

‘You won’t be doing business there any longer.’ Gregory Windham drew out another pouch and slid it across the desk. ‘This should more than suffice to cover your losses in that regard.’ He held the blacksmith’s hard eyes with a cold gaze of his own. ‘There’s more money for you when she leaves town and even more when the horse I’ve invested in wins St Albans.’

The blacksmith grinned. ‘I’ll be a rich man by the month’s end.’

And Aurora Calhoun will be ruined, Gregory Windham thought silently as his henchman departed. It was no less than she deserved. The woman was a threat to all he’d spent years accomplishing. He’d used his money to buy his daughter a titled match with a baron and to establish a small but prime stable a nobleman would respect.

He was hovering on the brink of acceptance into the ranks of the peerage. His future grandson would have a title. Even now, Eleanor rode at Aurora Calhoun’s academy solely because the earl’s ward rode there. Originally, it had been a good social-climbing opportunity. Now, such an association endangered his dreams. Eleanor had become obstinate over the match, spouting too many philosophies she hadn’t learned at home. Windham knew exactly where she’d learned them. They were the same philosophies Aurora Calhoun had spouted when she’d rejected his attentions the one time he’d thought to recruit her to his side. He’d offered her the position of his mistress. She had all but bodily thrown him out of her stables.

Gregory Windham shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Just recalling how that hellcat had railed at him, spitting furiously at his offer, brought his arousal to life. His cheek had borne a bruise from the flat of her hand for days. She’d been magnificent in her anger, her eyes like emerald flames, her dark hair loose about her, an exquisite flowing curtain.

It would bring him great pleasure to subdue the wildness she exuded. Wild things were meant to be tamed. Aurora Calhoun, that tease of a siren, was going to pay. Women had a place in this world. He would make sure Aurora Calhoun knew hers.

Chapter Three

Crispin blew in his cupped hands and rubbed them together vigorously as he entered the relatively warmer interior of the Calhoun stables. Mornings were colder in England than he remembered and certainly colder than the ones he’d most recently experienced in the south of Europe. Crispin strode towards Sheikh’s stall, anxious to see how his horse had fared during his first night in his new home.

Horses whickered as he passed and a few poked their long faces out into the aisle. Even though it was early, the horses were alert and had already been fed. One stall was empty. He recognised it as the stall belonging to Aurora’s horse. Perhaps she was out on a morning ride, although Crispin thought it was too foggy yet for that to be a safe option. He’d been glad he’d walked across the valley this morning instead of riding. It would have been too easy to overlook a rabbit hole or a soft piece of land; too easy for a horse to take a misstep and be rendered lame or worse. Well, if Aurora was out that was her business. At least her absence meant he wouldn’t have to encounter her.

Crispin slipped a halter over Sheikh’s head and led him into the wide aisle of the stable for grooming. Crispin picked up a curry brush and began the morning ritual. He liked grooming Sheikh as much as Sheikh liked being brushed. Not usually a patient horse, Sheikh stood exceedingly still for brushing. Crispin found the ritual soothing. He could lose himself in thought, letting his mind wander freely. The stables were a place of peace for him, any stable. The smell of horses and leather tack were familiar no matter where.

He finished grooming Sheikh and quickly saddled him. Through the stable windows, he could see the fog starting to lift. He was eager to get back to Dursley Park and the hot breakfast that waited. Beside him, Sheikh shook his mane. Now that grooming was done, he was ready to be off too. Crispin fished in the wide pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a few slices of apple. Sheikh snapped them up as Crispin led him out into the morning.

The fog had definitely lifted, Crispin confirmed. He could actually see the indoor arena across the stable yard now. The faint sound of a horse’s nicker drew him that direction. He knew what he’d find inside before he and Sheikh arrived at the door. Aurora had not opted for a dangerous, foggy ride. She’d brought her horse to the arena for a morning workout.

Crispin manoeuvred himself and Sheikh into the shadows of the wide doorway to watch her practise. The arena was set up for jumping and she was executing the fences expertly. She finished the last jump in a corner and made a clean cross through the centre of the arena to the opposite corner and started again.

Magnificent, Crispin thought, his gaze focused on her hands and thighs, appreciating the subtle pressures each of those parts used to communicate with the horse. Her movements were so completely synchronised with the flow and bunching of the horse’s body that it seemed she barely moved at all. Crispin had no idea how long he’d stood there, but at last Sheikh gave him an impatient nudge and Crispin withdrew from the scene. He didn’t worry about being heard. From the look on her face when she’d drawn close to the entrance where he stood, Crispin knew she was in another place altogether. Her thoughts were entirely with her horse; when to move, when to ask for the leap in order to get the most height for the jump.