Taming The Duke

Alicia steeled herself. “I admire a well-trained horse, but to have one seek me out and give me a kiss shows your hand as a spectacular trainer.” Any chance that the trick was a coincidence was erased by the answering twinkle in Wexton’s eyes.

“I’ve reconsidered my decision to help your stallion, Bashshar,” Alicia said, hoping the statement sounded as though it was her idea. “You can expect me to arrive at Havencrest by the first of next week. I expect to have private quarters where I can isolate myself and Bashshar away from people. I refuse to be put up in the main house. I need nothing fancy, a suite prepared above the carriage house will do.” She met his attentive gaze. “Are there any questions concerning my terms?”

Wexton studied her with an interested look. “What changed your mind so quickly, may I ask?”

Alicia braced her shoulders. What changed her mind, indeed. No doubt he’d known that her family was purse-pinched, and her father would never allow her to back out of the chance to own such an expensive mare as Cinnamon Rose.

“I’m not doing this favor for you, your grace. I’m doing this for your stallion.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said finally. “I’ll leave Cinnamon Rose here, at your stable. If you journey to Havencrest, regardless of your decision to remain and help my stallion, your kindness earns you the mare.”

“Take Cinnamon Rose with you. A finer animal I’ve never seen. Although my father is lord of the manor, he allows me to manage the few horses that make up our breeding stable. I’ll add to my horses quite nicely without any help from you.”

Dalton caught the mare’s line as she tossed it to him. He sat, dazed, while Alicia raised her head and swept across the lawn toward the manor, as proud as any English filly.

He felt as though he’d been properly put in his place, but what the hell had he done to deserve it? He rubbed his chin as he watched her stroll along the drive. Egad, he’d never met a more cantankerous wench. Were all the females in her father’s household as disagreeable and cranky as Alicia? If so, no wonder old man Spencer found comfort in the gin bottle.

Candlelight glowed from the massive, tiered chandeliers in the great salon of Havencrest. Ionic columns graced the second-floor balustrade where Dalton stood, gazing down upon the couples dancing quadrilles to the lilting music.

For the past week, Dalton had thought of nothing but this day, when Lady Alicia would arrive at Havencrest and finally meet Bashshar. The carpenters had been hammering day and night to finish the quarters Alicia had requested. If only she could cure Bashshar. His gut clenched again when he thought of the animal’s worsening anxiety. Was he selfish to try to keep Bashshar alive?

His gaze swept the faces of his mother’s guests for the week-long country party. How he detested these boring affairs. If he hadn’t expected Lady Alicia today, he would be long gone, buried with work, overseeing the fields, anywhere as long as he was away from his mother and the trappings of Society.

“Dalton, I beg your attention.”

He turned to see his sister Olivia, her lovely face pinched with concern. “Sister, have you found out what I asked you concerning Lady Alicia?”

“Not yet, but I expect Great-Aunt Mary will know. I expect her any time now.” She grinned. “I must say, Dalton, from what you’ve told me about Lady Alicia, I’m as curious to find out about her background as you are.”

Dalton nodded. “Then what serious business drives you from the arm of your devoted Robert?”

Olivia’s blue eyes sparkled with pleasure at the mention of her husband. “There’s a fuss going on downstairs. The butler is extremely upset and insists that only you can remedy the situation.”

“Thank God for small favors,” he said with a smile. He knew his sister understood that he would rather be alone with the horses than playing host to the ton.

“Dalton, I’ve seen so little of you this past week. Are you purposely avoiding your family?” She smiled mischievously. “Or are you trying to avoid Elizabeth?”

Olivia was teasing, he knew. She couldn’t keep her face straight as she gazed down at the black-and-white marble dance floor to the slender blond woman, who appeared to be flirting outrageously while dancing with a viscount. Olivia held on to her brother’s sleeve, showing no intention to let go until he answered her.

“I’ve not avoided anyone deliberately,” Dalton said, watching the blonde blush becomingly as several young men joined the growing circle of admirers. Elizabeth had been engaged to his younger brother, Drake, and after his death, the dowager duchess and Elizabeth had presumed she would eventually marry Dalton, something he had never encouraged. He liked Elizabeth, but only as a man cares for a younger sister. She was a graceful little thing, but too spoiled for his taste.

“Look how the lady gathers men’s hearts,” he said to Olivia. “I’m certain that Elizabeth hasn’t even noticed that I’ve been gone.” He smiled as he gently removed his sister’s hand from his sleeve.

Olivia’s delicate brow lifted. “Her flirtations are only a ruse to make you jealous. She’s mad about you. I overheard her say that she hopes you’ll announce your engagement to her before the party ends next weekend.”

Dalton frowned. “I’ve never invited the idea, my dear. It’s our mother who encourages her, not me.”

Olivia nodded. “That may be true, but I think Elizabeth needs very little encouragement, Dalton. The only heart she wants is yours, dear brother. I’d be very careful, if I were you.”

“Don’t worry, Olivia. I have no wish to marry Elizabeth or anyone.”

She tilted her fair-haired head to one side. “I so wish you’d find a woman who will make you happy,” Olivia continued. “You deserve the pleasures that a wonderful marriage can offer.”

He smiled at the romantic young woman of whom he was so proud. “Little sister, I hope life never rears its ugly head and disappoints you.”

She scowled at him. “You’re much too young to be so cynical, Dalton.”

Dalton’s only answer was an enigmatic smile. “Excuse me, dear Olivia, but I must see what the butler wants.”

Ignoring Olivia’s look of frustration, he turned and waded through the sea of guests. Maybe when he returned, the overdue Lady Alicia will have arrived.

Raised voices greeted Dalton before he reached the main hall. At the front entrance, Jarvis, the butler, towered over the slightly built young woman in front of him. On second glance, Dalton recognized Alicia with her hair pulled severely beneath a low-brimmed bonnet. Although she wore a traveling cape over her gown, he could imagine her shapely feminine charms hidden by the loose-fitting garment. The servant turned at the sound of Dalton’s footsteps.

“Er, your grace. This lady refuses to give her name, and she refuses to speak to anyone but you.”

Dalton smiled at the plainly dressed young woman before him. “Quite all right, Jarvis.” To the young woman scowling up at him, he said, “Welcome to Havencrest, Lady Alicia. I’ve been expecting you.”

The butler’s face paled when he realized the duke actually was acquainted with the lady. “I—I’m sorry, your grace, I—I—”

“I’ll take care of the matter, Jarvis.” Dalton led her from the hall and out the front door. “Come this way, Lady Alicia.” He signaled a groom standing outside. “Bring my curricle around. I’ll drive it myself.” The groom dashed off along the sheltered path leading to the carriage house.

While they waited, Dalton glanced at Alicia, wanting to see her expression, but she turned away, her face in shadow. “I’ll show you to your quarters, myself,” he said.

He saw her steal a look at him beneath her floppy hat brim. “I asked that I not be quartered in the manor house.”

Dalton peered down at her. “Your lodging is separate from the manor. In fact, the cottage is so far away that I’ve requested my carriage, my lady.” He was relieved to see her relax slightly. Damn, she was the most peculiar thing. But if she was willing to help Bashshar, he shouldn’t care if she wanted to bed down with the cattle.

The young groom arrived with the handsome black curricle pulled by a sprightly set of grays. The groom handed her up to the front seat while Dalton took the reins. Within minutes, the carriage clattered down the well-trimmed path along the gardens, past the numerous outbuildings, over a stone bridge and through a grove of trees. On the other side, the sheltered path curved toward a small cottage surrounded by trees and hedges.

Alicia stared at the thatched-roof bungalow. Dalton watched her brown eyes widen; her full lips formed an O of surprise before she masked her feelings. “Is this where I am…?”

He felt relieved at her pleased reaction. “I hope you find the quarters suitable, my lady. If not—”

“I’m certain the cottage will be most suitable.”

Dalton didn’t know what benefit she’d gain from sleeping away from the manor house, and he really didn’t care. “If you change your mind—”

“I’m here to be with Bashshar. He’s all that interests me at Havencrest. I had already instructed the groomsman to bring my trunks to my quarters.”

“Then if there’s nothing else you require…?”

“No, your grace.” Alicia covered her mouth with her dainty hand and as if on cue, yawned. “It’s been a frightfully long journey. I’m quite tired.”

Dalton turned to walk away, then paused. “Tomorrow morning, after breakfast, I’ll introduce you to Bashshar.”

“Why not now?”

“Because it’s late, and I don’t want the horse overly excited.”

“Good evening.” She bobbed a short curtsey and strode toward the cottage.

Dalton hid his smile as she dismissed herself without his permission. “Good evening, my lady.” No doubt the lady knew such behavior in front of a duke was considered a faux pas. Dash! He had hoped her distaste for him might have mellowed.

Dalton climbed into the curricle and headed back toward the manor. By now, maybe Olivia had learned something about this perplexing female.

Before he drove the carriage over the bridge, he gave in to the impulse to sneak a glance at her. She was standing at the cottage door, watching him.

Dalton smiled. Damn, she was an odd thing. And he couldn’t help wonder, again, what caused her to take such an instant dislike to him.

Alicia watched the elegant carriage pause before slipping out of sight. Aye, Wexton was as polite and charming as Lucifer—and just as handsome. In his elegant evening attire, he was all that and more. She nibbled her lower lip. Although she had risked his anger, he had not only tolerated her wishes, but appeared challenged by them. She took that as a victory. He’d met her demands, and built a fetching little cottage. The whitewash was still damp in places, and she’d wager that the roof thatch was so fresh it would shine like spun gold in tomorrow’s sunlight.

She hesitated before opening the door. How she’d hoped that the fluttery feelings in her stomach, when she was near Wexton, would have faded by now. How strange she felt when he stared at her with his penetrating blue eyes.

In the darkness, the sound of horses’ soft nickering from the nearby stables provided her with a familiar comfort. A wave of curiosity rose as she yearned to investigate Wexton’s prize-winning stock. Far and wide, men spoke of the duke’s horses, which were among the most splendid in England. She should wait until morning when the animals wouldn’t be so unsettled by a stranger in their midst. But her insatiable curiosity wouldn’t permit her to wait one more minute. The building was so huge, surely if she looked around for only a few minutes, no harm could come from that.

A short while later after she had settled in, Alicia slid the livery door open. She gasped, unable to believe her eyes. Walls of white alabaster marble rose to meet frescoed ceilings where every few yards lanterns flickered from ornate grillwork. White-graveled aisles led to the individual horses’ quarters past the immense tack room with dozens of hooks holding bridles, harnesses and rows of saddles. “My stars!”

To the right, a hinged sign above the passageway announced the stable hands’ wing. She peeked inside one of the empty chambers. The room was immaculate and its furniture clean and proper. The stable hands’ quarters were larger and more comfortable than her chambers at Marston Heath!

She hurried to take a glance at some of the horses. Lifting a lantern from its hook, Alicia strode past the tack room toward the horse stalls.

“Wha’ ye doin’?” A lad, not much older than her ten-and-four-year-old sister, poked his head out from the last stall. She had apparently awakened him by the look of his tousled red hair and sleepy eyes.

“I’m inspecting the quarters,” Alicia replied. “Who are you?”

The boy warily studied her plain dress and riding boots. “Name is Penn. I’m one o’ the stable boys.” He scratched his head and frowned. “Ain’t never seen ye before.”

Alicia bit back a smile. “I’ll be working here for a while,” she said instead.

A golden horse, similar in size to her own stallion, stuck its head over the stall gate and neighed a welcome.

Without a thought, Alicia peered over the rail, eager to see the animal’s conformation. Suddenly, from the far end of the stable, came a piercing cry, followed by a chorus of whinnies from the other horses.

“What was that pitiful sound?” Alicia asked.

Penn’s freckled face paled. “Nothin’.”

“Nothing?” Alicia pushed past him and rushed toward the racket. The agonizing sound reminded her of the day, last spring, when one of her mares had broken loose and wandered along the river. Alicia had followed that fearful bellow until she found her horse, stuck in the mud, just in time to save her from a pack of wild dogs.

The racket in the stable stopped as quickly as it had began. Raising the lantern, Alicia rounded the next row of horse stalls. At the end of the wall stood another box stall, walls too high to peer over.

Alicia forgot everything as she dashed toward the cubicle, hung the lantern on a peg and lifted the stout beam that held the door fast.

“Don’t go in there, Miss,” Penn yelled. “E’ll kill ye.”

Ignoring the stableboy’s warning, Alicia stepped inside and closed the door behind her. In one corner stood a massive black stallion, trembling with fear. The horse’s piercing black eyes were ringed in white as he backed into the corner, watching her with apprehension.

Alicia gasped. Somehow she knew this Thoroughbred must be Wexton’s Bashshar. Dismissing thoughts of the man, she moved away from the stall’s door to give the animal a sense that he wasn’t cornered.

He tossed his massive head; the lantern’s soft glow emphasized the fiery glints along his satiny black coat. The stallion pawed the ground, ears laid flat against his head, teeth bared.

Alicia’s need to comfort far outweighed her fear. In a low clear sound, she began to hum, while in her mind she pictured a soothing image—wind rippling through swaying willow branches. At a safe distance from the horse, she stood still, allowing him to become accustomed to her scent. Although Alicia thought the stallion might rear, she held her ground and continued to hum.

She looked for some outward sign of his distress. Raised white scars zigzagged across the animal’s left flank, shining in the lantern light. She grimaced but leaned closer. The laceration had occurred within the month, as indicated by the proud flesh—the raised, white tissue—that formed around the wound.

She met the animal’s frightened eyes. Aye, what troubled the horse was more than his wounds. She could feel his terror and agony.

Penn peeked through a knothole in the wooden wall. Immediately, the horse caught the brief movement; his eyes again were ringed in white. Lips curling, the animal let out another terrifying scream. Alicia felt as if her body were being ripped in two. She squeezed her eyes shut, and reached to touch the animal’s neck.

Immediately, the horse’s feelings of fear and confusion shot through her—feelings so intense that she thought she had been pounded hard alongside the ear. Forcing the fervor from her mind, Alicia cleared her thoughts and braced herself. Her hand pressed gently along Bashshar’s warm, silky neck.

“Nobody dares touch the ‘orse ‘cept ‘is lordship.” Penn had opened the door a crack, keeping a respectful distance from her and the stallion.

Alicia turned to face the lad, “Then this is Bashshar?”

Penn nodded, his eyes wide.

“How did the accident happen?”

When Penn didn’t answer, she stopped petting the horse and backed up toward the door, moving very carefully so as not to frighten Bashshar.

“I asked you how the accident happened.”

“Dunno.”

“Nonsense. A valuable animal like Bashshar is injured and the stable boy knows nothing about it?” Maybe it was the severe look she gave him, but Penn finally answered her.

“Me father is Ulger, the stable master. He said fer me t’ say nothin’ ’bout that night.” Penn muttered so softly she could barely hear him.

“Why would your father give such an order?” But as soon as she’d asked, she wondered if Ulger felt intimidated by the duke. She decided on a change of tactic. “Was the duke of Wexton riding Bashshar when the injury occurred?”

Penn’s widening hazel eyes was his only answer.

“Please, Penn. If I knew how the horse was injured, it would help me understand him.” She felt guilty pressing the lad, but she needed to find out what she could. “Was the duke riding the horse when the accident occurred?” she repeated.

Penn pressed his lips into a grim line. “Yes, my lady. An’ weren’t no accident, neither.” His gaze narrowed with intended meaning.

“Surely you don’t mean that someone deliberately harmed the animal?” She studied Penn, who immediately averted his gaze.

No, Alicia thought. Penn wouldn’t dare say anything derogatory about his master, either. She took a deep breath. “Did you see—” she hesitated “—the incident?”

Penn shook his head. “Me father an’ the master brought the horse in an’—” He shook his red curls. “Never saw Bashshar like ’e was that night. Never saw any animal like ’im, thank God. When I asked what ‘appened, they told me t’ get out an’ sleep in the servants’ wing.” Penn glanced around as if he might be overheard. “After I left the stable, I couldn’t sleep thinkin’ o’ th’ poor creature’s sufferin’.”

Although she wanted to know more, Alicia didn’t want Penn telling Ulger or the duke that she was prodding the lad with questions. She’d find out what she needed to know in her own way. “Thank you, Penn. I won’t say a word to anyone about the matter.”

He gave her an uneasy look, then scratched his head.

Alicia felt the horse begin to settle. “Go back to sleep, Penn. I’d like to remain with Bashshar for a time.”

His eyes rounded like amber saucers. “B-but…”

She smiled reassuringly. “If your father should question you, I’ll explain to him in the morning.”

“It’s not me father I fear, my lady. It’s ’is lordship. ’E’ll eat me alive if ’e finds I let ye near ’is ’orse.”

Surprised that Penn hadn’t been told earlier that she was coming to help work with Bashshar, Alicia wondered how many people Dalton had told about her arrival. “Let me worry about his lordship.”

Penn hesitated, then glanced at the stallion. Bashshar tossed his head, the long silky mane shimmering like black satin in the lantern light. “The beast does seem quieter,” Penn said after a moment.

Alicia purposely waited for Penn’s approval. She sensed that the lad, although now frightened of Bashshar, held great respect and pride for the stallion.

“I think Bashshar likes ye,” the lad said finally, as though he’d considered the matter carefully. “’E might enjoy yer company.” Penn gave her a furtive glance, then dashed out of sight, his footfalls fading along the crushed gravel.

After the boy left, Alicia was still caught up in the intense feelings of her intuition. Although the stallion was still terrified of her, she sensed that eventually, she might earn the horse’s trust. But first, she must insist upon the truth about the accident from Wexton.

A shiver passed over her. She glanced out the window to the golden glow of Havencrest, sitting in the distance like a glittering diamond against the inky velvet sky.

Whatever the truth, Wexton, I’ll find it out, you can be sure of that.

Chapter Three

When Dalton returned to the ballroom, he was more determined than ever to find out what Olivia had learned about the mysterious Lady Alicia. His gaze veered toward the crush of his mother’s guests—London’s finest. Damn, his sister was nowhere in sight.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Elizabeth waving to him from a crowd of admiring young bucks. Dalton nodded politely, giving her a warm smile.

His mother caught his attention. Garbed in black widow’s weeds, her diamond tiara atop her elaborately styled black hair, Mildred, the five-and-fifty-year-old dowager duchess of Wexton was still an attractive woman. She held court to the admiring throng of society’s ton as she always had. Several wives of the earls and viscounts met his eye. Dalton gave them a perfunctory nod.

His mother knew the latest rumor and scandal, although she’d never admit it to him. How ironic, he mused. As he stood watching her, the unbidden childhood image of his mother and her lover jumped into Dalton’s thoughts. He immediately pushed away the painful memory.

Reluctantly, Dalton made his way through the crush until he stood at his mother’s side.

“It’s about time you made your appearance, Dalton.” With stony dignity, her fingers brushed the glittering onyx-and-diamond necklace at her throat. In a whisper for his ears only, she added, “I expect you to attend these—”

“Dalton,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She curled her hand around his sleeve, then gave the dowager a most dazzling smile.

“Your grace, surely you don’t wish to keep your son from his guests?” she teased. “We see so little of Dalton as it is.”

A look of pleasure transformed the older woman’s thin face. “Surely my son doesn’t ignore you, dear Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth coquettishly tilted her head at Dalton. “Yes, he ignores me most outlandishly.” She pursed her lips into a delicate pout.

“I have been attending to the needs of one of the guests,” Dalton said without emotion. “A special favor, you might say.”

Curiosity sparkled Elizabeth’s green eyes. “A special guest? Do I know him?”

“I couldn’t say.” Dalton felt a hint of satisfaction in countering her undisguised curiosity. He patted her gloved hand. “I’m afraid I must be leaving,” he said, peeling her hand from his arm. “I hope to see you tomorrow.”

His mother waved her fan in a furious blur.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mother.” He gave her a dismissive bow, then one to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth’s cheeks blushed. He wasn’t aware that she had followed him out of the ballroom until he reached the hall. She rounded on him. “How dare you ignore me!”

Dalton stepped to one of the small private alcoves along the corridor. “Elizabeth, please—”

“You bastard!” Elizabeth’s eyes glittered with outrage. “How dare you treat me with such open disdain in front of everyone?”

Surprised, Dalton took a step back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She glared back. “Oh, yes, you do. Only this morning, Lady Fredricks told me that I should learn to whinny if I hope to gain any attention from you.” Angry red blotches begin to spread along her face and neck. “I’ll not become a laughingstock because of you. I won’t be ignored any longer!” She slapped his cheek, then spun around and rushed back toward the ballroom.

Dalton rubbed his stinging cheek and sighed. What in hell had brought that on?

“Dalton!” Olivia rushed along the hall to his side. “Whatever did you do to Elizabeth—?”

“I’m afraid it’s not what I did. It’s what I refused to do,” he replied playfully.