Chapter Eight

Flora decided she’d had enough of Asad’s antics.

And antics they were. The stallion reared on his hind legs, agitated equine complaints peppering the air. He’d balked at another break, his third one in a row.

Young David met her eyes as she brought the horse’s four hooves back on the ground, frustration evident in the clench of his jaw. “He’s just throwing a tantrum. He knows what to do.”

“Indeed he does.” She removed her hat and scrubbed her hand across her brow. It succeeded in calming her nerves. Giving into a temper at the same time Asad did was pointless, and she’d be damned if she showed the stubborn beast how upset he had made her.

Handing the reins to David, she slid off Asad’s back and considered him. “He’s tired. Take him for a drink and a rest, please.”

The young boy nodded, leading the stallion away with a stream of low chatter.

“Mr. Grant.”

Flora glanced over her shoulder as she walked back to the grooms’ quarters. Lord Amstead stood near the overhang of the barn, a forbidding look on his handsome face.

Containing a frown, she approached him—but stopped when he jerked his head to the left. “Come with me.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond before he prowled away. He led her out of the training paddocks and toward the north barn, and she followed, her mind racing. The set of his shoulders, the stiffness of his walk, proclaimed his anger, but she was at a loss as to the cause.

Abruptly he stopped, and she narrowly avoided running into his back. Pressing a hand to her chest, she angled her neck so she could meet his gaze. Oddly, he did not look at her.

“I know, William.” A sneer twisted his mouth. “Although I suppose that’s not your real name. It’s not terribly feminine.”

A bitter wind chilled her limbs. He couldn’t know. She’d been so careful. But then, what did he mean?

“I am afraid I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” He peered down at her then, his brown eyes narrowed critically. “I saw you.” He must have read some question on her face, because his brows rose in mockery. “At the pond.”

Faith, but she should have known the secluded pond was too good to be true. When she’d stumbled across it on one of her half days, she had been elated to have found a private place to tend to her ablutions. But she’d read enough Greek myths to know what happened when a maid bathed in the open, and Flora was certain she would not be transformed into a tree if she called out for help now.

Crinkling her brow, she hoped she appeared confused. “The pond?”

“Do not play the coquette. You are entirely too clever to think I’d be deceived by your attempt at deflection.”

Swallowing proved painful with a parched throat.

“What is your real name?”

Frantically searching for an excuse, any excuse, to put him off, she met his gaze. Something in it told her he knew her thoughts. The time for honesty had come. “Flora.”

“Flora,” he repeated, pronouncing the name like a curse. Still, it had never sounded more beautiful than it did on his tongue. “And your last name?”

“Grant.” Her grandmother had been a Grant, so she reasoned it was not a lie. Or, at least, not a big one.

“I was unsure if that part of your tale was true or another fabrication. Although, that accent would be hard to mimic.” He considered her with an intensity that made her flush under her clothes. “Your disguise fooled me for so long…” he paused, his brow furrowing, “yet now I am not sure how. It seems so obvious you’re a woman.”

Unable to maintain eye contact under such a confession, she dropped her gaze. “Men tend to see what they expect to see. You expected a young man named William, and that’s what you saw.”

“Apparently so.” The marquess crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. She was not quite ready to meet his stare. “Why are you here?”

“To learn how to train champion racehorses.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said, his voice overflowing with sarcasm.

“I’m sure you do. I reckon you believe women only think of the next ball. A juicy tidbit of gossip. A bit of Spanish lace.” She snorted. “I would wager you think only men and boys have an interest in horses and racing.”

Her tone was harsh and she was not sorry for it.

He cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps it’s merely because the women in my social circle are only interested in horsemanship as a pastime. A hobby. None have expressed serious interest in learning about my work.”

“And if they did, what would be your response?” She watched in grim satisfaction as he coughed into his hand. “Perhaps there are many women of your social circle who have more than a passing interest in horse racing, but few opportunities exist to explore and develop that interest.” Gritting her teeth, she looked toward the paddock. “Perhaps that’s why some women create their own opportunities.”

…

Damn, but this was not at all the attitude he’d expected to receive from William. Or Flora, as he now knew her to be.

And what a name. It brought to mind beauty and lightness and femininity. The woman he’d glimpsed at the pond was all those things. However, he had not anticipated the steel that gilded the petals of this Highland flower.

“I assume that’s what you think you have done.” He stroked his chin. “By donning a man’s attire and name, you’ve created your own opportunity. Did you find nothing wrong with deceiving your employer?”

“If I thought my employer would hire me based on my skills and experience, and not disqualify me solely on my sex, deception would not be necessary. As it was, I considered it a righteous act of self-interest.” She lifted a narrow shoulder along with her full black brow. “And seeing as how men always act out of self-interest, I found it only appropriate that I should, too.”

Her emerald green eyes sparkled with indignation and a wash of pink tinged her cheeks. Her lips looked soft and pillowy, and once again he wondered how he’d ever believed her to be a man. She was magnificent in a fit, and Christian found he could stare at her all day.

But he sensed he’d be inviting the worst sort of trouble if he did so. Where William had been respectful and soft-spoken, Flora was fiery temper and ferocious pride contained in a lovely package.

Yanking himself back to the moment, he ran his fingers down around his mouth. “I did not hire you, though. Mr. Mubarak did. Do you believe he would have turned you away in spite of your qualifications?”

The mention of Baniti’s name softened the irate lines on her face, but only just. “I did not know Mr. Mubarak, and I did not wish to take the chance I would be turned away.”

Christian wondered what the older man would do if he were presented with a candidate with strong skills and extensive experience, but who also happened to be female? He suspected that his trainer would respond in much the same way he would; but then, the Egyptian man had been known to surprise him.

“Mr. Mubarak tells me you worked at an estate in Yorkshire. Did this duke hire you as a woman, then?”

Her throat worked for a long moment. “No.”

“So you’ve been living as a man for…how long exactly?”

“Long enough to be sick of dressing like one.”

Her statement was uttered with such disgust that he chuckled. “I’m sure it’s very different from what you were used to wearing.”

She shook her head, although a smile curved up her lips. “I jest. I grow weary of disguising my true nature. Of suppressing the things that make me”—she blinked—“me.”

Intrigued, he asked, “And what things have you been suppressing?”

“My tongue, for one thing.” At his expression, she laughed. Dimples appeared on either side of her mouth and the small depressions completely changed her face. She looked young. Fresh. Lively. “I’ve never been one to withhold my opinion.”

“Even around your betters?” he ventured dryly.

An odd light flared in her eyes but was gone before he could identify it. “Some people recognize no masters.”

And yet, she’d been obedient. Meek. Hardworking the entire time she’d been at Amstead Gardens. Baniti sang her praises. Asad was fond of her and responded to her tutelage. The other grooms respected her. Suddenly he thought of Carson, and his stomach dropped.

“Did Carson know your true identity? Is that why he harassed you?” He bit the words out around clenched teeth.

“I don’t believe so. I simply believe he was upset that I was hired instead of him. He needed to assert himself somehow.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist as if insulating herself from harm, and Christian knew she had not been truthful. Just because he had been blind to her true identity didn’t mean anyone else had. He suspected that even Baniti was aware she was a woman.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. If Baniti was, in fact, aware of her true identity, it had not stopped him from keeping her on as a trainer. It had not stopped him from allowing her to ride Asad in their training sessions. It had not stopped him from asking for William’s opinion and in many cases, implementing his suggestions.

Mayhap it would behoove him to do the same.

“What is to happen now, my lord?” Her tone was conversational, but she stared at him with her shoulders thrown back and her chin lifted.

Christian exhaled and glanced toward the north barn. The way seemed clear. The Guineas was approaching quickly, and he could not afford a change from the routine. Asad responded to her patient, calm instruction, and that was all that mattered. It was time to push forward, and Flora was integral to that push.

He’d received a letter the previous morning from the investigator he’d hired to look into William Grant indicating that he was setting out for Scotland to search for information. Perhaps, if he hurried, he could send word to the man to investigate a Flora Grant instead.

“You’re to continue on as you have. Asad has made great progress with William, and I expect that progress to continue.”

Flora’s shoulders relaxed. “So I can stay?”

“You can.” He lowered his voice. “But, as the Guineas is around the corner, I will be assuming a more visible role in Asad’s training.”

“You will be keeping a close watch on me, you mean,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Of course. I may appreciate the job you have done with our stubborn stallion, but I find my trust has been violated.” She visibly bristled, and an odd sense of relief touched him as a result. If she were conning him, would she even be offended by his assumption? He doubted not.

Her green eyes raked him from boots to hat. “Well, I hope you can keep up with me, my lord.”

Christ, he hoped he could, too. If not, he sensed he would enjoy the challenge.