Chapter Thirteen

“Oh, I do beg your pardon.” Flora stepped back, her cheeks heating. She had wandered into Mr. Mubarak’s small office in search of his notebook where he recorded details about the horses and their race times. He usually kept it in his coat pocket, but had apparently forgotten it while he’d been reviewing feeding schedules. As they were taking Grey Belles out for sprints, Mr. Mubarak had wanted to compare her times to past sessions. Flora had thought nothing of his request to retrieve it…until that moment when she encountered Lord Amstead reclining in the chair, his boots propped on the desk. He was stripped to his shirtsleeves, which were pushed up to his elbows.

The sight of his firm forearms streaked with veins suddenly left her flushed.

“Were you looking for something, Flora?” he asked, raising a bored brow.

She licked her lips. “Mr. Mubarak’s notebook. He asked me to fetch it for him.”

Amstead pushed aside some of the papers on the desk, finally holding up the brown notebook. As she took it from his hand, their fingers brushed and she felt the jolt of awareness down to her toes. Since the accident, they had settled into a flirtatious sort of friendship. But she was mindful that a deep attraction simmered under the surface of their friendly banter…and it was becoming harder and harder to ignore, even though she knew that such an attraction could be detrimental to her future.

Flustered, Flora stumbled back, opening the book in a nervous search for something to cast her eyes upon. It took her a moment to realize the writing was Arabic.

“See something interesting?”

She glanced up, her pulse sprinting, to find herself the focus of his heavy-lidded gaze. Such a look threatened to incinerate her…and all her good sense.

When a ghost of a smile lit his mouth, she realized she had not answered. Faith, but very few people left her nonplussed, and unfortunately for her composure, the marquess was one of them.

Clearing her throat, she said, “As it’s in Arabic, I’m not sure.”

“Surely you’ve learned some of the language by now, considering you work with Baniti every day.”

“I hate to disappoint you,” she said in a contrite voice, “but we’ve been a tad too busy for language lessons.”

The marquess rose slowly to his feet, and Flora’s hungry gaze followed his movements. “I can teach you, if you’re keen?”

Her mouth dropped open. “You can?”

“Certainly,” he said, stopping by her side and pulling the book from her grip. Standing this close, she was acutely aware of the sheer size of him, of the strength that was evident in the flex of muscles in those captivating forearms. Her head barely reached his shoulders, yet he never made her feel small.

He flipped through the pages, soft puffs of air fanning over her heated skin. The room felt suffocating, condensed down to just him and his overwhelming presence. Flora could not help but compare her rapid breaths to his steady inhalations.

“Do you see this here?” Amstead asked, tapping a bit of writing on a page.

Flora squinted at it, willing herself to recognize the symbols. “What does it say?”

“It’s a question.”

She nodded, her eyes tracing over the unfamiliar script.

“It says, ‘May I kiss you?’”

Stifling a gasp, she jerked her gaze to his. Desire smoldered in its depths and, to balance herself, she grasped his arm. With a small, pleased smile, he ran his knuckles across her cheeks.

“Christ, I should not ask it of you.”

“Why not?”

Pushing a lock of wayward hair from her brow, he sighed. “Because you work for me. It’s not professional.”

“It’s not,” Flora agreed on a sigh. “But am I working for you now?”

A twinkle gleamed in his eyes. “Do you suppose you may take a break for a spell?”

She arched a brow. “Only if we can be unprofessional together.”

With a growl, he dropped the book on the desk and gathered her into his arms. Carefully. “Finally. I have longed to do this since I first laid eyes on you at the pond. I have wondered what your skin feels like. It’s smoother than silk,” he murmured, his nose tracing across her cheek. “I’ve wondered what your lips would taste like. What it would be like to lose myself in a kiss from the mouth that taunts my dreams.”

“Or are they nightmares?” she whispered, nipping at his thumb as it ran across her bottom lip.

Amstead chuckled. “It’s been a nightmare to wait. To wonder if it was only me who felt this longing.”

“I have longed for you since I laid eyes on your annoyed face as you barged into Asad’s stall.”

“Aww. So when I still thought you an impertinent lad.” He kissed her temple, inhaling deeply. “Well, since I’ve known you as Flora, you’ve been the star of all my fantasies.”

Pleased to the tips of her toes, Flora lifted her face to his. “Show me whether my fantasies of your kisses are as good as I imagined.”

At the touch of his lips to hers, she sighed, relaxing into his embrace. The feel of his arms about her made her feel secure. As if she could lose herself in pleasure for a time and not worry about her safety.

Her heart, she knew, was another matter altogether.

His caress was gentle, tender, as if savoring the very first sip of an aged wine. But soon Amstead deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue along the seam of her lips. Flora responded eagerly, opening her mouth and allowing her tongue to dance with his.

As their kiss grew more passionate, Amstead’s hands did not wander. While she longed for him to run them down her back and grip her hips closer to his, desperate to feel him there, he held a tight rein on his control. The marquess kept his arms wrapped about her, the firm feel of him pressed against her, his tantalizing scent, and enticing taste equal parts ecstasy and frustration to her runaway desire.

When he finally pulled his mouth from hers, burying his face in her neck, Flora struggled to control her breathing. She wagered now that he’d kissed her, her heart would always race like a Derby champion.

“Wow,” he murmured, his chuckle tickling the sensitive skin of her nape.

Wow, indeed.

…

After a boring afternoon tending to paperwork in his study, Christian was anxious for fresh air. Tucking the newly arrived bank draft from the Duke of Claremore into the ledger with a sigh of relief, he grabbed his coat and headed out the back door. His thoughts were less troubled outside, and solutions materialized more readily amongst the scents and sounds of his cattle.

Several minutes later, he walked into the paddock, his eyes searching for Baniti. The man had planned to work Asad against Flora’s black mare, and he wanted to make sure his stubborn assistant trainer did not plan on riding her mount.

But more so, Christian simply wanted to see her. Since their clandestine kiss the day before, he’d thought of nothing else. From the moment he’d given in to his desire for her, he’d felt as if he’d been drugged; for why else had he floated along, the promise of her smile the only thing tethering him to the ground?

Christian heard her irritated tone before he saw her. Stepping onto the path that led to the track, his gaze skipped over those arguing before it landed—and remained—on her.

“I could ride Banrigh with my eyes closed.” She threw her arms up, color high in her cheeks. She was breathtaking. “What should be of concern is how Asad runs against her.”

“Ya bintee, I’m concerned with you not listening to his lordship.” Baniti crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw set. “You are not to ride. Hopner is perfectly capable of riding your pretty mare.”

“No,” he said in unison with Flora.

She swung her head about to look at him, a hopeful expression filling her green eyes.

Christ, but her trust was a kick in the teeth.

Turning to the blond-haired man who stood close to her black mare, he jerked his chin toward the stables. “I’ll ride her today.”

The man’s eyes grew wide at the same time Flora exclaimed, “You will?”

Christian nodded, reaching out to take the reins from her. She handed them over without a fight. “I want to see Asad up close, while he’s in motion. But as I’m so much larger than you or David, I cannot ride him because I do not want to hinder his run. I figured this was the next best thing.”

“Banrigh is the best thing,” she said automatically. She received a nicker in agreement.

“I certainly did not mean to offend the lady,” he said, patting the black mare on the neck but holding Flora’s gaze.

She blushed and stepped back.

“Hopner, saddle Grey Belles and bring her here.”

That caught Christian’s attention. “You plan on racing her, too?”

Baniti shrugged, although his complexion grew ruddy. “Asad has only been challenged in match races. Let us see how he does with more than one horse on the track with him.”

Smacking his hands together, Christian chuckled. “Excellent idea!”

As they waited for Hopner to bring Grey Belles out, Christian focused on the pretty black mare in front of him while he tried to ignore her charismatic owner. He ran a hand along her flanks, admiring her athletic lines and shiny coat, before staring into her alert, intelligent dark eyes.

“She likes to be admired. If you keep looking at her in that way, she’ll be pressing her head into your chest, intent on scratches and rubs.”

Christian chuckled. “Most ladies respond that way when I give them that look.”

Flora snorted. “She might also nip your ear again. Or your finger this time. So do be careful.”

“My, she’s a contrary female, isn’t she?”

“What you consider contrary I consider discerning.” She smiled. “Banrigh does not suffer fools. And she should not have to.”

Somehow Christian suspected that her words referred to more than just the black mare.

“Have you suffered many fools in your life?” he had to ask.

“I’m suffering one right now.” As soon as the words left her lips, her eyes grew wide and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Her response tempered any sting he may have felt.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I have no excuse. The opportunity was there and my tongue took it before my brain had a chance to overrule it.”

Christian considered her for several heartbeats, taking in her contrite expression. It was obvious she had spoken without thought…yet he suspected there was more to prompt her words than she had confessed.

And like a rambunctious boy with a stick, he could not help but prod her.

“Why do you think you suffer fools?”

She scowled. “Because they exist.”

“Well, naturally.” He wiped a smile from his face. “But could it be because, as a woman, you have been taught to court flowery praise and admiration?”

“Seeing as how the only thing prized in young women, or women in general, is beauty, then yes.” Her mouth morphed into a line of displeasure. “Do you think all women are desirous of such attention?”

He took a moment to collect his thoughts, acutely aware that his reply would be judged and weighed swiftly. For reasons he did not have time to examine, her opinion mattered to him. “Every person I have ever met, and not just the women of my acquaintance, has enjoyed being admired. Admiration brings you attention; attention grants you a voice. Now Banrigh and Grey Belles and Asad obviously don’t possess voices as you and I do, but they respond to words of praise just the same. They preen. They simper. And they find ways to earn such praise again, because that praise translates into extra attention. Pampering. ”

He plowed on. “The women I have known are much the same. Admiration for their looks leads to attention, and attention leads to power. And that power can take many forms, whether it’s power within their social circles or power to make decisions affecting their own lives.” He paused, noting that her gaze was glued to him. “I suspect you learned this lesson early.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do.” Christian took a step closer to her. “I’m sure you discovered at a young age that your pretty face was a currency in itself, and you have yielded your smiles and those delectable dimples as commodities and rewards in turn.”

Flora opened and closed her mouth several times before she snapped it shut. Erasing the distance between them, she stroked Banrigh’s muzzle. “Make no mistake, my lord. My attention, be it in the form of smiles, dimples, or laughs, is always a reward.”

Heat streaked through him and coalesced in his groin when she arched a full black brow at him in punctuation. Before he could respond, crunching footsteps on the gravel reached his ears.

“There you are, Hopner. What a relief it is to see that Grey Belles proved cooperative,” Baniti said, clapping his hands. “We weren’t sure.”

“She was in the west pasture, so it took me some time to locate her, sir,” the older groom said, patting the mare’s side.

“Are we ready to begin?” the trainer interrupted, his voice impatient.

“We are at your direction,” Christian said as he swung himself up onto the mare.

“I doubt that,” Baniti grumbled.

Christian exchanged a glance with Flora, who pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

“Come and take your marks.” The trainer gestured to the starting line with outstretched hands. “I’d like to run several heats, so let’s not dawdle.”

Christian positioned Banrigh at the starting line, fighting to keep her from sidestepping. The mare tossed her head about, nickering and straining at her bit in turn. She was as much a competitor as her mistress, and he suspected he understood the deep bond between the horse and her rider. A smile remained on his face even as he battled the mare for control.

Without warning, Flora appeared at their side. Banrigh turned her great head and nuzzled her cheek, causing Flora to bat away her affections. “Not now, my lass.” Gripping the horse’s bridle, she pulled until the mare met her eyes. “You can beat this lad and I expect you to. He needs to learn that Scottish lasses are not to be defeated.”

Christian shifted uncomfortably in his seat when he realized that Flora had lifted her head as she voiced the last part, her gaze holding his. He had no intention of dominating her. But such a mental declaration brought forth visions of Flora in his bed, her pale pink skin under his fingertips, her brilliant eyes closed as he brought her to new, exquisite heights. Her breath hot against his skin as she reciprocated.

Lord, but now was not the time to be aroused. There was work to be done.

“She does not take kindly to the whip.” Flora adjusted the mare’s bridle, her slim, capable hands moving over the straps with confidence. “A nudge to her side and she’ll be off. Banrigh knows what’s expected of her and she enjoys competition.”

“So does Asad.” Christian studied the stallion, who was tossing his head about, fidgeting with the bit. Hopner had lined up Grey Belles on the opposite side of him, and he was beside himself with excitement. For his part, David managed to control Asad with a firm hold, even as his own excitement caused a grin to brighten his freckled cheeks.

From the corner of his gaze, he saw Flora grow still. He turned to her with a frown. “Is everything well?”

“I—I just thought of something.”

Without another word, she darted to Asad, motioning for David to lean down so she could give him instructions.

Christian could not hear what she said, but David’s expression darkened in confusion. “Are you sure?”

Flora nodded curtly.

What had she told him?

She approached Hopner and Grey Belles next, giving the groom a few words before patting the mare on her neck.

Christian’s considerations were cut short as Baniti raised the red flag. Leaning low over Banrigh’s neck, he whispered, “Let’s have some fun, my bonny lass.”

The flag swooshed down and the mare sprang forward, her hooves seeming to glide above the ground as she dashed down the track. She had a stellar break—no crop or whip would be necessary.

Confident Banrigh had settled into her stride, he focused his attention on Asad. The stallion was a half length ahead of them, his hooves thundering across the turf, his stride graceful and powerful. His ears were back, his massive body exerting great force. The air left Christian’s lungs at the sight of the beast showcasing such dominant mastery.

Asad maintained a full length’s to a half length’s lead on Banrigh and Grey Belles for the majority of the race, but inexplicably, as they entered the far left turn, he slowed. Christian’s brow crinkled as David pulled back on the reins, bringing the stallion even with the mares once again. Why would he do such a thing—and just when they were about to enter the final stretch?

Suddenly it occurred to him, and Christian laughed. David was allowing Asad to get one final look at his competition, one last reminder of who his opponents were and how close they were to him, before setting him free. And set him free he did. The great beast lunged away, his grunts of exertion louder than the pounding of horse hooves. When he and Banrigh crossed the line, Asad was already slowing down, prancing and swishing his tail.

He couldn’t keep a smile from his face.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Christian swung down from Banrigh’s back and caught Flora’s shoulders as she jogged up, her dimples bracketing a huge grin. He longed to kiss her. “You knew he needed a reminder that he wasn’t just running to run; he was running to win.”

“I wagered he would respond if he knew the ladies were hot on his heels.” She looked to her mare. “And you were superb, my lass. You made that big beast even better.”

She skipped away to Grey Belles and plied her with equal amounts of praise.

“He was outstanding!” Baniti took off his hat and smacked it against his thigh as the stallion trotted back to them. His face appeared ten years younger. “I knew he had it in him, but that was simply remarkable.”

“Did you know what William told David to do?” Christian inquired.

“Not until that final stretch did I guess.” Baniti chuckled. “Very clever.”

“Indeed.”

As David led Asad to them, Christian reached out and snagged his reins. “Grand showing. You were magnificent.”

“And you did well, too, lad,” Baniti said, assisting David down from his perch. “How did he run?”

The lad took off his hat and rubbed a hand across his brow. His eyes sparkled and his voice was tremulous. “He was like a great machine. Every muscle seemed to work together to push him on. He fought me a little when I slowed him, but once he got a good look at the ladies—well, he could not wait to outrun them.”

“How was he changing leads? From what I could tell, he seemed to transition into the first turn with ease, but how did he feel to you?”

“Swell.” The young man rubbed the back of his neck. “I did notice him taking longer to lengthen his stride as we were coming out of the first turn, but he didn’t seem to have that problem coming into the stretch.”

“No he didn’t.” Baniti narrowed his eyes as he studied the stallion. His expression brightened, and he gestured to a waiting groom. “Let him cool off and then take him to the west pasture.”

After thanking David, Christian turned to his trainer and arched a brow. “Tell me your thoughts.”

The men chatted for several minutes as Baniti outlined his training plan for ensuring that Asad transitioned leads smoothly between straights and turns. Christian offered a few suggestions, but on the whole was vastly pleased with the other man’s proposal.

Loud voices caught his attention. Scowling, Christian looked over his shoulder to see Hopner, still on Grey Belles’ back, shaking a finger at Flora who stood before them, the reins looped around her hand.

Christian took a step in their direction.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive,” Hopner growled. His lips curled in distaste. “I know the sort of encouragement a horse needs in a race, and it’s not whispering sweet words in its ear.”

“I don’t care about the words you use or the things you say. I care that I asked you to withhold your crop on Belles and you used it anyway.”

Flora’s words were enunciated with slow precision. It was the only indication that she was upset. She simply stared at Hopner as blandly as if he had asked her for another cup of tea.

“Mubarak has never had a problem with me using a crop on the horses. And neither did the previous trainer,” Hopner asserted, his complexion a deep red.

“It’s Mr. Mubarak.” Her mouth pinched. “And I have absolutely no interest in what the trainer before me did. I’m the assistant trainer now, and I told you to keep your crop away from Belles. When I give you instructions, I expect you to see them through.”

“Not when they’re ridiculous instructions, I won’t.” He leaned down, his voice a hiss. “You shouldn’t even be the trainer anyway. Carson and I were in line for those positions, before you and the Egyptian showed up.”

Christian could hold his tongue no longer.

“I don’t know who told you that Banbury tale, but they told you a monstrous lie.” He pinned the other man to his saddle with a glare. “I did not even know yours or Carson’s names before Mr. Grant and Mr. Mubarak informed me of them. You would think that I’d at least remember the names of the men who were supposedly slated to take over the training in my stables.”

The groom opened and closed his mouth, his eyes wide.

“And seeing how disrespectful you are to your superiors, I can honestly say I wish I had known your names before now.” He jerked his head for the man to dismount. Once he had, Christian stepped in front of him, his voice dropping to a whisper. “That way I may have sacked you sooner.”

“But, my lord,” Hopner began.

“I believe I’ve heard quite enough.” Christian planted his hands on his hips. “Be gone from here. Now.”

Neither he, Flora, nor Baniti moved as Hopner scuttled away.

Once he had disappeared into the stables, Baniti took Grey Belles’s reins from Flora and led the mare away. “I want to make sure he leaves as soon as possible.”

Christian looked to his assistant trainer, whose gaze was glued to the spot where the older groom had disappeared into the stables.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she said.

“Didn’t I?” He tugged on his lapels. “He was insubordinate, which is something I will not stand for at Amstead Gardens.”

“I’m insubordinate all the time.”

“Your superior enjoys it.”

A teasing smirk brightened her face, even as her eyes darted to his mouth. Damn, but the opportunity to kiss her again, quite thoroughly, could not come soon enough. He pivoted to walk away. After several steps, Christian looked over his shoulder. “You were right.”

“About what, exactly?”

“Banrigh is the best thing.”

Her delighted chuckle lightened his step all the way back to the stables.