Chapter Sixteen

“He’s doing his damnedest to unseat you.” Mr. Mubarak raised a hand in warning. “Hold!”

Flora was already clamping her thighs about the horse. His great body twitched as if he was working himself into a lather, and when he finally erupted, she was prepared. She rode out the gelding’s bucks and sidesteps. His angry whinnies sounded about the exercise ring, but she did not let them penetrate her concentration. The horse had been cantankerous and violent since he’d arrived at Amstead Gardens two weeks prior, and it was time for him to understand that she would not be cowed by his display of temper.

When he finally planted all four hooves on the ground, his sides heaving with his exhausted breaths, Flora patted him on the neck. “Feel better now, lad? Got it all out of you?”

The chestnut-colored gelding snorted in response, his ears flicking back. Despite his obvious fatigue, it was clear he was very attuned to her. Good.

The gelding, Horatio, had done his best to make life miserable for every groom and horse in the stables. He had kicked, head-butted, bitten, and thrown off riders with abandon.

But Flora had survived Asad’s arrival at the Gardens, so she viewed Horatio’s bad temper as that of a toddler in need of a firm, consistent hand. He would not manage her.

“That episode was not as bad,” the older man remarked, taking off his cap and rubbing his brow. “He knows he’ll have to work harder to toss you.”

“Hopefully he’ll decide it’s not worth the effort.”

“That is the hope.” Mr. Mubarak shielded his eyes with his hand. “Has he rested long enough, do you think?”

“Let us see,” she said, turning the gelding around and leading him through his paces again.

And once again, he rebelled. It started gradually, with a flick of his tail and a flattening of his ears. Then he pranced to the side, tossing his head about. When he finally reared back, pawing the air with flying hooves, Flora was prepared, almost bored with his expression of agitation. She kept a firm grip on the reins and patiently waited out this bout of pique.

When Horatio’s tantrum had subsided, a new voice caught her by surprise. “That’s quite enough!”

Christian stood at the fence, his hands gripping the top bar until his knuckles showed white. His eyes were wide as they fixed on her face.

“W-what?” Her mind raced to understand his request, and she turned Horatio in a circle when he snorted in annoyance at Christian’s command.

“I think it’s time for a rest,” he said, striding into the ring and grasping the gelding by the bridle. “I’d say you’ve exercised him long enough.”

She darted a glance at Mr. Mubarak, who regarded Christian with a frown. “But why? We are making good progress—”

“Progress?” He raised his brow, and her eyes narrowed at its mocking quality. “When I walked up, he was trying to throw you off.”

“Of course he was.” Flora smacked the pommel and immediately regretted it when Horatio tried to toss his head. Thankfully, Christian held him firmly. “He’s tried to throw off everyone who has climbed on his back. But here I still sit, even after more than twenty minutes and three tantrums. I am perfectly able to handle another one, thank you very much.”

Visibly working his jaw, the marquess called out, “Baniti, would you please give us a moment?”

Mr. Mubarak’s gaze swung back and forth between the marquess and Flora. Finally, he sighed. “Of course, my lord. But I will return directly.”

The last word was uttered with so much emphasis, Flora fought back a chuckle. Her heart warmed at the idea that her superior cared enough for her to issue a statement of warning to Christian, his superior.

The air crackled with tension.

Before he had a chance to face her, Flora asked, “Why are you stopping me from doing my job?”

He exhaled loudly. “He almost threw you.”

She rolled her eyes. “But he didn’t.” When he scowled, she held up a hand. “Well of course he tried to, but my job is to make sure he doesn’t succeed.”

“And if he does succeed?”

“Then I will dust myself off and climb back into the saddle.” She said each word slowly, to make sure he understood. “You know I have been thrown off a horse before, don’t you? I didn’t enjoy the experience, but it’s part of the job.”

“I do not want it to be a part of the job any longer.”

Flora jerked her chin back. “What do you mean?”

Christian looped the reins around the top rail, sidestepped Horatio’s attempt to nip him with nary a glance, and raised his arms to help her down. She waved aside his assistance and dismounted. Swinging to face him, she placed a hand on her hip and fixed him with a glare.

Instead of looking chagrined, he met her gaze head on. Despite herself, his show of authority heated her blood. Dammit!

“I intend to ask Baniti to assign another groom to Horatio.” He slid his gaze away from hers and studied the gelding, who flicked his tail as if he understood that the marquess was taking his measure. “I feel that you should make Asad your primary focus.”

“You feel I should?” Flora gritted her teeth, her words sharp. “I was not aware it was your feelings that dictated the workings of Amstead Gardens.”

Christian went stone-still, although a fire sparked in the depths of his dark eyes. “I am Amstead. One of the benefits of owning the Gardens, and every damn horse in it, is that I can make changes any time I see fit. And I do not have to consult with anyone before I do so.”

Glaring at him for a long minute, she finally bowed, extending a hand to him mockingly. “But of course, my lord. How foolish of me, just a stupid trainer, to think that you would like to see improvements from Horatio. For he did improve…under my instruction.”

His jaw was so tight she was surprised it hadn’t snapped. “Christ, Flora, surely you understand how frightening it was for me to walk up and see you clinging to the pommel as that big gelding tried to unseat you. How could I possibly allow you to continue to place yourself in harm’s way?”

Tenderness washed over her, and she reached out and laid a hand on his arm. She wished she could pull him into her arms and rain kisses down upon his dear, idiotic face, but she stood in the exercise ring as William and would not threaten her disguise.

“Breaking a horse is never without danger. You know this.” She paused. “Would you have worried about William working with Horatio?”

His throat worked until he finally jerked his head. “Perhaps. If I was concerned he wasn’t making progress with him.”

“But I’ve told you he’s made progress. Mr. Mubarak also believes Horatio is making progress. If you don’t believe me, surely you trust the word of your trainer?”

“You know I do,” he grumbled.

Smothering an inconvenient smile, she squeezed his arm. “So if William was doing an adequate job with Horatio, would you still wish to change his training regimen?’

Christian stared at her for a long minute. “No. I wouldn’t have even considered it.”

“I am capable. I am competent. I am perfectly equipped to help that stubborn gelding learn his place within Amstead Gardens.” She took a step closer to him, discreetly gripping his waistcoat. “Please don’t doubt my abilities.”

His eyes blazed as they roved over her face. “I don’t doubt you. I truly don’t.”

“Then, what is it?”

“You could be hurt.” His whispered confession was a knife thrust to her chest. “Even the most experienced horseman…or woman…can be injured or worse by a high-strung animal. I cannot entertain the possibility that you could be maimed while under my protection.”

Heat had spread along her skin at his words but she froze it before she melted into a puddle. “Protection? I am not your mistress.”

“Of course you’re under my protection. You work for me.”

Licking her lips, she willed her temper under control. “You may employ me as your assistant trainer, but that is the only capacity in which you are my superior. When it comes to you and me, together, I am every bit your equal. My protection is within my own hands.”

“Flora.” Christian snatched his hat off his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s talk where we’re granted some privacy.”

At his high-pitched whistle, a groom appeared. “Turn Horatio loose in the warm-up pen. Mr. Grant and I will collect him from there in a half hour’s time.”

Without a word to her, he spun away and prowled toward the tack room at the opposite end of the stables. He lit a gas lamp, illuminating the small space and revealing floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with bridles, halters, lead rope, saddles, and blankets of all kinds. Christian waited until she entered before shutting the door behind her and immediately sweeping her into his arms. He pressed kisses to her brow and temple before finally claiming her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she threw herself into the kiss with all the frustration she felt at him.

Panting, he pulled back and studied her, his fingers smoothing hair from her brow. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what?”

“Been…involved with someone who works for me. Who shares the same passions as me. Who is as dedicated a horseman as I am.”

Flora nibbled on the inside of her cheek. If she were a young woman of respectable birth, as she had led him to believe, a job such as this would be crucial for her survival. Possibly even her family’s survival. If their liaison turned sour, he could turn her out and make life devastating for her. But while she would be emotionally devastated to leave Amstead Gardens, Flora had plenty of other avenues to take. A woman who was not a duke’s daughter would not.

And if he learned her true identity, discovered who her family was, he would probably wrap her up like a crystal vase and deliver her directly to Niall’s arms. She swayed on her feet as she considered how humiliating that would be.

“Flora.” His concerned tone snapped her from the spiral of her thoughts. “What is wrong?”

“It’s just”—she licked her lips, alarmed to find them dry and cracked—“your words made me realize how very sad I will be when I have to leave.”

“Leave?” Christian released her and took a step back. “What do you mean?”

“One day you will tire of me”—she gestured to the empty space between them, her stomach curdling—“or grow bored of the assistant trainer you hired to train your prize thoroughbred, or worse, you may become angry with me for some reason, and you could sack me and force me to leave the Gardens.”

“But I would never do that.” He slashed the air with his arm.

“Even if I insist on working with the horses as I always have?”

His exhale was loud. “I simply want you to be safe. I am not trying to abuse your trust.”

“Some would say tupping your assistant manager is abusing that trust.”

Pressing his lips together, Christian glared. “That is not fair. I was under the impression you have enjoyed our time together. But have I been mistaken? Have I abused your trust?”

Flora rubbed her temple and turned away, needing some space to think. His gaze was so tender, so imploring, and she feared it would sway her without his meaning it to.

Sucking in a gulp of air, she said, “Of course not. I should not have said that. But for me to do my job as assistant trainer, I need you to respect my abilities. Not interfere with the tasks and duties Mr. Mubarak and I have agreed that I see to. But I fear that as your”—her breath hitched, but she plowed forward—“lover, you will seek to control me under the pretense of protecting me. And as my superior, your word is law here at Amstead Gardens. You could derail my entire career in your quest to protect me, and I cannot allow that to happen.”

…

Christian’s first instinct was to deliver a flippant response meant to lighten the mood…and deflect from the uncomfortable feeling her words had sparked in him. As he lay in bed that very morning, he had taken himself in hand at the thought of Flora’s soft skin and rough hands. Her teasing green eyes and melodic laugh. Her witty sojourns and compassionate platitudes. And then he’d thought of her on the back of Asad, of what would happen if that temperamental beast decided to throw her and trample her, and he’d been filled with a panic he’d never known before. He had managed to corral his erratic thoughts and emotions by reminding himself what a competent horsewoman she was and how fond his Egyptian-bred stallion was of her.

Then he’d walked out to the southwest exercise pen and experienced an alarming recall. Flora sat atop Horatio, the newest resident in the stables, as he threw himself about the ring as if his tail were on fire. Only now, with the passage of time and the fact that the grumpy beast was far from her, could Christian admit that Flora had appeared confident and almost bored as she rode out the worst of the gelding’s fit. But when he’d called the session to a halt, all he had been thinking of was her safety. Fear she’d be tossed to the ground, as she had been during the accident with Sandstone.

He’d wanted to bundle her up in cotton and linen and whisk her away to safety. Christian should have known better than to assume she needed rescuing.

Pushing aside his selfish, if well-intentioned, motivations, he took her hand in his. “Put that concern from your mind. Whatever may happen between us, I would never undermine your career. That would be quite rude of me.” His knuckles stroked along her jaw. “Though I discovered your true name and identity, I am not the sort of man who would spill a lady’s secrets. I am a gentleman.”

“I’ve known plenty of supposed gentleman who would spill a woman’s secrets if the price was right.” Flora looked down at her booted feet, her cheeks pale. “Christian, I may have consented to…to—”

“Sleep with me?”

Instead of blushing, she laughed. Her delectable dimples flashed, and he clenched his teeth to keep from scooping her into his arms and reminding her of all the carnal delights they enjoyed with each other.

“Precisely.” Flora pressed her palm to her chest. “As much as I enjoy the personal and intimate aspect of our relationship, my autonomy is still my own. I choose to be with you because I want to, not because of what you can do for me and my career.”

“And I’m honored.”

Her gaze held his. “If you would be comfortable with William handling certain duties about the stables, you must not protest when I do the same.”

“Flora,” he said, capturing her hand to bring it to his lips, “I don’t know if I could stand aside and let you come to harm.”

“Och, you daft man!” She yanked herself free. “I’ve spent my entire life in the stables. On the backs of docile horses and high-strung horses. Sidestepping temper tantrums from spoiled foals to wandering hands from grooms who assumed I would grant them favors simply because I dared to enter the inner sanctum of the stables as a woman.” Her chin quivered with indignation. “I braved my family’s censure and their desire to force me into a safely padded display case they felt I was born to fill. And I’ll be damned if the man I sacrificed my identity to learn from tries to force me into the very same box I escaped. All because he believes our physical relationship grants him ownership over my person.”

With those words, she wrenched open the door and marched away. Christian stared after her, offended and yet chagrined. He had been trying to force her into a box, although it was one designed to protect her. Shouldn’t his concern for her safety make him a damn knight, or something just as chivalrous?

An uncomfortable voice, one he suspected belonged to his conscience, whispered an uncomfortable question.

How would you feel if you were kept from riding and training in all the ways you were accustomed?

Christian jerked on his cravat. He would be outraged to be kept from activities he’d done since he was a tot, simply because someone feared for his safety.

But all the rational arguments his mind conjured didn’t lessen the tightness in his chest.