The sun was shining high in the sky when Morgan stepped out of Martin’s curricle. The air was teaming with excitement as grooms led magnificent animals from stalls to rings. Gentlemen shouted from an active auction nearby as others perused the stables.
There were steeds of every size and color ranging from horses meant for field work to others intended for sport. There was even a sweet-faced pony lazily munching hay in an open pin. Morgan ran her fingers through its thick wiry mane before allowing Lord De Montrey to navigate her through a throng of men arguing over a mule.
Martin led her into the first of two large stables and slowed their pace as they reached a long line of stalls. “Let us take a look at what we may like before the bidding starts, shall we?” He guided her over to a pretty bay mare.
“Oh, she is beautiful!” Morgan exclaimed, reaching out to pet the horse’s soft white nose. The animal nudged her hand and nibbled her fingers. Morgan smiled at the mare’s quest for hidden treats. “So lovely.”
“Indeed, she is darling. However, you must look for other signs that a horse might be the right choice, and this one’s back is too short.” The baron pointed out. “She is not nearly as covetable as that one.” He motioned with his head toward the tall black stallion five stalls down.
“He is a sight. Do you think he is safe?” she asked, watching the giant horse paw the earth. Unlike the mare, he looked none too happy to be there as he pinned his ears and snaked his head at every passerby.
“Not at all,” a deep, masculine voice answered from behind them.
They both turned to see the Earl of Wellington.
The baron opened his mouth and closed it as if he were testing various replies on his tongue, to find the one with just the right amount of indignation. “Of course he would be safe. Once someone shows him who his master is.” Lord De Montrey actually puffed out his chest.
“He is not safe for reasons beyond that,” the earl said evenly. “Come, I will show you.” He offered Morgan his arm.
Not sure exactly how to proceed with a polite abduction, Morgan accepted, offering Lord De Montrey a sympathetic half smile as she was led away. The baron grumbled something indecipherable, but decidedly vexed, under his breath and followed them over to the prancing stallion.
The earl came to a halt in front of the beasts stall. “You want a short cannon bone on a steed.” He pointed to the animal’s front leg. “It is the bone between the fetlock and the knee. His are too long. His back is also too long. Unlike your mare with the ideal, short-coupled back.”
“Nonsense, this horse is much more elegant and would be prettier to ride.” De Montrey nodded toward the impressive stallion. “A man’s horse, that one is.”
“Prettier to ride?” The earl did not snort, but he came close. “If his back does not snap in two when you jump him the first time. And those rings around his hooves, indicating previous flounder, will surely come back to haunt you in no time at all.”
He turned Morgan, still on his arm, back toward the mare. “Your mare,” Lord Wellington continued. “Has a short back, which will give her extra strength. She has a well-set neck as well, and laid-back shoulders.”
He paused and looked at her, waiting for her to absorb the information. “You want the shoulders set at about a forty-five-degree angle. Another attribute is that she is not flatfooted like that stallion. Even if that beast over there was sound of foot, he would still try to kill you.”
“No matter how you try and discipline him.” The earl looked pointedly over her head at Lord De Montrey. “For you cannot change any animal’s temperament. But you can find the right fit for your own temperament; a perfect match of rider and mount.”
“That is your opinion.” Lord De Montrey ground out. “Now, if you will excuse us, I am going to bid on that stallion and take the lady with me.” He moved to Morgan’s other side and grasped her free elbow.
Lord Wellington did not release her.
The baron’s eyes shot daggers at him and he gave a little tug.
The earl acquiesced, but a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Have a care with the lady.”
De Montrey blustered. “Are you implying that I do not have her best interest at heart?”
“Yanking her around as if you have a claim on her is not in her best interest.”
“Why, I would never! You are the one making it appear as if we are dogs set on a bone.” The baron glowered down his nose. “Fighting over the lady like heathens.”
“I suppose that would make a juicier tidbit for the gossip rags than your rather indecent public embrace yesterday in Hyde Park, would it not?” The earl returned in an absolutely lethal tone before looking down at Morgan. “Good day, my lady.” He turned abruptly and prowled away.
Morgan was rendered mute. She was having a hard time processing what had just happened. Her mind lit on the only fraction of that exchange that made sense—the gossip rag. Her heart dropped. Was she in it?
She turned to Lord De Montrey, whose pallor had dropped about three shades. “My Lord, how would he know about a silly little thing like—?”
“He is a cad; of course he reads the gossip news,” he cut her off, his voice clipped with irritation. “No doubt someone saw the lovely embrace you bestowed upon me and wrote that I am courting you.”
Morgan felt suddenly very uncomfortable. “Are you? Courting me?”
He chortled loudly, but there was little mirth in it. “Of course I am.”
Morgan found air suddenly hard to come by; a ridiculous notion considering there was more than enough airflow around them. Still, her bodice felt tight and her head light. She tried to pinpoint the emotions circling that confession.
She should be happy, elated even, that such a man would chose her. Yet, all she felt was…out of place next to him. Whereas, Lord Wellington had felt...right.
The realization delivered the impact of a swinging hammer.
“Are you ready to watch me win?” Lord De Montrey asked.
Morgan stared at him. “Win?”
“The horse.”
Morgan exhaled, with more enthusiasm than was ladylike. She had never been so happy for a turn in conversation. “Yes.” She smiled. “I am sure you will.”
Edward stayed close to the stables after the bidding concluded. He wanted to make sure De Montrey did not attempt to celebrate his successful bidding by placing Lady Sinclair atop that giant war horse he had just purchased. The damned fool had all but kissed her when he had outbid the only other two flops in London willing to buy the steed.
Edward was not sure if it was the attention the baron lavished on the lady that bothered him so. Or rather, the sudden knowledge that the lord was not fit to entertain her. The man did not have the common sense God gave a pigeon!
Was he that ignorant or, was the baron just that desperate to impress her? Each possible scenario left Edward with a bitter taste in his mouth. The only two things that were certain was that the man knew nothing about horses and, If he kept fondling Lady Sinclair in public the rumor mill would have them betrothed by the week’s end.
Considering what Edward had read in Mrs. Henderson’s scandalous gossip rag, the Bon Ton Tattler, earlier that morning—which he did every morning, since he was usually in it—the latter was already on a set course. “A Race to Watch.” He had almost choked on his toast over the headline.
The story stated that a certain, Baron “D”, had been seen embracing an unknown young beauty. Little was known on the pretty redheaded maiden other than that she was expected to make her formal debut at Lady Printmose’s ball in one week.
Edward scoffed. As if that would take a genius to figure out. The shifty columnist had gone on to write that the young lady was sure to be ruined—by either Baron “D” or some other man—before the season was underway if she continued to conduct herself improperly, as she was also spotted racing curricles in Hyde Park.
He absentmindedly rubbed his tender arm, and then immediately regretted the action. Dr. Ferguson had warned him not to do anything strenuous. Edward supposed that playing tug-o-war with Lady Sinclair counted as being ‘strenuous’. He was just about to head for his carriage when he spotted the merry couple leaving the stables. Minus, one elephant-sized mount.
Relieved, at least for that, Edward rounded the stables. He would have a talk with his naive student tomorrow during their dance lesson and warn her about taking caution where the baron was concerned. He might also add she should not believe everything she was told, such as how to select a blasted horse. But for now, he had a meeting with Henry, an ice pack, and a bottle of rum.
Morgan removed her jacket and shivered as the chilly night breeze cut right through her thin cotton shirt. She looked at Eloise who had just removed her own jacket and was quickly, and eagerly, unbuttoning her shirt.
“Are you sure about this?” Morgan tentatively asked. The idea had been hers yet, now that they were disrobing behind a bush in the middle of the park, she was having second thoughts.
“Of course I am sure.” Her friend replied, staring down at her task at hand. “I did not sneak out of my house after hours dressed as a stable lad just to cry off.”
“You are right.” Morgan shivered again as she looked out across the glassy surface of the lake. “It is just a tad cooler than I had thought it might be.” She stalled.
“Blasted button!” Eloise cursed the last stubborn button on her stolen man’s shirt and gave up, pulling the garment over her head.
“There!” she said, triumphantly tossing it to the ground with the jacket. “And here I thought their clothing was easier.” She scoffed, starting to work on getting her trousers undone. “I swear those eyelets are three times smaller than the buttons.
Morgan giggled at her friend’s determination, and surprising lack of modesty. “Guess that answers that.” She pulled at her breaches. “We are definitely going in.”
“Hurry up.” Eloise kicked off the trousers. “Lest I freeze to death, naked in Hyde Park. How would you explain that one to my mother?” She raised her blonde eyebrows to mark deep significance.
“Point made.” Morgan replied, and pulled her own shirt quickly over her head.
Eloise grew unnervingly quiet. Morgan looked up as she fussed with the buttons of her own trousers to find her friend staring at her.
“What?” She laughed, a bit sheepishly. “You have them too.”
“Not like that.” Eloise shook her head and kicked off her shoes. “Do men just salivate at your feet?”
Morgan tugged her breaches down and rolled her eyes. “Remember? Doxy, ladybird…those are the names these curves will earn you.”
“Well, I would trade figures with you in a heartbeat.” Eloise shook her finger. “Besides, you promised not to compare yourself to such women—”
“I know.” Morgan waved her hand, suddenly impatient. “It is bloody cold out here.”
She gathered her courage, took her friend’s hand and pulled her from behind the bush. They darted across the leaf-laden grass toward the pond’s edge, looking conspiringly left and right as they ran.
They reached the water and without hesitation plunged in. Both women emerged on a gasp, followed closely by thrilling giggles of triumph.
“We did it,” Eloise whispered, grinning from ear to ear.
“We did.” Morgan laughed and did a back flip.
When she emerged, Eloise had gone stark white, her eyes huge, and by the single index finger she held up to her mouth, Morgan assessed it was not from the chill of the water.
“What?” she mouthed mutely.
It was not Eloise that answered the silent word. A man’s voice broke through the still night like a rapier blade. “You there, are you all right?”
Both women stared wide eyed with horror at one another.
“I know you are in the water; I just want to make sure everything is fine?” The man called out again.
Morgan did the only thing she could think of to do. “Aye, I am hale,” she answered into the darkness, pitching her voice as low as she could in hopes that it would sound masculine.
Eloise clasped her hand to her mouth, whether to keep from laughing, or crying, Morgan could not decipher by the moon’s light.
“Ah, yes, madam, I see. However, as a gentleman, I must insist on remaining by the shore until you are back on solid ground.” He paused, then added. “I will wait behind the trees and you have my word I will not glance while you re-robe.”
Morgan pointed to the other side of the pond. Eloise took the hint and began swimming away as quietly as she could.
Morgan continued in her best baritone, adding indignation to it now. “I, good sir, am a peer of the realm and can see to myself. Now please leave me be.” She quietly followed after Eloise, swimming silently for the other side and hoping it was too dark to see.
“Unless you want me to jump in after you, madam.” He responded, obviously not fooled by her attempts at disguising her gender. “I suggest you swim this way now.”
Eloise stopped and turned a worried look to Morgan.
Morgan stilled as well. “Blimey!” She cursed low and abandoned her failed pretense, replying in her normal speaking voice. “How do we know we can trust you?”
There came another contemplative pause. “On my honor, I will not harm you. I cannot say you will receive the same promise from the group of inebriated young bucks I saw not far down the road and headed this way. I dare say, they might not act as chivalrous when they stumble upon you,” he said reasonably. “I actually am a peer of the realm. You have my word.”