Taming Maria (5 page)

She guided the
phaeton with a light touch on the reins, and a roar went up from
the crowd as her opponent took his place on his lofty perch. Now
they were much closer and she was piqued because he did not look at
her, staring straight ahead. Grooms attended the horses, checking
that they were on the starting line. The atmosphere was tense.
Silence fell, all holding their breath, everything so quiet that
even the singing of the birds was an interruption. The cloudless
blue sky stretched above them, a glorious English summer, but Maria
was in no fit state to appreciate it, only aware of the straight
track before her and the man beside her.

'Don't let her
beat you, sir!' shouted a lad from among the throng. 'Can't have a
woman thinking she's as good as us!'

Laughter
welled up and Maria's rival nodded solemnly in the speaker's
direction. The crowd hushed again as the Master of Ceremonies
lifted his white handkerchief. It flashed momentarily, and then
dropped.

Maria forgot
everything except the reins in her hands and the team in front.
Freed from restraint, they shot ahead. The phaeton rocked and
bounced as it gathered speed, gravel flying from beneath hooves and
wheels, the scenery a blur of colour. She had no time to see what
was happening to her challenger. Her greys were not yet at full
stretch; she was keeping a little in reserve. Both vehicles reached
the end of the avenue, neck and neck, spraying grit as they turned.
They teetered precariously and then Maria's vehicle shot forward in
a sudden burst of speed, rearing towards the other, her team
plunging madly.

He swerved.
She crossed his path. He wheeled, and she heard him curse. He was a
pace behind her now. She set her teeth grimly, determined to keep
her advantage, but he let out his team, little by little, a master
horseman. He edged closer to her, gained on and passed her. He cast
her a glance in which she read triumph. Infuriated, she was almost
on her feet. Ahead lay the turn and both took it at reckless speed.
They tore down the stretch that marked the end of the second lap.
Four more to go, and they took three without either gaining
advantage, two perfectly matched contenders. The spectators were
wild with enthusiasm, betting furiously, Maria's performance
causing a change of heart among many. They began to applaud
her.

The tension
mounted as the dust-splattered phaetons went into the final round.
He was half a length ahead, his team full-out, their ebony backs
white with foam, responding as he shouted encouragement. Maria's
greys were pounding behind him, ears and tails flat, nostrils
dilated and sweat creaming their hides. Now they were shoulder to
shoulder with the blacks. The spinning wheels grated as they
touched for a jarring second, and then broke free as they took the
home stretch, galloping together.

Suddenly his
whip cracked and Maria felt a burning sensations as it struck her
shoulder. A fractional blow that could have been intended for his
team, but he was too skilful for that and she knew it was meant for
her. Surprise mingled with fury that he would have dared and yet,
deep down, she thrilled at the kiss of the lash. His blacks reached
the finishing post just in front of her greys. They slewed to a
halt and the crowd shouted and cheered.

The groom was
there to take the horses and Maria leapt down nimbly, though her
shoulder still stung and she intended to take her opponent to task.
She took off her hat, shook out her hair and peeled off her gloves
in rapid succession, too annoyed to pay much attention to the group
of beaux who quickly surrounded her, all smiling and
congratulatory. Arabella was with them.

'Darling, you
did very well,' she enthused.

Maria refused
to be mollified. 'He beat me!' she snapped, humiliated by her
defeat. 'Not only that, he caught me with his whip and I'm sure it
was deliberate.'

'Ah, maybe.
Come and meet him.'

'Must I? I'm
hot and sweaty and in need of a change of clothing.' Maria had
never been more reluctant, yet her curiosity about him was
boundless.

Arabella
slipped an arm through hers, saying as they walked towards the
group gathered round the winner, 'I'm sure he won't object to
this.'

They reached
him and Maria found herself coming under the scrutiny of ice-blue
eyes set in the most handsome face she had ever seen. Every resolve
to complain about his use of the whip melted away. Longing filled
her as he reached out his hand, took hers and, bowing, placed a
kiss on the back of it. His lips seemed to scorch her skin.

'You did
well,' he said, in a deep voice the cadences of which seemed to
ripple along her nerves and connect with her sex. 'A worthy
contender in every way.'

Arabella
stepped forward, smiling and saying, 'Maria, meet your guardian,
Viscount Damien Strafford.'

Just for a
moment Maria lost her grip on reality. The stranger who had just
bested her before a crowd and had had the nerve to take his whip to
her, was none other than her legal guardian.

She had
expected him to be at least as old as her father, but this was a
man in his prime, not yet thirty perhaps, virile and handsome, with
fierce eyes and an arrogant manner. A far cry from anything she had
visualised, even in her wildest dreams.

It was a
second before she remembered to dip into a curtsy, daring to glance
up and stammer, 'I had no idea...'

'That was how
I wished it to be. We organised it very well, your aunt and I.
Don't you agree?' His tone was light and he retained possession of
her hand for a fraction longer than was necessary. In his eyes she
read volumes - appraisal - interest - a challenge.

She rose to
her full height, spine stiff, chin tilted at a stubborn angle. 'I
do not agree, sir. It was a cruel trick to play. Could you not have
introduced yourself to me first?'

His black
brows swooped down in a frown and his eyes were like Arctic ice.
'You presume too much. You are in my hands until you are of a
responsible age, and will do as I say, even in such paltry matters
as this.'

'You're not my
father!' she stormed, filled with indignation. 'You can't tell me
what to do.'

'Indeed and I
can, young lady. You are my ward and as such must regard me as
having the authority of a parent.'

'That's not
fair!' she ranted, glaring at him and then at Arabella.

'Very little
in life is fair, as you will discover as you go on,' he observed
cynically.

'You deuced
lucky dog, Damien!' one of his raffish companions exclaimed,
digging him in the ribs. 'Damme, I wish I had a ward half as
pretty.'

This caused
raucous merriment, each beau striving to outdo the other in witty
remarks. Damien stared at the first speaker coldly. 'You will
respect her, sir, or have me to answer to. If I take offence and
call you out you may choose your weapon, pistol or rapier. As you
are probably aware, I'm an expert with both.'

This silenced
any further comment and he offered his left arm to Maria, who
placed hesitant fingertips on it and permitted him to escort her to
his cabriole. A groom unfolded the iron step, and she lifted her
skirt, giving a glimpse of those immodest breeches as she entered
the well-sprung vehicle. Damien cocked an eye at them but said
nothing. Arabella was already seated, while Kitty and Sarah
travelled in the gig, along with Damien's manservant.

'Will you
partake of luncheon with us?' Arabella asked, pressing against
Damien as they occupied the seat opposite Maria.

'Thank you,
I'd like to,' he replied, glancing at her in a way that indicated a
long-standing friendship. 'I want to look through Maria's wardrobe
and ascertain that she has everything required by a young lady
entering society. I hope she isn't entertaining the idea of this
latest notion for wearing a damp petticoat beneath the dress to
make it cling to the legs, or even adopt pantaloons under a
diaphanous skirt.'

'I can assure
you that I have spent hours with her at the dressmakers and
milliners, and her clothing is most suitable for her station.'
Arabella fluttered her long eyelashes at him, making no secret of
her admiration.

'I take your
word for it, but will check to make sure. Giddy girls can be
disobedient and wilful and I'll have none of this.' He stared
straight at Maria with a piercing look that seemed to dart down her
spine and connect with her loins. 'As you know, Arabella, I'm
holding a soiree at Strafford Hall tonight. I would like you both
to attend.'

'I'm looking
forward to it; your gatherings are always so stimulating,' Arabella
answered, slanting him a meaningful glance.

Maria's cheeks
were hot. He made her feel most uncomfortable. She was terribly
aware of his masculinity and power, not only of body but of will.
No one could gainsay him, least of all someone like herself who was
new to the games played between adults. The place where his whip
had caught her burned and she could not stop thinking about it,
remembering the savage look on his face, the heat and sweat of the
contest and the humiliation of losing. She had never before felt
her strength draining away in a man's presence, but this was the
sensation that swept her, even in the calmness of the carriage
trotting sedately through the park.

She envied
Arabella seated so close to him. Her thigh, thinly covered by a
silk skirt, was pressed against his. As she leaned towards him her
breasts rose, two firm alabaster globes bare almost to the nipples
at the edge of her low bodice. Maria sensed their intimacy and
envied it, yet knew he was trouble and she would be wise to steer
clear, although there was something about the dangerous man that
was irresistible.

When he
addressed her directly his tone was more one of command than
request. 'You'll come to my party, Maria.'

'Yes, sir.
Thank you for inviting me,' she replied, though despising her
weakness. Why could she not have feigned a headache or weariness?
Would it have been of any use? Or would he have insisted anyway?
She feared the latter would be the case.

When she
arrived at Armitage House it was to find Jane waiting for her. They
were in each other's' arms in a second, with Jane exclaiming
breathlessly, 'At last we are together! Mama left me here just now.
The butler said you would be back by lunchtime.'

'How long can
you stay?' Maria held her at arm's length, examining her face
intently. 'She will be collecting me shortly.'

'Are you in
London for long?'

'For a while.
Mama is visiting her dressmaker and milliner and also attending the
opera. I hoped to see you before this, but it hasn't been possible.
I've so much to tell you.' Jane's eyes were sparkling and there
seemed to be a new confidence and maturity about her.

'Maria, you
are forgetting your manners,' Arabella chided, coming up to them.
'You've not yet presented your friend to the viscount and
myself.'

'I apologise,'
Maria said, and drew Jane forward. 'Lady Jane Dunn, my dear friend
from school. Jane, this is my aunt, Lady Arabella, Countess of
Westwood, and my guardian, Viscount Damien Strafford.'

Jane curtsied
low and then gazed at them shyly. 'I hope I'm not intruding,' she
said nervously. 'I so much wanted to see Maria and promise not to
be a nuisance. I am in the care of my chaperone, Miss Bailey.' She
pointed to a plain woman in black who was standing in the
background.

'Welcome,
Jane. We are about to partake of luncheon. Won't you join us?'
Arabella said graciously. 'It will be a pleasure to have the
company of two such charming damsels. You can tell us about school.
Maria has rarely spoken of it. But first, I suggest you go with her
to her room for she must change out of her riding clothes.'

Sarah was
ordered to look after Miss Bailey. She took her to the
housekeeper's quarters where duennas, who were not exactly servants
nor yet members of the family, took their meals and mingled with
this doyen of the female staff, and the butler who was in charge of
everything else, including the wine-cellar.

At last Maria
and Jane were alone, dancing round the beautiful bedroom with its
floral wallpaper, Persian rugs and rosewood furniture. Then they
collapsed on the ornate four-poster, laughing joyously. 'Oh, it's
so good to see you!' Maria exclaimed.

'You, too.
I've missed you!'

Maria got up
and stripped away her jacket and the shirt she wore beneath, then
the skirt and breeches, wearing only her knee-length chemise as
Jane helped her tug off her boots, unfasten her garters and peel
down her white stockings. Maria went to the washstand and poured
water from the jug into a basin, soaping her hands and face and
underarms, getting rid of the sweat induced by her ordeal.

Jane, watching
her, clasped her hands against her breasts, gave a tremulous smile
and with eyes shining like stars said, 'I'm in love!'

'What? Who?
Tell all,' Maria demanded, taking up the towel and drying herself,
then sitting on the bed and tucking her bare legs under her,
careless of ruffling the lacy quilt.

'You'll never
believe it!'

'Don't tease,
Jane! Tell me at once!' Maria's blood was already running hot,
unable to think of anyone save her guardian.

'It's Robin...
Robin Claremont.'

'The
clergyman?' Maria was astonished. Her closest friend and that
rather solemn young man? It was almost beyond belief, and yet
hadn't she fancied him herself, as had most of the other
pupils?

Jane sat with
her arms clasped around her hunched knees, a rapturous expression
on her face. 'We declared our love the day before I left. He's gone
home and I'm with my parents so it makes it awfully difficult to
have any contact. He can't even write to me, for Agatha Bailey has
eyes like a hawk, so I was wondering if he could send letters here,
perhaps. I did meet him very briefly in Bath one afternoon but it
was terribly risky. However, he told me he was coming to London to
study so maybe we can arrange a meeting while I'm here, especially
if Mama lets me stay with you. He gave me his address. He has
lodgings with fellow students for a while, before he takes up a
post as curate.'