The Tempestuous Debutante: Book 4 in the Cotillion Ball Series (Crimson Romance) (2 page)

The horse was the only possession Parr had left, and he had been pitting the graceful stallion against all comers when it caught the eye of Alistair Wickersham, the Viscount of Foxborough. The viscount had tried to buy the horse outright, but Parr loved his horse more than he loved food in his belly. So Alistair Wickersham instead offered to make him part of his scheme of establishing a horse breeding farm and racetrack in the colonies rather than have Parr continue to be a competitor. And that brass ring was something Parr latched onto.

So, here he was. One day off the boat, both he and Grey, and settled into the stable at Alistair’s new farm in the Bronx. Life was good. Parr stretched and rolled his shoulders as he curried Grey. He had his own somewhat modest quarters within the stable and it was warm and dry. Both were things he did not have in Ireland. The smells of the barn — hay, leather, horses — were with him morning, noon, and night, enticing in their aroma. And he already loved the scent of America, the land of opportunity. Parr, Grey, and Alistair were about to set the racing world on its collective ear. Starting this afternoon, when Alistair entertained a wealthy New York businessman, who would help legitimize their business for the other upper-crust members of New York society.

Parr was jolted from his dream-like musings when he caught wind of the familiar quick, sharp steps of his partner coming into the stable. He ran a hand over Grey’s flank one final time and put the currycomb away. He took a bite of a tangy green apple before feeding the remainder of it to his horse.

“Hello, milord.” Parr dipped his head at the man.

“Is everything ready for our guests, Parr?”

“Yes, ’tis. All the horses are groomed and the stable is clean.”

Alistair quickly viewed all corners of the barn. He shook his head. “I do wish you’d reconsider, and move into the house with me. We’re equal partners in this venture.”

“Aye, and worlds apart in social status. Besides, ’tis best for the horses if someone’s here to watch over them.”

“All right then, look lively. I see the carriage coming up the driveway. You’ll have to entertain the women while George Fitzpatrick and I speak of business.”

“Is he bringing his wife, then?”

“Not only his wife, but a daughter as well. I do wish he’d come alone. I hoped to have a respite from matrons trying to foist their daughters on me, for at least a little while.”

Parr grinned. “’Tis a terrible fate, milord, having women thrown at you left and right.”

“Please cease with the ‘my lord’ designation, Parr. I’ve told you, we’re in America now, and our ancient, obscure English titles don’t mean anything here. It wasn’t all that long ago that they booted the lot of us out of this country. We’re still referred to as ‘Redcoats’ in some parts of this land.”

“Well, then, what shall I call you? Foxborough?”

Alistair shook his head. “No, I don’t want to be known by where I’m from, so you can drop the use of the name Foxborough, too. I’m Alistair here. It’s why I came to this country, where I’m not just a son waiting for my father to die so I can become a duke. I wanted the challenge of doing something constructive with my life. And you’re a big part of that.”

“Well, this racetrack and the breeding stable will give us a great reputation in New York, that much is certain.”

“And the first thing we need in order to procure our place in America is the backing from someone such as George Fitzpatrick. I’ll bring them through the stable to begin with, and then take George off to show him where I want to build the track.”

“All right.” Parr joined Alistair at the door to the stable as the carriage pulled up. The driver alighted and opened the door. A gentleman got out first and turned to assist his traveling companions. Parr caught sight of a woman with blonde curls as she emerged from the carriage next. From her age, it was apparent she was Mr. Fitzpatrick’s wife. The next person to appear was a petite, dark-haired, lovely young woman. As she cleared the carriage, her eyes moved up to take in the men standing at the stable door. Parr’s breath caught in his throat as he studied her expression. Her eyes moved over Alistair’s face and then landed on his. Entirely inappropriately, he locked eyes with hers for a long moment, then he smiled and winked at her. Even from the distance of twenty feet, her gasp of indignation filled the air. His smile grew wider. He was going to enjoy America.

How dare he! The arrogance of that insufferable man! Jasmine gasped at the stable boy’s behavior. Obviously, he thought they were of the same mold. He was handsome, she’d give him that, with his trim body, black hair, and lovely blue eyes, but that was all she’d be giving him. He was not the man she came to see. She finally broke eye contact with him and turned her attention back to the man she
was
interested in. Alistair Wickersham, in all his titled glory, was a fairly handsome man, not terribly tall, but well built. He appeared to be closer to his forties than his thirties, which was a bit disappointing. His hair was a light brown color and his blue eyes snapped with excitement. Maybe he was as interested in this meeting as she was. She moved with her parents to meet him.

After George Fitzpatrick introduced his wife, Charlotte turned to Jasmine. “May I present my daughter to you, Mr. Wickersham? This is Jasmine.”

Jasmine turned on her brightest smile and dipped into a curtsy. “My lord,” she breathed, as she peeked up at him from under her lashes.

He took her outstretched hand and pulled her up from her beautiful curtsy, causing her to stumble. “Please, none of that.” He waved his hand in front of her. “This is America, and we’re all on equal footing, so I don’t want to be referred to by some archaic title. Mr. Wickersham will be just fine, Miss Fitzpatrick. And no curtsying. I can’t abide it.”

Jasmine could feel her cheeks reddening as he rejected her attempt to address him properly. No wonder his stable boy acted with such arrogance. He was merely mimicking his employer! Well, she had other methods of gaining his interest. She smiled at him again, acting as though his admonishment about her greeting meant nothing to her, and moved to his side. Surely the lavender water she cloaked herself in before she left the house would entice him.

Alistair didn’t look at her, although from the flare of his patrician nostrils, she could tell he had caught her scent. Maybe this was the way all titled Englishmen behaved. Since it was her first introduction to aristocracy, she had no frame of reference. Instead of gazing down at her longingly, he locked eyes with the stable boy.

“May I introduce you to the head of my stable? This is Parr O’Shaughnessy, originally from Ireland. He has a way with horses that is unparalleled.”

Parr quickly shook hands with George Fitzpatrick, and acknowledged the two women with a tip of his cap. “Top o’ the morning to you, ladies.”

Alistair clamped him on the shoulder. “Let’s show them the horses, shall we, Parr?” He turned to the Fitzpatricks. “Parr’s horse, the Grey Ghost, has won every race he’s entered, and he’ll become the stud for all the horses we’re going to have on the breeding farm. His noble blood will run deep through our line of horses.”

Jasmine observed her mother’s reaction to the news. Were they really standing here in the January cold, engaging in casual conversation about the breeding habits of horses? How totally inappropriate. And were they really going to walk into the stable? She would not have worn her best day dress and slippers had she known they were going to traipse through a smelly, dirty barn. Charlotte shrugged slightly, took her hand, and followed the men without a whimper.

The interior of the stable surprised Jasmine. It was open and bright, unlike most carriage houses and barns she’d been in. The center of the barn was open to the ceiling, and daylight streamed in from the windows that banked either side of the upstairs. The horses were housed in stalls on either side of a wide-open cobblestoned center aisle, which was cleaner than Jasmine’s bedroom. Some of the horses whinnied a greeting to them as they walked into the warm barn. Her eyes ricocheted around the large building. There was room for a dozen horses, each kept behind a wall of finely varnished oak wood and topped with a wrought iron railing. There was so much to see, and it was far different and much more elegant than any stable she’d been in before.

Following a quick introduction of the horses, Alistair turned to George. “I’d be honored to show you where I plan to build the racetrack, but it’s a hike from here, and it’s far too cold out for the ladies. Would you mind if they stay here with Parr in this nice warm stable while you and I take a quick tour?”

“What do you think, Charlotte?” George turned to his wife and daughter.

“It will be fine, George. Mr. O’Shaughnessy can tell us more about the horses, and maybe even give us a glimpse of Ireland while you’re gone.”

Jasmine waited without saying anything as the men hastened to depart. Things were not going at all the way she planned. Ah well, business came first to him, even with an enticing woman in his presence. He’d be back. With a flip of her dark curls, she turned toward Parr, who began walking over to one of the blasted horses.

“Parr is an interesting name. I’ve never encountered it before,” Jasmine said as they walked through the barn. “Does it have a special meaning?”

“’Tis an old Irish name, meaning ‘from the stable.’ Rather a good fit for me, don’t you think?”

“How did your mother know what your profession would be the day you were born?” she questioned as she began to move away from him, along with her mother. Then she had an idea, and turned back. Her mother continued to walk down the center aisle. “Were you possibly born in a barn?”

Parr grinned at her and whispered, “No, not born in one. But rumor has it, I was conceived there.”

Jasmine could feel the blush rising to her cheeks. This man had been making her uncomfortable since she alighted from the carriage, and now his outrageous remark made her even more aware of how inappropriate their conversation had become. Fortunately, he had turned his back to her when they got to the grey horse, so he couldn’t see her reaction.

He ran his hand down the horse’s neck. “This is my special horse, the Grey Ghost. The others all belong to Alistair, but I’m responsible for training them all, and making certain they’re race ready.”

Jasmine studied him as he turned his complete attention to his horse. Even though he was shorter than average, Parr had strong shoulders that tapered to a trim waist, black as night hair, and, she had to admit, a rather fine backside. She followed the track of his hand as it brushed the horse’s flank and wondered how it would feel to have that hand run over her hips. Goodness, whatever was she thinking? She needed to do something to break the hypnotic spell the movement of his hands placed on her. She walked up to the horse and wove her fingers into its mane. Parr turned to her, with only inches separating them. She could almost taste the apple that was on his breath.

Jasmine’s stomach jumped when he pierced her again with those ice-blue eyes. She caught her breath and tried to form a cohesive sentence. “So, tell us about your boss.” Yes, that was it. Parr O’Shaughnessy might be just the weapon she needed in her quest to attract the attentions of the viscount. And she had to win him over before the season began and other women of marriageable age found out about him. Thanks to her father, she had a golden opportunity, and she was damned if she’d squander it.

• • •

“Forgive me, ladies, but I’ll not be discussing Alistair with you. ’Twould be unseemly.” He stood rigid beside his horse.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick fluttered her fan, obviously warm despite the chill that crept into the stable. Parr thought that maybe she was fanning herself because she was embarrassed by her daughter’s question, since Miss Fitzpatrick did not have the good grace to look abashed. He rather enjoyed her spunk, though. And her lovely dark hair that curled so fetchingly around her face.

“Well, of course, Mr. O’Shaughnessy, we wouldn’t expect you to share secrets about your employer with us. Jasmine, what were you thinking? We’ll be certain to invite Mr. Wickersham to dinner later this week, so we can find out more about him ourselves. But what of you, Mr. O’Shaughnessy? What part of Ireland do you hail from?”

“Ah, I am from County Kildare. ’Tis only the loveliest portion of Ireland, home to as many horses as people.”

“So why did you leave to come to the States?” Jasmine asked, obviously unable to control her curiosity.

Parr stole a look at the beautiful, impetuous woman. She wouldn’t know anything about poverty or starvation, so he chose to ignore the potato famine currently ravaging his home country. He smiled at her.

“’Twas because we didn’t have enough bonny cailíns left at home to choose from, and I had been told America was a land full of beautiful women.”

He was rewarded with a sharp intake of her breath, but he noticed a spark of excitement, or ire, he couldn’t tell exactly which, in her deep brown eyes. Ah, yes, this sprite could cause trouble. He’d best be on guard. He could possibly get away with a ribald comment or two, since she had an impulsive spirit, but that was all he could ever hope for. They may not call women of her station royalty here in the States, but she was from the upper crust of society, and he was not. There was a huge chasm between their stations, and he’d best remember that fact. But with the blasted luck of the Irish, he’d lost his heart to her the moment she alighted from the carriage.

Parr introduced them to the rest of the horses, showed them the orderly tack room, and walked them back to the center of the stable. In the closeness of the aisle, he got near enough to Jasmine to pick up on her lavender scent. Intoxicating, even with the other competing smells from the barn. He hung close and breathed in deeply.

“What is in here, behind this door?” Jasmine put her hand on the door that was slightly ajar and began to push it open. Without giving his actions a thought, he reached out to still her hand. He staggered as a jolt of electricity shot up his arm. He jerked his hand away and stood between the door and Jasmine.