To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst) (9 page)

She desired him. As he did her. And he’d be damned if she didn’t look forward to her requital for his service as much as he looked forward to collecting it.

He brushed a smattering of dust off his jacket sleeve. “She wishes to win the derby, does she not?”

Lady Sarah gave a curt nod.

“Then I fail to see how my fee affects her prize.”

“Winning the race is only half of what she hopes to achieve.”

“Half?” Though scandal was likely the probable outcome of Lady Albina’s racing, a chance for fame was conceivable, and what he had assumed she was after. Whatever could she want more than success? More than the potential acclaim should she best her professional, trained, and very male competitors?

Lady Sarah thrust back her shoulders. “It is not my place to share my sister’s motivations. Only know that should you continue with your inappropriate form of quittance you will harm her chances of future happiness.”

Oh, he doubted that. Not if she continued in her current vein, sighing with pleasure as he collected her debt. “Come now, my lady. I daresay a simple kiss offers—”

“There is nothing simple where matters of the heart are concerned.”

Edmund cocked his head. Had their kisses meant more to Lady Albina than the physical acts he intended them to be? Had her heart been stirred at his touch? Was a gentle-born lady in danger of setting her cap for a groom?

A slow smile spread across his lips.

As though privy to his thoughts, Lady Sarah quirked a brow. “Let me be clear, Mr. White. My sister is an earl’s daughter and deserves a man equal to her in both title and fortune.”

His heart slowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“As I said before, I am not at liberty to discuss the motivations behind my sister’s current course of action, but your involvement with her, your ‘exchanges,’ put her at risk. Should they be discovered and become public knowledge, it could very well ruin her chances of securing a husband.”

“A husband.”

Lady Sarah gave a firm nod. “Indeed.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Her lips pursed together as the sides of her nostrils flared. “My sister seeks an attachment. A marriage proposal.”

“As do most women,” Edmund conceded.

“From a likely spectator at Emberton.”

Most of the
bon ton
would be in attendance. As the aristocracy selected spouses from within their circle, that Lady Albina wished to do so was not the life-altering revelation Lady Sarah made it out to be. Edmund tried not to be too condescending in his reply. “Yes, I understand, my lady, but how your sister’s potential pool of spouses is affected by her payment—”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Lady Sarah groaned. “My sister has entered the race in hopes of impressing a man of the peerage. One whom she hopes will offer for her.”

He rubbed a hand through his windswept hair as a trickle of understanding fought its way past his ignorance. Was it conceivable Lady Albina actually harbored the ridiculous notion that she may garner a husband with her win? Which was more absurd—her racing at Emberton, or the belief that she would capture a man’s attention by doing so? No man in his right mind would offer for a girl headstrong and defiant enough to ride and appear as a man. She reeked of trouble. Of embarrassment. Of humiliation brought to a good name.

Some, however, may be willing to overlook her youthful ambitions and take on the challenge of securing her as their wife. She possessed a title and, no doubt, a dowry worthy of an earl’s daughter. She also had the earl’s backing and that of the Duke of Waverly.

Along with soft, pink, full lips that made a man hard with want.

He adjusted his stance lest Lady Sarah lower her gaze and be further appalled by his actions. For he, as she had been so clear to point out, was not Lady Albina’s equal and therefore not worthy of her consideration. He was a groom training a lady to race so she might attract a husband.

Dear God. He was a fool for not seeing this for what it really was: a bloody damn circus act fit for Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre.

A high-pitched whinny sounded behind him. Edmund turned his head to see the stallion tethered to his stall, happily munching on his oats. He stared at the beast’s gleaming black coat and sighed. As bizarre and unconventional as the entire charade may be, a Thoroughbred stallion awaited him at the finish line; he had only to train a woman to win it and secure his prize.

Lady Albina had her goals. He had his.

Edmund turned back to Lady Sarah. “Whether or not your sister appears
more
the fool
is entirely up to her. If your concern lies with the agreed-upon reimbursement for my instruction and the effects they have upon your sister’s reputation and subsequent chances of securing a husband, you should speak with her not me.”

Lady Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “You are the one accepting her compensation.”

“And she is the one offering it. One might think that a contradiction to her secondary goal, unless, of course, she seeks instruction in that area as well.”

With a gasp, Lady Sarah said, “May I remind you she is a lady, as am I.”

“Yet
she
demands I treat her as a jockey.”

A crimson blush spread across Lady Sarah’s face. “Unless you molest your jockeys after every run, I would mind your place, Mr. White. Impertinence is not a characteristic often sought by
future
employers.”

He gave a casual shrug. “Your sister has her conditions. I have mine, Lady Sarah. And I intend to have them met.”

“You take advantage of her innocence. She is an unwed woman.”

“Who not only allowed me to select the terms of our arrangement, but agreed to them. I am guilty only of asking for a recompense worthy of my time and name.”

“I shall report you to the earl. Your behavior is not that of a gentleman.”

“No, I daresay it is not. As you and your sister have both reminded me, I am but a humble groom employed by your kin, who has determined I am the best man available to tend to his prize horseflesh. Now, if you would have me tell him the jockey I have recommended to replace the ailing Mr. Abbot is not up to snuff…”

Lady Sarah gaped at him, her eyes widening. “I-I-I…”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered open to reveal a desperate gaze. “What if I were to offer you money? For your time. With the understanding that you relieve yourself from the terms agreed upon by my sister.”

Edmund took a step back and leaned against the side of the stall. He’d be a fool to refuse her. Money and, were he to take advantage of the situation, a lot of it, was his for the asking. All he had to do was disengage from his original agreement and refuse himself the pleasures of Lady Albina’s kisses.

It appeared a simple trade, one that made perfect sense, as money was required for the upkeep of a Thoroughbred. While he might secure a horse free of any financial obligation, he still had the responsibility of feeding, housing, and caring for the beast, an expense he could not afford with his current wages.

And yet, a woman under his instruction, one seeking a husband, had agreed to terms that could prevent her from gaining one. Was Lady Albina so focused on winning that she had not considered the consequences of her actions? Of the potential havoc her kisses could reign on her reputation? Was her focus, in fact, besting her male counterparts and snubbing the
bon ton
along with its conventions? It reeked of Lydia—his sister would have done so, albeit in a dress.

Edmund rubbed a hand over his chin. Or was this all part of something darker and more…sensual? A bored lady curious of actions denied by her single status, allowed only to those in her social circles who were married or widowed?

Heat spread through his lower extremities. He could not deny his interest in Lady Albina or the enjoyment found in her embrace. His heart pounded at the recollection of her lips, full and lush, parting on a sigh…

Standing upright, Edmund cleared his throat. He was well aware of the lengths to which he went for his passion, of the sacrifices made for his happiness, which included rejecting a title and the perceived esteem that came with it. And he had no doubt Lady Albina would do the same for hers, precisely as Lydia would have done. Should he pursue this darker side, explore the possibilities… Well, he was naught but a groom. And certainly no gentleman.

“My apologies, Lady Sarah. I find I cannot accept your generosity.”

Lady Sarah frowned. “I can double whatever your current wages. Triple them. Name your price.”

“I already have. And your sister has agreed to pay it.”

With a curt bow, he strode toward the door, away from Lady Sarah and toward the promise of a dip in the frigid waters of the lake beyond his quarters.

Chapter Seven

The act of leaving a warm, comfortable bed before the cock crowed, before even the servants lit the first fires for the day, was inhumane. A heinous act against the order of nature itself. Rest, and adequate stretches of it, were required for the simplest of tasks, which Albina had, prior to this morning, taken for granted. Her eyes, which usually opened without hesitation, stubbornly refused acquiescence, and the limbs that so often responded with adequate physical awareness moved as though detached from her body.

No sane person would willingly endure the laborious act of rising before dawn, but then, she had proven herself to be of questionable mental health with the acceptance of Mr. White as her riding instructor. The same man who insisted she be present, worse yet,
coherent
, at the west end of the stable before the sun stained the sky with streaks of red, pink, and purple.

What’s more, she had no option but to comply to his absurd request, for she required
proper
and adequate instruction. Nor would she settle for the subpar teaching she had received yesterday that he claimed was a direct result of her tardiness.

She had a race to win, one that could not be won with a single pass down a field. She needed time with the mare…and the groom, whose face insisted upon asserting itself in her thoughts, rearing alongside that of another.

The marquess’s dark hair and steel-gray eyes had haunted her dreams for the past year. She had every line, every angle of his face committed to memory. Yet, copper waves were replacing black curls. Laughing, cerulean-blue eyes were overpowering a pensive silver gaze. A strong, dimpled chin intrigued her more than a broad, round one.

Albina sighed. A lack of sleep—that had to be the explanation. As soon as she won Lord Satterfield’s admiration, Mr. White and his handsome features would fade into obscurity. Everything would be as it ought, and thoughts of a groom with a pair of full, soft lips would vanish.

She would no longer dwell on indecencies or obsess over acts that were nothing more than a compensation for his time. Even if yesterday’s kiss had been more fulfilling than the day prior. It had certainly been more…affecting. Her body had responded with an intensity she had not known she possessed. The way her heart had hammered and her head had swum.

Albina pulled her leather boots over the taut buckskin of her breeches and grunted. He had initiated the kiss, despite his agreed-upon arrangement and its requirement that she be the one to lead. He had broken a rule. More than one. Her cheeks blazed at the memory of his hands on her bottom, clenching, grasping her rear with firm, determined fingers…

She had to think of something else. Like her form. And her impatience. She could not afford to be disqualified from this morning’s count, because she needed to know how fast she raced the mare. Especially after the corrections Mr. White had…suggested.

Her face heated as she lifted her hands above her head in a stretch. Her happiness and her future as the marchioness were dependent on her ability to lift her arse, lower her head, and squeeze her legs. All of which she would adjust and improve as soon as she was on top of the mare.

Pushing open a side door, Albina stepped out of her room into an empty servants’ hall and made her way down the stairs. She took care to skip over the bottom step and its loose, creaky board to reach the east exit. Lifting the latch, she shoved a shoulder against the door and stepped into the fading darkness of dawn. A damp chill hung in the air, the cool nip the perfect remedy for her weariness. She inhaled the fresh, musky scent of earth and set off down the stone path toward the barn.

With its lofted ceiling, its familiar blended scent of fresh hay and oiled leather, and its stalls filled with premium horseflesh, the stable was easily Albina’s favorite building on the estate. In her youth, she had often snuck down to the warm, bustling barn to be with the horses. Riding them was one of her greatest pleasures.

The melding of beast and man, racing at impossible speeds, near flying over the earth—the rush of excitement was one unparalleled to anything she had ever felt before. At least, that was, until she had kissed a man.

Her cheeks warming, she quickened her pace and raced to the west end of the stables and the agreed-upon meeting spot for her morning instruction.

A high-pitched whinny greeted her as she rounded the corner, along with a look of surprise on Mr. White’s face.

“Lady Albina.” With her mare beside him, he stood as though dumbstruck at her appearance, though why he should appear thus, she couldn’t fathom. He had been the one to set the abysmally early hour for her instruction.

“You did say to arrive before the sun rose. Not during, yes?” she asked.

“That I did, though I did not think you would comply.”

Albina tossed her plaited hair over her shoulder. Honestly. If he had not meant for his instructions to be followed, why did he issue them at all? She may not like kowtowing to outrageous orders, but she had a horse to ride. And not just any horse, but the earl’s finest. “You made your demands clear, Mr. White. Arrive before the sun to receive instruction.”

“That I did.”

“Along with the threat that I would not receive adequate training should I not adhere to your rules. So, here I am…awaiting your tutelage.” Her legs hip-width apart, she stood with her hands clasped in front of her in an expectant stance. Yet, he continued to peer at her through the hazy dimness as though she were an apparition and not a compliant student ready for his instruction.

Had she done something wrong? Had she somehow misunderstood his request or said something galling or offensive? He must have noticed her inquiring look, for he cleared his throat. “I’m curious to know why you seek my instruction, Lady Albina,” he said.

She peered at him and frowned. “For the same reason you offered it, Mr. White. I do not wish to look the fool at Emberton. I want to win.”

But the man still stood, vexing her with his immobility as the first beams of dawn illuminated the darkness. What in heaven’s name had spurred this sudden interest in her motivation? “I cannot teach when I do not know what compels you to learn.”

Was he obtuse? She took a deep, calming breath and reached for the ribbons, but he lifted them above her head, out of her grasp, her fingers grazing the leather strands. “What does it matter, so long as I put forth the effort to claim the victory?”

He leaned forward, his face only inches from hers. “It matters a great deal when you’re on the back of a horse in a race that not only endangers your life, but also those of the other riders. Whatever compels you to compete better damn well be worth the risk.”

Albina fell back on her heels. “I did not think you so invested in my well-being, Mr. White.”

“I care for my horses…and those who race them.”

“The
earl’s
horses,” Albina corrected.

He clenched his jaw. “They are my horses whilst they are in my care. I ride them. I tend to them. And I choose who races them. Should the horses fail at the derby, or worse, get injured,
I
am the one who will take the blame, not you, as it will be on my recommendation that you race as Mr. Abbot’s replacement. I believe I’m owed the courtesy of insight as to why you would risk your life, and that of my horses, to race for the earl.”

Albina glanced between him and the mare stomping impatiently to her right. Accidents with horses were frequent and accepted. Injuries were possible every time she entered the stables. And while racing at high speeds increased those chances, the probability of an accident was an inherent danger of the sport and one she assumed was her decision. Mr. White’s concerns were valid, but as to whether he was owed insight into what drove her to accept those risks…

He’d think her even more the fool. She ran a hand over the mare’s black muzzle. If he knew she gambled the horse’s livelihood for the possibility of a marriage proposal he’d laugh—and worse, refuse his instruction.

But he did not, nor would he ever, understand what it was like to be overlooked by the one person you desired above all others. Or to live with the humiliation and fear that a man would reject marriage, even abhor an entire sex, rather than speak with you, because you were not your sister, his first choice. Or what it felt like to embark upon yet another season, because no one desired you in your first or second. Nor could he comprehend the pressure weighing on her shoulders from damage done to the Amhurst name.

Albina bit the inside of her cheek. She was being ridiculous—the lack of sleep had gone to her head. The marquess would bestow his attentions upon her, especially once he grasped the risks she had taken to gain them. He would see them as the
personal achievements
they were.

She turned her attention to the groom. “Personal achievement, Mr. White. It is why I race.”

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Nothing more?”

Was it possible he knew of the marquess and her interest in acquiring his attentions? She patted the mare’s side. No. The only people privy to that information were her relations, and they would never reveal her true intentions, certainly not to her advisor. There was no benefit in his knowing. But there was something about the slight lift of his left auburn brow, the way it bent higher than its twin, that made her wonder if he was more intuitive than she had originally believed.

She eyed his square jaw, fresh with russet-colored stubble glinting in the morning light. A sudden urge to brush her fingers across it, to see if it was as rough as it appeared, overtook her.

Albina closed her eyes and took a step back. If Mr. White was already cognizant of her interest in the marquess, it mattered little. If anything, it benefitted her situation because he knew what was at stake: her future.

If he was not mindful, however, she need not inform him. And though she might not be forthcoming with the truth, she did not have to be dishonest in her reply. She yearned for success and the heady rush of accomplishment as much as any other jockey.

“Glory and honor,” she replied, her voice ringing in the stillness of dawn. “We all have our flaws, and I fear pride is mine.”

His brows lifted.

He doubted her, as well he should. Which was why it was imperative she diverted the attention off of her and onto him. She glanced at the ribbons still held high in his hand. “What motivates you to ride, Mr. White?”

He lowered his arm and shrugged. “My motivations are irrelevant. Yours alone concern me.”

“And yours intrigue
me
,” Albina countered. “I answered your query. It is only fair you do the same and reply to mine.”

“Your concern for equality compels you to inquire after my motivations? For there is nothing equal between us, my lady. I am but a groom. And one falling woefully behind in his duties the longer we converse.” He held out the ribbons. “Take these and wait here. I have a mount ready to ride out with you to the upper pasture.”

She took the leather strips, her fingers brushing against his palm. Her gaze flicked upward to find him watching her, as though he were aware of the sudden jolt his touch had elicited. Which was absolutely absurd.

Willing the thrum of her pulse to quiet, she straightened her shoulders. “You did not answer my question.”

He brushed passed her. “No. I did not.”

“But something must compel you, Mr. White.”

His back to her, he paused. “And something does. Though I doubt my interests are hardly intriguing enough to hold the attention of a lady.”

His words stung more than they ought, the truth behind them filling her with unease. Albina shifted in the sand. She had treated him as she had been taught, as the rules governing their worlds dictated she should. As an earl’s daughter, she was above a stable hand, no matter how high his rank.

Her actions, however, seemed impolite. Rude. Even petty. She had asserted her title above his and reminded him repeatedly of his station, as though he mattered not. Her face heated with shame. The horse had received better consideration. She may be a lady, but she was a human first, as was he, deserving of the same courtesies. Anything less was…not right.

“You are wrong.”

He cocked his head and turned. “Am I?”

“Quite. I would not inquire after your interests if I did not wish to learn them.” A truth that had only just been realized, but a truth nonetheless.

He rubbed a hand over his face and laughed. “I am, as you have so oft reminded me, Lady Albina, a groom. Decorum dictates I am not allowed to express my opinions or my personal interests with a member of the house.” He shook his head and took a step toward the barn.

Albina lunged toward him, her hand gripping his elbow. “I don’t suppose it does, but as my presence this morning is in clear defiance of those same rules, I think them void for the time being. You are, after all, first a man.”

An attractive, virile man who stood less than a hand’s width from her chest. His nearness sent her heart aflutter. It did not appear to discern between instructor and marquess, and for this moment, Mr. White, not Lord Satterfield, stood before her, heating her insides.

His gaze fell to her hand. “Freedom.”

Suddenly aware of the tension in his arm, Albina released her grip.

He tugged on the short brim of his riding hat. “I ride to escape into the depths of my mind, where I am, as you so deftly pointed out, a man first.” His gaze flitted behind her, to the wooded lands she knew stretched beyond Plumburn’s borders. “In that moment, I have no responsibilities. No worries pressing upon my shoulders. It is but the horse and myself, riding together as one, with naught but pleasure as our goal.” His gaze returned to hers. “That, my lady, is what motivates me to ride. A venture to which we must attend, should we accomplish it before our time runs out. My steed and the upper pasture awaits.”