Unbefitting a Lady. Bronwyn Scott

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      Bram dismounted and shot her a mischievous smile that boded ill. ‘You can’t possibly think you won?’ Phaedra drew the reins over Isolde’s head. ‘I counted fifteen points for me and only eight for you.’ It had been no small feat to keep track of logs and fences for the two of them while flying breakneck over the Castonbury lands.

      Bram fell in beside her, leading a lathered Merlin to the stalls. ‘I believe the rule was first one back to the stables wins, not who accrues the most points.’

      ‘Then why jump anything at all?’ Phaedra retorted.

      ‘Yes, why indeed?’ Bram’s white-toothed grin was insufferable in its arrogance and twice as enticing. It was almost impossible to be angry at a smile like that.

      ‘Next you’ll be telling me you only jumped a few things to humour me.’

      ‘No, I jumped a few things so you wouldn’t suspect anything. Once you told me Merlin wasn’t keen on longer distances, I knew I didn’t have a chance unless Isolde tired herself out.’ Bram called for a stable boy to take the horses. ‘Give them both a good rub down. They’re sweaty and could take a chill. Put on their blankets and turn them out to their paddocks.’ Then he gave her all his attention. ‘Now it’s time to claim my forfeit.’

      ‘You can’t be serious. You cheated. You deliberately implied certain things,’ Phaedra argued.

      ‘I’m always serious about winning. I didn’t peg you for a sore loser, Phaedra. Are you refusing to pay up?’

      That stung. ‘Of course not.’ But it took all her bravado to admit it. The way he was looking at her right now made her wonder exactly what kind of forfeit he wanted to claim. She probably should have defined those terms as well. She gave it a belated try. ‘I won’t kiss you for it, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

      Bram stepped closer, making her aware of the sheer maleness of him, a potent combination of muscle, leather and horse, all the things a man should be. ‘Why not? I am of the opinion you need kissing.’

      ‘I’ve been kissed before, if you must know,’ Phaedra said in low tones. Good heavens, she hoped they weren’t overheard. This was the most unseemly conversation. She tried to end it by walking to her office.

      Bram gave a chuckle that sent butterflies to her stomach in warm flutters and followed her. ‘I’m sure you have if you count parlour games and mistletoe.’

      They’d reached her office door. He should take the hint it was time to part. But he didn’t. Instead he rested his arm on the door frame over her head and leaned towards her, his arm, his body, effectively trapping her against the wall before she could go in and escape behind the security of her desk. ‘That’s not the kind of kissing I’m talking about, Phaedra.’ There was a wealth of innuendo and invitation in that short phrase and it sent a jolt of warm heat straight to her belly.

      She should tell him to stop using her name. He was hired help. He should know better. She should be outraged at his bold behaviour, maybe even frightened. Aunt Wilhelmina would be. But all Phaedra could conjure up in response was excitement.

      ‘What kind of kissing are you talking about?’ Phaedra bit her lip wincing at her words. Had she actually said that? ‘Never mind, I don’t want to know.’

      ‘Of course you want to know.’ His blue eyes dropped to her lips, his mouth a teasing half-smile full of knowledge.

      ‘I think you’re the most outrageous man I’ve ever met.’ It was the most sophisticated set-down she could manage under the circumstances and the most true. None of the young bucks she’d encountered could match him in his relentless pursuit of … of what? Of her?

      Bram stepped back, releasing her from his intimate cage, that ever-present smile on his face when he looked at her as if he could read her every thought. ‘Good, that gives us something in common. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to see to.’

      A little flame of temper flared. How dare he imply she’d been the one keeping him when he’d been the one to follow her to the office and … and what? Phaedra went inside and shut her door, craving solitude.

      He really was most the unnerving man she’d ever encountered. It wasn’t because she hadn’t met an arrogant man before. She’d met a few, Sir Nathan Samuelson notwithstanding, and she’d routinely found the arrogance completely unattractive. But on Bram Basingstoke, that was not the case. He wore arrogance infuriatingly well. He was confident, sure of himself, and sure of her as if he knew all along what she’d do next before she knew it herself.

      Phaedra slumped in her chair, getting her racing pulse under control. Admittedly, she had little practice with this sort of man, with any man. He’d had it aright when he’d guessed her kissing had been limited to party games and holiday traditions. He’d been right, too, when he’d suggested she wanted to know about his kind of kissing. Just because she hadn’t been kissed, didn’t mean she didn’t want to be. There just hadn’t been the right opportunity, or maybe there just hadn’t been the right man. She was twenty, after all, and girls younger than she were married with families.

      Phaedra fiddled idly with the paperweight on her desk. Bram Basingstoke thought he could be the right man. Was he crazy? She was a duke’s daughter. It raised the question of whether or not he knew better. He acted like no servant she’d ever met. There was a bit of irony to the idea that a lady took a groom out riding with her as protection, as a chaperone, but who protected her from the groom when he came in the form of Bram Basingstoke? In no way did he meet Aunt Wilhelmina’s terms of an ideal chaperone. He was far too handsome, and far too exciting with his brash brand of conversation.

      Phaedra gave a heavy sigh. If the truth be told, she was disappointed he hadn’t kissed her in spite of her scold. It might have been nice to know once and for all what the mystique was all about. She was tired of being twenty and having never been kissed, at least not really kissed by a real man. Perhaps there was still hope. Bram had left without claiming his forfeit. Until then, she had Warbourne to think about. Phaedra grabbed a lunge line from a hook on the wall. It was time to see what her colt could do.

      Phaedra looked up at the clock on her wall and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Quarter past six already! The afternoon had sped by in an enjoyable flurry of activity. Warbourne had not disappointed. She’d worked with him until late afternoon and then buried herself in her office writing copious notes about the day’s training. It was all very promising and she was tempted to send to the house for supper instead of going back. But that was the coward’s way. It would accomplish nothing. If she didn’t show up for supper, Giles would seek her out down here. If he meant to have a talk, nothing would stop him.

      Phaedra rose and stretched, her stomach rumbled. She’d worked through lunch and tea. Supper sounded nice but she’d have to hurry if she was to be on time and dressed to meet Aunt Wilhelmina’s exacting standards. Even though no guests were present, Aunt Wilhelmina expected the family to dress for dinner. One never knew who might arrive at the last minute and while they could have bad form in showing up unexpectedly, the Montagues could not. A duke and his family must always be prepared to look the part.

      Phaedra arrived in the drawing room promptly at seven o’clock dressed in a cream dinner gown of Spitalfields silk woven with blue and red flowers, her hair put up in a twist with a few tendrils left down to frame her face. Her maid, Henny, had been prepared, a gown laid out and a pitcher of warm water already waiting in anticipation.

      Lumsden summoned them for dinner with СКАЧАТЬ