didn’t want to go and, contrary to her beliefs,
it didn’t suit his plans to have her go. London was the one place he couldn’t be
right now. ‘A Season is very generous.’ Bram hedged his comments. Inspiration
struck. ‘Have you been before?’
Some of Phaedra’s anger faded when she realised he wasn’t going
to argue. He could see her body relax beneath the overlarge shoulders of his
coat. ‘No. I was supposed to but that was the year my brother, Edward, died. He
was nineteen.’
He’d heard as much from Tom Anderson. ‘And the next year?’ The
family would have been out of mourning by the following spring.
She shrugged, a gesture he was coming to recognise as a
distractor. She shrugged when she wanted to appear nonchalant, a sure sign she
was hiding something of greater value. It was a delightful gesture. He wondered
if she knew she did it. ‘There were a lot of things going on with the family
last spring. Giles had just come home and I didn’t feel like leaving, not for
London anyway.’
Another set of mysteries to solve about the Montagues, Bram
thought. It was odd indeed for a ducal family not to send their eligible
daughter to London. ‘Did your sister go?’ Phaedra wasn’t the only one who would
have been itching for a Season.
The reference brought a slight smile to her lips. ‘You don’t
know Kate. The last thing she ever wanted was a London Season. She went once for
her debut and she never went back.’
He was starting to understand. Perhaps her sister’s poor debut
had coloured her own perceptions. ‘Just because your sister had a bad
experience, doesn’t mean you will.’ That would hardly be the case. London’s
bachelors would stumble over themselves to get to her; an attractive duke’s
daughter was quite a catch indeed. Something raw and primal knotted in his
stomach at the thought of London’s bucks competing over Phaedra as if she were a
prize to be won. If there was any winning to be done, he’d be the one to do it.
After all, he saw her first.
Phaedra shook her head impatiently. ‘I can’t possibly leave
Warbourne. If I go to London, I’ll lose my chance to race him at Epsom.’ She
paused and watched him, her blue-grey eyes holding his. ‘Aren’t you going to
laugh or are you simply going to ignore the statement the way Giles does and
pretend you didn’t hear it?’
They were back to that again. The lantern light cast an
intimate glow over the stables, limning Phaedra’s delicate profile in a soft
rosy glow. In the loose box, Warbourne had settled to sleep. Bram let the words
hover between them before he ventured into the conversation.
‘Warbourne’s a good horse. There’s nothing to laugh about
there. But why Epsom? There are other races. There are even other races at Epsom he can enter next year as a four-year-old.
Why is the Derby so important to you?’ The personal nature of her quest for
Epsom had not been addressed in their earlier conversation.
‘It’s the most prestigious. It secures a horse’s reputation for
stud.’ She looked at him as if he were an idiot. Any horseman worth his salt
would know that. Bram had met women who were patronesses of the sport but they
were not duke’s daughters. They were women of a middling rank or less who had
made a hobby-cum-livelihood out of it. They dabbled in breeding and racing.
Phaedra didn’t need a livelihood. It begged the question, what did she need?
‘Why is it so important to you though?’ he pressed, knowing full well he was treading on unexamined
territory. Bram could not recall the last time he’d had a real conversation with
a woman, where he’d actually listened, where it actually mattered what she said
next. Maybe he’d never had one. But he was having one tonight, and he was beyond
curious about her answer. For whatever reason, her answer mattered. He wanted to know what drove this neck-or-nothing beauty. This
was unexplored territory indeed. ‘Well, Phaedra, why?’ He repeated
it didn’t suit his plans to have her go. London was the one place he couldn’t be
right now. ‘A Season is very generous.’ Bram hedged his comments. Inspiration
struck. ‘Have you been before?’
Some of Phaedra’s anger faded when she realised he wasn’t going
to argue. He could see her body relax beneath the overlarge shoulders of his
coat. ‘No. I was supposed to but that was the year my brother, Edward, died. He
was nineteen.’
He’d heard as much from Tom Anderson. ‘And the next year?’ The
family would have been out of mourning by the following spring.
She shrugged, a gesture he was coming to recognise as a
distractor. She shrugged when she wanted to appear nonchalant, a sure sign she
was hiding something of greater value. It was a delightful gesture. He wondered
if she knew she did it. ‘There were a lot of things going on with the family
last spring. Giles had just come home and I didn’t feel like leaving, not for
London anyway.’
Another set of mysteries to solve about the Montagues, Bram
thought. It was odd indeed for a ducal family not to send their eligible
daughter to London. ‘Did your sister go?’ Phaedra wasn’t the only one who would
have been itching for a Season.
The reference brought a slight smile to her lips. ‘You don’t
know Kate. The last thing she ever wanted was a London Season. She went once for
her debut and she never went back.’
He was starting to understand. Perhaps her sister’s poor debut
had coloured her own perceptions. ‘Just because your sister had a bad
experience, doesn’t mean you will.’ That would hardly be the case. London’s
bachelors would stumble over themselves to get to her; an attractive duke’s
daughter was quite a catch indeed. Something raw and primal knotted in his
stomach at the thought of London’s bucks competing over Phaedra as if she were a
prize to be won. If there was any winning to be done, he’d be the one to do it.
After all, he saw her first.
Phaedra shook her head impatiently. ‘I can’t possibly leave
Warbourne. If I go to London, I’ll lose my chance to race him at Epsom.’ She
paused and watched him, her blue-grey eyes holding his. ‘Aren’t you going to
laugh or are you simply going to ignore the statement the way Giles does and
pretend you didn’t hear it?’
They were back to that again. The lantern light cast an
intimate glow over the stables, limning Phaedra’s delicate profile in a soft
rosy glow. In the loose box, Warbourne had settled to sleep. Bram let the words
hover between them before he ventured into the conversation.
‘Warbourne’s a good horse. There’s nothing to laugh about
there. But why Epsom? There are other races. There are even other races at Epsom he can enter next year as a four-year-old.
Why is the Derby so important to you?’ The personal nature of her quest for
Epsom had not been addressed in their earlier conversation.
‘It’s the most prestigious. It secures a horse’s reputation for
stud.’ She looked at him as if he were an idiot. Any horseman worth his salt
would know that. Bram had met women who were patronesses of the sport but they
were not duke’s daughters. They were women of a middling rank or less who had
made a hobby-cum-livelihood out of it. They dabbled in breeding and racing.
Phaedra didn’t need a livelihood. It begged the question, what did she need?
‘Why is it so important to you though?’ he pressed, knowing full well he was treading on unexamined
territory. Bram could not recall the last time he’d had a real conversation with
a woman, where he’d actually listened, where it actually mattered what she said
next. Maybe he’d never had one. But he was having one tonight, and he was beyond
curious about her answer. For whatever reason, her answer mattered. He wanted to know what drove this neck-or-nothing beauty. This
was unexplored territory indeed. ‘Well, Phaedra, why?’ He repeated
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