‘Whatever are you thinking now?’ she demanded.

‘This.’ Crispin moved quickly. Their closeness made it no great matter to slide his hand behind her neck, to cup the back of her head through the layers of her thick hair, and draw her the short distance to his body. He took her lips in an open-mouthed kiss that tempted and tested.

She was more than up to the challenge, responding with a fierceness that rocked Crispin to his core. Her tongue tangled with his, she sucked hard on his lower lip, grazing the tender skin with her sharp teeth. At length, she pulled back, a knowing smile on her lips. ‘Well, I suppose we can all be thankful for small miracles.’

‘What would that be?’ Crispin gave a smile. This was more like it. Women were usually impressed with his kisses. He stepped forward, ready to claim more.

She stepped backwards towards her mount. ‘At least you kiss better than you ride.’

Author Note

I had a great time with each of the Ramsden brothers. They’re all a bit different: there’s Paine, the youngest who, by birth order, has the opportunity to dabble in business to make his fortune abroad in exotic India, since there’s no chance he’ll inherit. There’s Peyton, the heir, born to be the Earl and the patriot. Then there’s Crispin, who’s born to be wild. He loves horses and women and shuns commitment—until he meets Aurora Calhoun.

Crispin’s story was fun to write. My favourite section is the part at the St Albans Steeplechase. England is mad for horses, and the historical records are quite thorough. I was able to find a list of horses and riders that ran in the 1835 race, and a report of the race itself—who finished and who fell. It’s all accurate, so pay special attention to the race and know you’re reliving history.

Crispin’s tale was meant to be the last, but it’s not necessary to read the three stories in order. Be sure to check out Paine’s story in NOTORIOUS RAKE, INNOCENT LADY and Peyton’s in THE EARL’S FORBIDDEN WARD. There is also a short story—GRAYSON PRENTISS’S SEDUCTION—giving Julia’s cousin her own romance (available on the eHarlequin.com website), which runs concurrently with Julia and Paine’s story.

Thank you for all your interest in the Ramsden brothers. I enjoyed getting your e-mails and the comments you left on my blog, urging me to get those Ramsden books on the shelves.

Readers can reach me at

www.Bronwynswriting.blogspot.com,

or at my web page, www.Bronwynnscott.com

Stay in touch!

Untamed Rogue, Scandalous Mistress
Bronwyn Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Bronwyn Scott is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing, she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages.

Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, www.Bronwynnscott.com, or at her blog, www.Bronwynswriting.blogspot.com—she loves to hear from readers.

Recent novels from Bronwyn Scott:

PICKPOCKET COUNTESS

NOTORIOUS RAKE, INNOCENT LADY

THE VISCOUNT CLAIMS HIS BRIDE

THE EARL’S FORBIDDEN WARD

and in Mills & Boon® Historical eBook Undone!:

LIBERTINE LORD, PICKPOCKET MISS

PLEASURED BY THE ENGLISH SPY

To Suzanne Ring, thanks for your support of the

South Sound Titan’s swim club annual auction.

Thank you also for your personal friendship.

Your commitment to the community is inspiring.

Chapter One

Early February 1835

Crispin Ramsden never saw it coming. One moment he was trotting peaceably down the dirt lane that led to the turn towards Dursley Park, savouring a country-side he hadn’t seen in three years, and the next he was flat on his back, having been unceremoniously spilled from his stallion, who was even now rearing and flailing his dangerous hooves in reaction to whatever had spooked him.

Straining against the pull of a sore hip and buttocks that had taken the brunt of his fall, Crispin levered himself into an upright position to take in the scene. He saw the cause of the accident clearly: a tall, slender youth and his horse, an impressive-looking bay hunter that went at least sixteen hands. Even with a sore hip, Crispin noticed such things. The youth was standing in the road, managing to calm Crispin’s highly strung stallion.

‘Miraculous,’ Crispin called out, hoisting himself to his feet carefully. He’d only ever met a handful of people who could handle Sheikh.

‘That’s what I was going to say about you.’ The youth turned from the horse and faced Crispin, hands on hips, and Crispin realised his mistake. It was no youth who’d calmed his horse, but very clearly a woman; a woman with long athletic legs shown off to advantage in riding breeches that did nothing to disguise the delicious curve of her rear-end and high breasts that rose and fell provocatively beneath a man’s cut-down white shirt.

‘Miraculous? I can be.’ Crispin sauntered towards Sheikh, doing his level best to not limp, wince or otherwise indicate the fall had left him in need of a hot soaking bath. This woman didn’t appear to be the type to appreciate infirmities or she would have run straight over to him first and seen to the horse second. He reached out a hand and stroked Sheikh’s quivering flank.

At this close proximity he could make out the long braid of dark hair tucked down the back of her shirt. In fact, it was quite amazing he’d mistaken her for a young man at all.

She shot him a hard look with eyes the colour of summer grass, a deep verdant green. ‘I meant it was miraculous you didn’t hear me shout when I entered the roadway. I called out twice to warn you of my presence. You had plenty of time to get out of the way. What were you thinking?’ she snapped.

He’d been thinking how nice it would be to get home, to see his brother, Peyton, to see his twin nephews, who had been born two years ago, and the new baby, who had arrived a month early in January. He’d been thinking about settling the inheritance that had finally compelled him to stop making excuses and come back to the Cotswolds.

His attention might have been errant in regards to his surroundings, but Crispin Ramsden didn’t like being taken to task by anyone and certainly not by a black-haired virago dressed in men’s clothing a mile from his home.

Crispin folded his arms over his chest and faced her squarely. ‘The better question is—what were you thinking? You’re the one racing a horse into a country lane out of nowhere. In case you haven’t noticed, this is a public thoroughfare. Any number of people or conveyances could have been on this road and you would have bowled right into them.’

‘How dare you impugn my abilities as a horsewoman,’ she shot back, boldly stepping forwards so that now they stood toe-to-toe, her dusty riding boot touching his. It was hard to tell whose was dirtier. ‘You have no right to pass judgement on my skills when you were as absentminded as the vicar’s grandmother. You could have ruined that fine animal of yours.’

Not only were they toe-to-toe, they were nearly nose to nose, give or take a few inches on her side, Crispin observed. He appreciated the benefits of her height. Being a tall man himself, he’d always had a preference for taller women—better compatibility when it came to dancing, which he abhorred, and bed sport, which he liked quite a lot.

He knew he should at least feign attention to the dressing down she was giving him, whoever the hell she was, but it was deuced awkward to concentrate when his mind was giving her a dressing down of another sort. Who could blame him when those luscious breasts heaved with indignation mere inches from his chest? When those grass-green eyes of hers flared with passion for her subject? It was rather difficult not to imagine how those eyes might fire with another sort of passion that had nothing at all to do with horses and everything to do with those long legs wrapped about his waist, locked in the throes of ecstasy, and those inky tresses spilled across a pillow, free from their confining braid.

He had himself thoroughly aroused by the time she drew a deep breath and brought her scolding tirade to an abrupt halt. ‘Whatever are you thinking now?’ she demanded, obviously alert to the fact that his thoughts had wandered from her lecture.

‘This.’ Crispin moved quickly. Their closeness made it no great matter to slide his hand behind her neck, to cup the back of her head through the layers of her thick hair, and draw her the short distance to his body. He took her lips in an open-mouthed kiss that tempted and tested.

She was more than up to the challenge, responding with a fierceness that rocked Crispin to his core. Her tongue tangled with his, she sucked hard on his lower lip, grazing the tender skin with her sharp teeth. At length, she pulled back, a knowing smile on her lips. ‘Well, I suppose we can all be thankful for small miracles.’

‘What would that be?’ Crispin gave a wolfish smile. This was more like it. Women were usually impressed with his kisses. He stepped forwards, ready to claim more.

She stepped backwards towards her mount. ‘At least you kiss better than you ride.’

Small miracles indeed! Crispin was still fuming over the encounter by the time he arrived in the drive of Dursley Park. She’d pricked his pride and ridden off without a backwards glance. She could not know, of course, that he took great pride in his horsemanship. It was the one thing he did better than anyone he knew and he knew many fine equestrians.

Her blind arrow had hit the mark perhaps more intensely than she’d meant. Crispin would love nothing more than to find the minx and show her just how wrong she was. However, he was grateful that his stinging pride had given his body something else to focus on the last mile home. It wouldn’t do to show up at Dursley Park after a three-year absence with a painfully obvious erection straining his trousers and no good explanation for it.

Crispin jumped down from Sheikh and tossed the reins to a groom who’d come running from the stables the moment he’d been sighted. He mounted the wide steps to the front door, taking a moment at the top to survey the park spread out around him. The place looked the same as it always had: the lawns neatly manicured, the hedges that bordered the gardens impeccably trimmed, flowers blooming when and where they should. He chuckled to himself. Even nature in late winter obeyed Peyton and Dursley Park was clearly Peyton’s domain; well-ordered and peaceful.

There was comfort in the knowledge that such a place as this existed in a chaotic world. But that comfort came with a price Crispin knew all too well: boredom. Just as he embraced the comfort of Dursley Park at the moment, he already knew two or three months from now he’d be chafing to get away.

His knock was answered by the butler who immediately ushered him in and went to inform Peyton. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. If he knew Peyton, he’d be in his study. Like the clockwork Crispin had bet on, Peyton emerged from the study ahead of the butler. His brother crossed the entry in three long strides and surprisingly pulled him into a firm embrace.

That was new.

Crispin could not recall the last time Peyton had hugged him and this definitely qualified as a hug, not a mere embrace done simply to make a show of expected, scripted affection.

‘Crispin!’ Peyton said at last, stepping back, his hands still gripping Crispin’s forearms as if he were reluctant to let him go. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’

‘I didn’t know I was coming until I got here,’ Crispin said truthfully. He’d thought to come home so many times in the past three years. He’d even mentioned returning in a few of his letters, but then he never had. Something had always come up; some new adventure claimed his attention and he put off returning yet again. After a while, he stopped making any mention of coming home for fear of letting everyone down when he failed to appear.

Peyton nodded, perhaps understanding him as well as anybody did. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. Tessa will be glad to see you and you have to meet the boys.’

With uncharacteristic informality, Peyton led him to the nursery on the third floor, the noise from which would have made it easy to locate even without a guide.

On the floor in the centre of a large, braided rug, two identical-twin boys wrestled and yelled in their excitement. Not far from them, Tessa sat in a rocking chair, holding a blue-blanketed bundle and watching the boys’ antics, good-naturedly putting up with their noise.

‘Tess, look who’s stopped by,’ Peyton called over the racket. ‘Boys, come meet your Uncle Crispin. Crispin, this is Nicholas and Alexander.’

Two little dark-haired boys bounded over to them with no trace of shyness, two sets of piercing blue eyes looking up at him in curiosity. The boys were Ramsdens through and through. There was no mistaking the trademark dark hair and the blue eyes for anything less. Crispin dropped down to his haunches and met the boys at eye level. ‘Want to see a trick?’ The boys’ heads nodded vigorously. Crispin made a show of flexing his hands and then slid one hand over the other to create the age-old illusion of his thumb separating from his hand. The boys’ eyes grew large and they howled with laughter. Crispin ruffled their hair and stood up. ‘They’re Ramsdens all right.’ He smiled at Peyton.

‘Here’s the newest one.’ Tessa joined them, proudly holding up the blanket bundle to reveal another baby boy bearing the same genetic imprint, this one named Christopher and as healthy looking as the others in spite of his early birth. Crispin laughed and slapped his brother on the back. ‘Three boys! It’s you, me and Paine all over again. Probably serves you right, you old devil,’ he teased, but he could see the obvious pride and love in his brother’s face.

‘I’ll have tea set up downstairs,’ Tessa said once the initial excitement of Crispin’s arrival passed. She handed the baby to the nurse and shepherded the boys into a quieter activity.

In the drawing room, Crispin studied Peyton while Tessa made general small talk and poured out the tea. Peyton appeared the same as always: tall, fit, in prime health. But if he looked closer, Crispin could see subtle signs of change. His brother’s Ramsden-dark hair showed brief signs of silver at the temples. Tiny lines faintly etched the corners of his blue eyes and the brackets of his mouth.

Very small variations on the usual theme, to be sure. He shouldn’t be surprised. Peyton would have turned forty-one last August. Forty-one wasn’t so terribly old. All in all, Peyton was ageing wonderfully, but Crispin still hated to think of Peyton as getting old simply because it meant he was getting older too. If Peyton was nearing forty-two, that made him thirty-eight and far closer to forty than he’d care to be.

Tessa passed him a teacup. ‘Do you still take it plain without sugar?’

‘Yes.’ Crispin took the teacup, thinking how delicate, how fragile it was. He’d not drunk from such a frail vessel since he’d left home. Dainty teacups were not practical in the places he’d been.

‘So you’re home to settle the inheritance,’ Peyton remarked, referring to the property a few miles away that Crispin had inherited from an aunt on their mother’s side. Peyton took a teacup from Tessa. ‘The manor is in great shape. I’ve been over several times to keep an eye on things, but the steward is doing an outstanding job. He’s a younger fellow, highly capable and eminently trustworthy. I think you’ll be pleased, Crispin. The stables are in prime condition; lots of light and big stalls. There are not any horses there at present, of course.’ He smiled knowingly over the rim of his cup, taking a sip.

Crispin shifted slightly in his chair. He’d had months—a year really if anyone was counting—to mentally come to grips with his inheritance. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful. Second sons rarely had anything to call their own if there wasn’t some kind of settlement from the maternal side of the family. But after all this time, he still hadn’t reconciled himself to the notion that he was a landowner with all the responsibilities therein. He’d already decided it would be better to sell the property. A wanderer like himself had no business owning land he had no intention of supervising.

‘I’m not sure I’ll be keeping the estate.’ Crispin steeled himself for a cold scolding from Peyton. Peyton would think him most ungrateful.

Peyton merely raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you’ll have a better idea of what you’d like to do after you’ve seen it. Woodbrook is an attractive piece of property for those who are horse-minded. Regardless of what you decide to do, there are a few papers that need your signature and some other minor points in the will to settle.’

‘We can ride over tomorrow and take a look at things,’ Crispin offered by way of a subtle apology. The least he could do was go look at the property. Peyton was no doubt disappointed he’d not immediately declared his intentions to set up a home and embark on establishing a superior stable. Such a goal had long been Crispin’s dream in childhood, but these days, he had little desire to be tied down in the way such an enterprise would demand.

‘Woodbrook is a bit too far for me to stable my horse there on a daily basis, I was wondering if I could put up my stallion in your stables, Peyton?’ Crispin shifted to a safer topic.

‘Of course, if we had room. However, we’re full up just now for any long-term boarding,’ Peyton said regretfully. ‘But I’m sure we can think of something.’

‘What about boarding the horse over at Rory’s?’ Tessa suggested. ‘It’s close by.’ She shot a look at the mantel clock. ‘You could go over and see about making arrangements. Rory will be done giving lessons in a half-hour.’ Tessa reached for a scone and added, ‘Petra’s taking riding lessons over there. You can walk home with her.’

Crispin smiled. ‘How is Petra these days? Has she survived her London début?’ Of all the Branscombe girls, and there were plenty of them—four counting Tessa—he liked Petra the best. Although there was a large difference in their ages, Petra and he shared an affinity for horses that made for enjoyable conversation. He’d genuinely enjoy the chance to talk with Petra and show off Sheikh.

Peyton grinned. ‘You know Petra—she put up with London for our sakes, but was happy to come home. It’s where her heart is, quite obviously in this case. She’s engaged to the squire’s son, Thomas. They’ll be married here at Dursley Park this autumn.’

‘One down, Peyton. Two more Branscombe girls to go.’ Crispin laughed, offering his congratulations. ‘If you give me the directions, I’ll head over to this Rory’s and see about boarding my horse. I’ll have Petra back for dinner.’

Peyton rose too. ‘The groom can show you the path, it’s just across the valley.’ He paused and smiled. ‘It’s good to have you home, Cris.’

‘It’s good to be home, Peyton,’ Crispin said, knowing his simple words to be entirely sincere.

Peyton turned to his wife after Crispin had gone. ‘ You’re quite the minx, my dear.’ He smiled and wagged a scolding finger in her direction.

‘Whatever can you mean?’ Tessa feigned innocence, busy stacking the teacups on the tray.

‘You know very well what I mean.’ Peyton fixed her with a laughing stare. ‘You didn’t bother to mention that Rory is a woman.’

Chapter Two

Aurora Calhoun shot a considering eye at the heavy grey clouds looming ominous and low overhead. ‘Good work today, ladies, let’s get the horses unsaddled quickly so everyone can get home before the rain sets in.’

The five young women in the equestrian arena, all wearing trousers, dismounted and began moving their mounts towards the long stone stable, Petra Branscombe leading the way with her grey-flecked hunter. Petra had ridden well today, taking even the highest jumps with ease. It was a point of pride for Aurora to watch Petra blossom from a horse-mad girl into an expert horsewoman over the past two years under her tutelage. Petra was no longer the quiet girl she once was. Her confidence on horseback had translated into confidence in other areas of her life as well.

Aurora frowned, surprised to see the other horses moving around Petra at the gate. She narrowed her gaze and found the source of the disruption. A man lounged against the gatepost, engaging Petra in conversation. Even at a distance, Aurora could tell the man in question wasn’t Petra’s fiancé.

Aurora wiped her hands on her dusty riding trousers and strode forwards, ready to protect Petra. Strangers were unwelcome at her riding school and unannounced gentleman callers even less so, not to mention that she’d had enough of men for the day after her encounter with the arrogant man in the road. She wouldn’t mind another look at the man’s stallion, but she could do without the rider and the hot kisses that went with him.

There’d been a disturbing aura of wildness about the man, a feral quality about his bold, blue eyes, and the unconventionally long dark hair that had hung loose about his shoulders, to say nothing of the fact that he kissed like sin itself. That kind of man boded ill for any woman no matter how enticing he was in the moment.

Apparently this was not to be her lucky day. After eight years on her own, Aurora Calhoun knew enough about men to know trouble when she saw it. And she saw it now. The man from the road was leaning against the gatepost and chatting up Petra Branscombe with an obscene amount of familiarity. How had the blasted man managed to find his way to her stables of all places?

‘What are you doing here?’ Aurora approached the man and Petra with firm authority. From the looks of things, she was just in time. Petra was appearing far too at ease with him and it had only been a matter of minutes. Aurora had rather hoped the usually sensible Petra would prove to be less susceptible.

A slow smile spread across the man’s rugged features, softening them slightly as recognition struck him. ‘So this is where careless horse riders come home to roost.’

Petra knitted her eyebrows, confusion setting in. ‘Do you know each other?’

‘We met on the Dursley Road this afternoon quite by accident,’ Aurora explained tersely, her displeasure over his presence obvious.

‘Literally by accident is a more accurate retelling of our encounter,’ the man put in, his blue eyes flickering with challenge and something else, quite possibly humour. ‘I am looking for Rory Calhoun. I need a place to board my horse. I was told he might have a stall to lease.’

Aurora was torn. It wouldn’t precisely be a lie to say he didn’t have a stall to lease. After all, Rory wasn’t a man. She couldn’t imagine anything more disturbing at the moment than having this man underfoot on a daily basis. Then again, there was the allure of having that splendid beast of his in her stables where she could study it up close. Perhaps she could even convince him to put the stallion to stud with her mare. She thought the stallion carried Arabian bloodlines. Mixed with her standard-bred mare, she could produce an excellent jumper. In the end temptation won out, but not without some parameters.

Aurora crossed her arms. ‘Let’s be clear. First, it’s not “he”. It’s “she”. I’m Rory Calhoun to my friends, Aurora to the rest. You’d be in the latter group in case you were uncertain on that account. Second, I do have a stall you can lease, but there are some stipulations. Foremost, you cannot interfere in any way with my riding academy. The horses, my pupils, and my lessons are off limits. In fact, I’d prefer that you not schedule any of your time here during the afternoons on lesson days. You can come before or after lessons, but not during.’

‘Don’t want the village knowing the women ride astride and in trousers?’ he queried with keen insight.

‘We have trouser days just as we have habit days here at my school. Riding astride is a much safer way to learn the jumps,’ Aurora countered fiercely. She did not care to have her methods challenged or her secrets exposed. It was not public knowledge the girls rode in trousers on occasion, or astride. It was one of the reasons she banned unannounced outsiders from practices.

Petra moved past them with her horse, leaving them to sort out the details. Smart girl, Aurora thought. She’d like to leave too. Better yet, she’d like him to leave. Once the girl was out of earshot, Aurora delivered her next dictate. ‘She’s off limits. I will not have you behaving as you did with me in the road this afternoon. I don’t want to catch you with her, not walking with her, not talking with her. Nothing.’

The man had the audacity to laugh. ‘That might be a bit difficult. Petra Branscombe is my sister in-law.’

Aurora’s mind did the genealogical maths at rapid speed. ‘Then that makes you…’

‘The earl’s brother,’ he finished for her.

‘The Honourable Crispin Ramsden?’ Aurora said drily. It seemed the height of irony that this rough-around-the-edges, broad-shouldered man would bear such a title.

He seemed to think so too. ‘Technically speaking.’ A slow smile spread across his mouth, highlighting the lips that had kissed hers only hours ago.

Crispin raked her form with a gaze that seared as it travelled down every inch of her in deliberate contemplation. ‘I would have thought someone like you would be less tempted to judge, Miss Calhoun. It appears you have already catalogued and classified me. I wonder? Should I do the same to you?’ He chuckled at her overt reaction. ‘That’s what I thought. You don’t care to be pigeonholed any more than I do.’

He took a step towards her, his strong gaze holding hers with a teasing glint of challenge. ‘So, you think you know all about me after our brief acquaintance?’

He didn’t look honourable so much as rakishly unprincipled. Not even the moment he’d taken at some point to pull his long hair back with a leather thong into something more orderly could give him an added measure of respectability. Aurora made a special effort not to back up under the onslaught of his advance. ‘I’ve met men like you before, earl’s brother or not.’

He had a seductive smile for her alone as he leaned close to her ear and whispered, ‘I doubt it, Miss Calhoun. There are no other men like me.’

Four hours later, Aurora was ready to concede Crispin Ramsden might be right. She’d succeeded in getting him out of her stables, but not her mind. Aurora stretched her long legs out, feet resting on the fender of the fireplace absorbing the warmth of the flames in her converted apartments at the back of the stable. By rights, this was her favourite time of day. The horses were bedded down, their quiet snuffles keeping her company as she ate her dinner. But tonight, the usual peace the evening routine brought didn’t come.

She was restless. She’d made endless excuses to herself: it was the rain drumming on the roof that made her restive, it was because she had a new horse in the stables. But she’d been out to check on Sheikh twice now and the visits hadn’t alleviated her agitation. Neither the rain nor the horse was responsible for her current state. It was Crispin Ramsden that made her uneasy.

Perhaps it was nothing more than like recognising like. She’d certainly seen more than one set of horses test each other out before mating, nipping and biting. Their methods weren’t all that different than Crispin Ramsden’s. Aurora thought of Crispin’s kisses in the road and blushed, glad no one else was there to see her. There had been plenty of nipping and biting involved that afternoon.

Aurora bent forwards and stirred the fire, forcing her mind to focus on more pleasant issues. There were tomorrow’s lessons to plan. The rain would make the outdoor arena too muddy to be useful or safe. The Wednesday class would have to ride in the indoor arena. Eleanor, one of the girls in Petra’s class, had wanted to talk with her after the lesson today, but by the time she’d dealt with Crispin Ramsden Eleanor had left. She’d have to make a point to speak with Eleanor on Thursday when Petra’s class returned.

She knew what Eleanor wanted to talk about. The girl’s father, Gregory Windham, was a very wealthy gentleman who wanted a title for his daughter. He was dead set on seeing her married to an impoverished baron who led a dissipated life. Eleanor was frankly against the match, but Aurora could feel the girl weakening under her father’s pressure.

Eleanor wasn’t the only student with needs. Young Mrs Twilliger was new to the area after marrying an intimidating older man who clearly had her cowed. Catherine Sykes was worried to death over her impending London Season this spring, fearful she’d be a wallflower, and Lettie Osborne spent most of her days dreaming up ways to bring the new, single vicar up to scratch.

Whatever their needs were, the riding school was a place to start. Here, Aurora gave them a place in which they could discover their own power and build their confidence. If one could master a horse, one could master a man. That was Aurora’s philosophy. Perhaps a lucky few would do more than master a man. Perhaps a few would find a true partner for life if they had the confidence to do so.

It was the same principle with riding. She’d ridden two horses in her life that had been her partners. When she rode, she and the horse were equals. Nothing could compare with that. The other horses had been mounts to be mastered. She could get them to do what she wanted, but ultimately it hadn’t been about giving and taking with them, it had been about control.

Aurora understood the enormity of the task she’d set herself. Her girls came here to learn to ride, to learn the art of looking pretty in the saddle, their habits spread out behind them, the traditional teachings of young English womanhood firmly ingrained in their minds. Aurora wanted to change that for them, wanted to show them how to think on their own. On a horse there was no one to think for them; they had to rely solely on themselves. If they could do it on a horse, they could do it in other places in their lives.

She didn’t pretend her task was an easy one or an acceptable one by the standards of most people. It had been her experience that the local men wherever she’d been weren’t receptive to her lines of logic regarding male and female behaviour. On more than one occasion she’d been forced to leave a village once word got out that she was imparting more than horsemanship to the women she instructed. She wondered what Crispin Ramsden would make of that? Would he be a man who supported tradition or a man who could open his mind to the possibilities of equality between the sexes?

Crispin Ramsden. Again. Apparently she’d not been successful in directing her thoughts away from the earl’s brother. She gave herself a mental scolding. This was not the time to be considering any kind of flirtation. There were more important concerns. The St Albans steeplechase was coming up in March. She’d trained hard, her hunter, Kildare, was ready. Kildare was the best horse she’d ever ridden, better even than her beloved first stallion, Darby. If she could win, it would garner a great amount of prestige for her fledging stables, opening the gateway to good breeding opportunities.

There were difficulties to be worked out, not the least was how a woman was going to legally ride in a gentleman’s race. She could always hire a rider, but the thought of turning Kildare over to another rider filled her with trepidation. The other option was to risk all and ride in disguise. She’d done such a thing before, but only in small venues with very little at stake.

If she were caught, she’d be disqualified and made the fool. Her stables’ prestige would be sacrificed. But where would she find a rider that could work intimately with Kildare in the short time remaining? Rebellious images of Crispin Ramsden and his midnight stallion threatened the edges of her mind. Aurora rose from her chair and stretched. She’d do best to leave those contemplations for another day or she wouldn’t sleep at all. It was time for bed. Morning always came early at the stables.

Dinner came early in the country, but it was still half past seven before the Dursley clan was assembled at the long dining room table. As Crispin had expected, Tessa turned his sudden arrival into an excuse for an impromptu dinner party, which explained the slight lateness of the meal. Even on short notice, the Dursley clan managed to fill up the table: Petra and her fiancé, Thomas; Annie, Tessa’s youngest sister who was thirteen now; and Cousin Beth, who had run Peyton’s household for years before Peyton married Tessa.

‘Where’s Eva?’ Crispin asked, taking a mental roll call in his head once they were all seated and realising one of the four Branscombe sisters was missing.

‘She’s in London with Aunt Lily,’ Tessa answered from the foot of the table.

‘Isn’t that a bit early?’ Crispin had never liked the Season and it was beyond him to imagine why anyone would go up to town earlier than necessary. That Eva had gone months in advance bordered on the point of ludicrous.

Tessa smiled. ‘She’ll come out this year. She turned eighteen immediately after Christmas. She and Lily wanted to get a good start on her wardrobe.’

Crispin wondered how his brother did it, acting as a legal guardian for Tessa’s three sisters; three Seasons to put together and then weddings to follow if those Seasons were at all successful, extra Seasons to follow if they weren’t. Either way, there would be more endless twaddle. The very thought of all that frippery and nonsense was enough to put a man off his oats. Yet, Peyton looked as if he’d weathered the first two débuts quite well. In fact, his brother looked to be a well-satisfied man, sitting comfortably at the head of his table. There’d been a time not long ago that Crispin had doubted Peyton’s ability to embrace such a life. Then Peyton had fallen in love with Tessa and that love had changed him, as it had his other brother, Paine.

Crispin took a bite of excellent roasted beef and suppressed a shudder. He was not falling in love. He had no desire to be changed. It was all right for his brothers to change. But he had no intentions of giving up his wandering and adventures. He liked his life just the way it was. All he needed was a horse beneath him and the wide world spread out before him. Women had other expectations.

Still, coming home for a while felt good. Crispin ate the well-cooked food with gusto and enjoyed the conversation flowing around him as everyone brought him up to date on events in the family. Although there were several family members at dinner, there were others missing besides Aunt Lily and Eva. His brother Paine had taken his family to visit his wife’s cousin, Greyson. Greyson was interested in Paine’s opinion on some new investments and Greyson’s wife, Elena, was expecting their second child in late spring. Petra and Thomas had set the date of their wedding for September particularly out of consideration for them. Crispin wondered if he’d still be here for it.

At last, Tessa rose, giving the signal for the women to join her in the drawing room. Thomas rose too. ‘I’ll join the women tonight, Dursley, and leave you alone with your brother. No doubt there is still more to catch up on and I don’t wish to intrude,’ he offered graciously.

‘He’s a very nice young man,’ Crispin commented as the group trooped out of the room.

Peyton nodded with a smile. ‘We couldn’t be more pleased for Petra. They’re very happy together and wellsuited.’ Reaching for the decanter, he poured them each a glass. ‘Cheers, brother.’

‘Ah, this is the good stuff.’ Crispin drank down the brandy with relish. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had brandy of this calibre.’

‘The perks of being home,’ Peyton offered cryptically. ‘Did you work out an arrangement with Rory?’

Crispin chuckled. ‘Tessa could have told me Rory was a woman and a sharp-tongued one at that. A little forewarning wouldn’t have gone amiss.’

Peyton grinned. ‘Aurora Calhoun is strong minded.’

‘To say the least.’

Peyton poured them each another glass. ‘Tessa likes her. She and Petra helped her get the riding school started a couple of years ago.’

Crispin eyed his brother over the rim of his snifter. He wasn’t surprised to hear that Tessa had championed the unconventional Miss Calhoun. Tessa might look like an English angel on the outside, but he knew his brother’s wife well enough to know it was merely a façade. ‘Do you know what goes on out there?’

‘You mean the riding astride and wearing trousers part? Yes, I am quite aware of it, although I must caution you that it is not common knowledge. Don’t tell me you’re shocked? You’re the most untraditional person I know besides Tessa. I would have thought you’d applaud her. A woman’s lot alone in this world is almost impossibly difficult, yet, against all the insufferable odds, Aurora Calhoun has found some degree of success. As much as she can hope for, I think, given the circumstances of her gender and situation.’

Peyton’s remark was quite telling. Crispin took a moment to digest the layers of his brother’s comment. His brother was devoted to his wife. He would tolerate his wife’s eccentric friends for her sake. But Peyton’s comment implied he did more than tolerate Aurora Calhoun; he respected her and, for that reason, was willing to make exceptions on her behalf. Such a concession from Peyton made the interesting Miss Calhoun all that more intriguing.

‘I don’t care what she does. She’s entitled to her own eccentricities,’ Crispin said shortly, realising it was true. It wasn’t the unconventional nature of her school that bothered him. It was simply she who had him all churned up inside for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She definitely stirred his blood.

‘I rather thought the two of you would be good friends. She knows horses as well as you do,’ Peyton was saying. ‘That black of yours looks exotic. She’ll be interested to hear about him. For that matter, I’d be interested to hear about him too.’

Peyton fixed him with a friendly stare and Crispin knew what was coming next. Inquiries about the ‘exotic’ nature of the stallion were Peyton’s prelude to the bigger question. Whatever else changed about Peyton, this one thing would not: Peyton would always be his older brother.

‘So, Cris, before we rejoin the others, why don’t you tell me what you and my government have been doing for the last three years? The short version, of course.’

Crispin grinned and drew a deep breath. It was good to be able to talk with someone who appreciated the depth and importance of his work. This was something Peyton understood with extreme clarity. ‘Let me start with the Eastern Question…’ he began, his passion for his work evident in his recitation of events and astute analysis of the many evolving situations on the Continent.

At last, Crispin leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its two hind legs, and drew his report to a close. ‘And that, dear brother, is the short version. I haven’t even begun to tell you about British interests in America. There’s another powder keg just waiting to ignite.’

Peyton nodded noncommittally at the implied reference to a future posting. ‘Well, you’ve done your duty for Britain. Perhaps it’s someone else’s turn this time.’

‘Perhaps,’ Crispin replied vaguely, knowing the direction of his brother’s thoughts. Tonight was not the time to discuss his next assignment. When the posting came, Crispin was almost certain it would be an assignment to the American South, a place he was itching to explore on a personal as well as political level. Such a posting would make the sale of Woodbrook imperative. He’d be in America a very long while, more of a relocation than a temporary assignment. Crispin reached for the decanter. There’d be time to quarrel with Peyton over that later. Tonight he simply wanted to enjoy the peace of being home.

‘The long and short of it is, I am running out of time.’ Gregory Windham leaned forwards across the cherrywood desk in his estate office, pushing a small leather pouch of coins across the desk’s highly polished surface to the man on the other side. The blacksmith, Mackey, had been the one villager he’d been able to actively recruit to his side. The others remained quietly neutral with regards to Aurora Calhoun. Damn them.

His laissez-faire strategy had not worked. He’d patiently waited for Aurora Calhoun’s own unique situation to work against her. He’d originally thought the local gentry and the villagers wouldn’t tolerate such a ‘modern’ woman; a woman who ran her own business and sauntered around in men’s clothing. But Aurora had proved wily in that regard, keeping her trousers and lifestyle heavily obscured from the local populace. It had not helped matters that everyone knew she was an especial friend to Dursley’s countess and Dursley’s ward.

Aurora had lived out of sight and out of mind and the villagers had been happy enough with that. Such contentment needed to change. The villagers had to be rattled out of their complacency. He needed to force Dursley to make a stand. Dursley might quietly countenance such a friendship for his wife if no one complained about it. But the earl was also a traditionalist at heart. Windham thought it would be rather interesting to see what Dursley would do if there was a fuss over Aurora Calhoun.

It was time for a more direct approach if he meant to succeed in launching himself as a respectable horseman and sending Aurora Calhoun down the road of ruin. He tapped his long fingers on the desk.

‘The St Albans steeplechase is a month away. That race is mine to win. I won’t have her and that hunter of hers interfering.’ He possessed a stake in the wellfavoured horse, The Flyer. The stake had been an expensive purchase, but money was no object. The Flyer might not be the favourite in the race, but the horse was poised to be a contender if not a winner in the prestigious steeplechase.

‘What do you propose we do?’ The big man across the desk hefted the coin pouch in a meaty hand. ‘I could make items disappear around the stable, or plant a burr in a saddle…?’

Gregory Windham dismissed those suggestions with a wave of his long hand. ‘Those are the second-rate tactics of an amateur.’

He pointed to the bag of coins. ‘Take the money and buy drinks tomorrow night at the tavern. Tell everyone what really goes on at the riding school of hers.’ It was time to reveal his daughter Eleanor’s confession and lift the veil of obscurity Aurora kept around her lifestyle at the stables.

The big man thought for a moment. ‘I’m scheduled to go shoe her horses this week. Won’t it look odd if I’m spreading those rumours and still doing business out there?’

‘You won’t be doing business there any longer.’ Gregory Windham drew out another pouch and slid it across the desk. ‘This should more than suffice to cover your losses in that regard.’ He held the blacksmith’s hard eyes with a cold gaze of his own. ‘There’s more money for you when she leaves town and even more when the horse I’ve invested in wins St Albans.’

The blacksmith grinned. ‘I’ll be a rich man by the month’s end.’

And Aurora Calhoun will be ruined, Gregory Windham thought silently as his henchman departed. It was no less than she deserved. The woman was a threat to all he’d spent years accomplishing. He’d used his money to buy his daughter a titled match with a baron and to establish a small but prime stable a nobleman would respect.

He was hovering on the brink of acceptance into the ranks of the peerage. His future grandson would have a title. Even now, Eleanor rode at Aurora Calhoun’s academy solely because the earl’s ward rode there. Originally, it had been a good social-climbing opportunity. Now, such an association endangered his dreams. Eleanor had become obstinate over the match, spouting too many philosophies she hadn’t learned at home. Windham knew exactly where she’d learned them. They were the same philosophies Aurora Calhoun had spouted when she’d rejected his attentions the one time he’d thought to recruit her to his side. He’d offered her the position of his mistress. She had all but bodily thrown him out of her stables.

Gregory Windham shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Just recalling how that hellcat had railed at him, spitting furiously at his offer, brought his arousal to life. His cheek had borne a bruise from the flat of her hand for days. She’d been magnificent in her anger, her eyes like emerald flames, her dark hair loose about her, an exquisite flowing curtain.

It would bring him great pleasure to subdue the wildness she exuded. Wild things were meant to be tamed. Aurora Calhoun, that tease of a siren, was going to pay. Women had a place in this world. He would make sure Aurora Calhoun knew hers.

Chapter Three

Crispin blew in his cupped hands and rubbed them together vigorously as he entered the relatively warmer interior of the Calhoun stables. Mornings were colder in England than he remembered and certainly colder than the ones he’d most recently experienced in the south of Europe. Crispin strode towards Sheikh’s stall, anxious to see how his horse had fared during his first night in his new home.

Horses whickered as he passed and a few poked their long faces out into the aisle. Even though it was early, the horses were alert and had already been fed. One stall was empty. He recognised it as the stall belonging to Aurora’s horse. Perhaps she was out on a morning ride, although Crispin thought it was too foggy yet for that to be a safe option. He’d been glad he’d walked across the valley this morning instead of riding. It would have been too easy to overlook a rabbit hole or a soft piece of land; too easy for a horse to take a misstep and be rendered lame or worse. Well, if Aurora was out that was her business. At least her absence meant he wouldn’t have to encounter her.

Crispin slipped a halter over Sheikh’s head and led him into the wide aisle of the stable for grooming. Crispin picked up a curry brush and began the morning ritual. He liked grooming Sheikh as much as Sheikh liked being brushed. Not usually a patient horse, Sheikh stood exceedingly still for brushing. Crispin found the ritual soothing. He could lose himself in thought, letting his mind wander freely. The stables were a place of peace for him, any stable. The smell of horses and leather tack were familiar no matter where.

He finished grooming Sheikh and quickly saddled him. Through the stable windows, he could see the fog starting to lift. He was eager to get back to Dursley Park and the hot breakfast that waited. Beside him, Sheikh shook his mane. Now that grooming was done, he was ready to be off too. Crispin fished in the wide pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a few slices of apple. Sheikh snapped them up as Crispin led him out into the morning.

The fog had definitely lifted, Crispin confirmed. He could actually see the indoor arena across the stable yard now. The faint sound of a horse’s nicker drew him that direction. He knew what he’d find inside before he and Sheikh arrived at the door. Aurora had not opted for a dangerous, foggy ride. She’d brought her horse to the arena for a morning workout.

Crispin manoeuvred himself and Sheikh into the shadows of the wide doorway to watch her practise. The arena was set up for jumping and she was executing the fences expertly. She finished the last jump in a corner and made a clean cross through the centre of the arena to the opposite corner and started again.

Magnificent, Crispin thought, his gaze focused on her hands and thighs, appreciating the subtle pressures each of those parts used to communicate with the horse. Her movements were so completely synchronised with the flow and bunching of the horse’s body that it seemed she barely moved at all. Crispin had no idea how long he’d stood there, but at last Sheikh gave him an impatient nudge and Crispin withdrew from the scene. He didn’t worry about being heard. From the look on her face when she’d drawn close to the entrance where he stood, Crispin knew she was in another place altogether. Her thoughts were entirely with her horse; when to move, when to ask for the leap in order to get the most height for the jump.

Where had she learned to ride like that? Surely such skill was not acquired haphazardly.

The question plagued him all the way home across the valley and at the breakfast table until he finally blurted it out to Peyton and Tessa. It was a complete non sequitur. They’d been discussing a bill in Parliament and he’d set down his coffee cup and said suddenly, ‘Where did Aurora Calhoun study riding?’

Tessa looked at him rather startled. ‘I think she said somewhere in Ireland,’ she replied vaguely; too vaguely for Crispin’s tastes. After making a career out of reading people, Crispin knew without effort that Tessa was withholding details. If Peyton knew the specifics he did nothing to fill in the gaps and the conversation quickly reverted back to the bill under earlier discussion.

But Crispin wasn’t willing to give up his inquiries. Once he and Peyton set out on their short jaunt to Woodbrook, he tried again. ‘I happened to catch part of Aurora’s workout this morning when I was saddling Sheikh. I’d be interested to know where she was trained.’

‘Then you should ask her,’ Peyton said levelly in a tone that suggested that topic of conversation was closed. Peyton was more eager to discuss the merits of Woodbrook, which he promptly began to do the moment the first property marker came into view. He continued to elucidate the fine points of the property right up until they dismounted in the stable yard and Crispin could see for himself what an excellent inheritance he’d acquired.

Peyton had not exaggerated. The manor house was a modest, twelve-room affair, hardly more than a cottage compared to the grandeur of Dursley Park. But to Crispin the stone manor was plenty.

‘What would I do with twelve rooms?’ Crispin remarked halfway up the stairs to see the other six, all presumably bedrooms.

‘You could marry and fill the house with children,’ Peyton laughingly suggested. ‘Within three years, you’d be enlarging the place, declaring how you’d outgrown it.’

Crispin knew Peyton meant well, but all the same, the thought of being somewhere for three years, let alone a decade or a lifetime, sent a quiet shudder up his spine. Children couldn’t be dragged around the world every year or so to satisfy his whim for adventure. Children needed the stability of a permanent home, of permanent parents. His own childhood was a testament to that. With two absent parents, Peyton had been the closest thing he and Paine had had to a father growing up. In his darker hours, Crispin often thought it was his worries of turning out like his parents that kept him from pursuing a family of his own, although his brothers had certainly proved such worries to be groundless. Both of them had become model family men.

Crispin made a quick tour of the upstairs rooms and returned downstairs. ‘Perhaps Paine and Julia could make use of the manor.’

Peyton shook his head. ‘There’s plenty of room at Dursley Park for them when they visit. Tessa has a whole wing set aside for them these days. Besides, they spend most of their year in London. Paine’s too busy with his banking investments to make use of a country house on a more regular basis.’

They walked out to the barns, which were just as impressive as the house. There was no outdoor work area for horses yet beyond a paddock, but the room for establishing a training arena was readily available in the wide, open spaces around the barns. Crispin could easily imagine setting up an equestrian centre here. The old dreams came to him as he walked the wide aisle of the barn, counting stalls. He had Sheikh to stand to stud for a pricey fee and to race. He could build a legacy from Sheikh.

Peyton stayed close, continuing his verbal tour of the facility. ‘There’s stalls for fifteen horses. The windows provide good light.’ Peyton pointed overhead. ‘There’s plenty of hay storage in the lofts above. The tack room can easily support all the riding gear you’d need for that many horses. The roof is fairly new. There aren’t any serious repairs you’d have to make. All of your attention could be on improvements and additions.’

Peyton had been a dangerously compelling diplomat in his day, knowing exactly when to push, when his opponents were most open to persuasion. To be honest, that was precisely where Crispin was now; wondering, in spite of his earlier inclination to sell the property, if this place was what he needed to conquer his wanderlust or even if he wanted to conquer the wandering spirit that drove him.

Crispin let a hand drift idly across the half-door of a stall. Commitment begot commitment. It wouldn’t stop at committing to the stables. There would be grooms to employ who would count on him for pay and for work. There would be social obligations. The community would expect him in church and at their gatherings. Women would expect him to marry, if not someone from London because of his family, then certainly a lady from their part of England. Peyton was right. Manor houses were expected to be filled.

He was too much of a realist to believe he could stop at just one commitment. One commitment was merely a gateway to other commitments he felt less compelled to make. The commitments would not happen overnight. They would form a slippery slope that would erode slowly over the span of several years. It would occur gradually so that it didn’t appear to be a lifechanging overhaul, but single small steps taken in isolation from one another until, one morning, he’d wake up and realise it was too late to go back.

Crispin tamped down hard on the old dream of his own stables. It was a startling discovery to find the dream was far more potent than he’d realised. He’d come home, thinking to sell the property. He would stay with his original plan. He had his work. It was only a matter of time before a summons arrived from London. He would not give in, he would not change his course, no matter how much Peyton talked.

They emerged out into the daylight, Peyton’s wellrehearsed tour complete. To his credit, Peyton pressed for nothing. He merely gestured down the road where a rider had turned into the drive. ‘I’ve invited the steward to go over the books,’ he said simply.

Crispin fought back a chuckle. Of course Peyton had invited the land steward. His brother had this visit orchestrated perfectly for maximum effect. All the same, Peyton would be disappointed. He wasn’t going to stay. He couldn’t. It just wasn’t in him.

Several hours later, Crispin knew one thing. He needed a drink and he needed a drink alone. He’d been surrounded by a horde of well-meaning people since his return home. For a man who was used to operating solo and keeping his own counsel, such attention was unnerving. Well, he had to rephrase that. He’d been surrounded by Peyton. In all fairness, Tessa, Cousin Beth, Petra, Annie, the twins and the new baby had all kept at a respectful distance. They’d done nothing more than make him feel welcome.

But Peyton knew what he wanted from Crispin and he was wasting no time in trying to extract it. Crispin could see his brother’s vision clearly. His brother wanted him to embrace the stables, settle down, take a wife and raise a family. For Peyton that had been the clear road to happiness once he’d found the path. Crispin understood it was only natural for Peyton to want that same happiness for him. However, Crispin doubted that path would work well for him. Crispin understood too that Peyton was trying not to be oppressive, certainly a harder task for him than for others. Peyton was well used to being obeyed. But Peyton could not make him into a man he could not be.

He and Peyton swung up into their saddles, thanking the steward for his time and his conscientious adherence to every detail. They turned their horses towards home, riding in much-appreciated silence; Crispin’s head was full to bursting with all he’d learned.

Crispin was amazed Peyton had stayed quiet for as long as he did. He’d bet himself Peyton wouldn’t make it a mile before asking what he’d thought of the manor. Tessa’s influence must be powerful indeed, Crispin mused. But he could see the effort the restraint cost his brother. Peyton’s mouth was tense; on two occasions, Crispin felt Peyton was on the verge of bringing the subject up, but then thought better of it.

They reached the fork in the road, one turn leading to the Dursley Road and the other going on a short distance to the village. ‘I think I’ll stop in for a pint or two,’ Crispin said off-handedly.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Peyton offered, making a quick check of his pocket watch.

‘That’s all right. I’d prefer to do some thinking in private.’ Crispin hoped Peyton understood. He needed a kind of privacy he wouldn’t find at Dursley Park and he’d have no privacy if he turned up at the inn with the earl in tow.

‘And dinner?’ Peyton asked cautiously. ‘Shall I tell Tessa to expect you?’

Crispin nodded his head. ‘Probably not. I’m not sure how long I’ll sit and think.’

‘It’s no trouble to set an extra plate if you change your mind,’ Peyton said graciously. Crispin could see that his absence wasn’t what Peyton had hoped for, but that his brother guessed at how monumental the day had been, how many things needed thinking over.

Once inside the inn, Crispin lost himself in the crowd, taking a small table by the window. Word had not yet spread of his return and he was thankful for the anonymity. Around him, the work day was ending. Large groups of local workers filed in for a pint before heading home for the evening.

Crispin studied this crowd unobtrusively. These men worked the fields as hired labour or in various other occupations in the village. They were journeymen and artisans, a few apprentices among them. They would drink and go home to supper and wives. The rougher crowd, those without familial commitments, would come in later after the supper hour and stay until closing; drinking, wenching, perhaps brawling if it suited them.

The men here now, though, would be the men he’d fraternise with if he took the manor. They’d be the men who would work his stables. They’d be the men who he’d drink with on occasion. Their lives would be interwoven into his.

Crispin took a swallow of his ale, trying to imagine his life as a gentleman landowner. It seemed so far from the things he’d told Peyton over brandy the other night as to be laughable.

These men didn’t care about the nationalist revolutions sweeping Europe, about water-routes to faraway places they’d never visit, about fighting over lines on a map. Their lives were about wheat crops and sheep, cattle and corn. If he threw his lot in with them, his life would be too. Everything to which he’d devoted his life in the first twenty years of his adulthood would cease to matter—every nebulous peace he had brokered, every boundary dispute he had negotiated, would carry little weight in that new life. It would be tantamount to erasing who he was and remaking himself in a new image. The soldier, the warrior-diplomat, would not fit into this new world of quiet landownership.

The thought sat poorly with Crispin. He rather liked himself just as he was. Of course, there were plenty of people who didn’t. The ton didn’t know what to make of him. He was too bold, too loose with the rules of proper society for many of the matchmaking mamas to trust him with their daughters. Yet, he had a certain appeal with his brother’s connections, his brother’s wealth, and his brother’s affection behind him. Any woman who married him would be well looked after under the Dursley banner. Proxy polygamy, he called it. The only reason anyone would marry him would be because they were marrying Peyton by extension. If he stayed in England, he’d have to decide in whose world he fit.

Without appearing to eavesdrop, he listened in on snatches of nearby conversations, trying to put himself in the frame of their world. Could he come to care about the issues they cared about? Could he empathise with the problems that plagued their lives?

Snatches of one conversation rose over the rest. ‘The Calhoun woman was in today to buy some shovels. It’s not natural, a woman buying tools. There’s strange things going on out there,’ a beefy man said loudly, drawing all the room’s attention. Crispin tensed. In the silence of the inn, the man let his news fall on expectant ears. ‘I’ve found out that the girls in her stables ride in trousers and they ride astride.’

Shock and outrage exploded at the announcement; questions were shouted over the din. Crispin stifled a groan. That could hardly be what Aurora wanted. But what followed was worse. Crispin slouched anonymously in his chair and listened.

The big man, named Mackey from what Crispin could gather, hushed the upset crowd. ‘Aurora Calhoun needs to go. She’s no good for our village, teaching our womenfolk to ride astride. Who knows what kind of ideas she’ll plant in their heads next? We don’t want our women turning out like her.’ There was a loud roar of agreement. ‘One of her is enough. She’s had two years to prove she could fit in. We’ve left her alone and look how she’s repaid us! The only thing she’s proved is how out of place she is.’ There were other comments too. ‘We should have paid more attention…’ ‘Should have known it wasn’t natural from the start…’

Good lord, the man was creating a witch hunt. Crispin half-expected the men to pick up torches and march out to the stables then and there. Crispin had heard enough. He’d end up fighting with someone if he stayed. Crispin slapped a few coins on the table and made a quiet exit, opting to exercise his authority when cooler heads prevailed, including his.

Dusk was in its final throes when he swung up on Sheikh. He could still make dinner at Dursley Park, but he wasn’t ready to go home. More to the point, he wasn’t ready to go to Peyton’s home. He couldn’t expect Peyton to keep silent about the manor forever. But Crispin wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, at least not with his brother. He could only think of one place that might suit his needs. In the fading light of day, Crispin turned Sheikh towards Aurora’s stables.

The stable lanterns threw a welcoming light into the yard and the fresh smell of evening hay assailed his senses the moment Crispin led Sheikh through the stable doors. Horses neighed, acknowledging Sheikh’s presence among them as they passed stall doors. Crispin stopped outside Sheikh’s stall and removed the saddle. With one hand, he stroked Sheikh’s long neck, soothing the horse. With the other, Crispin groped for the kit holding the brushes. The kit should have been right behind him on the nail hook outside the stall where he’d left it that morning.

‘Are you looking for this?’ The voice startled him. Crispin whirled around; releasing a breath when he saw the voice belonged to Aurora.

She held the kit out to him. ‘I didn’t mean to give you a start,’ she apologised, taking one of the brushes and moving around to Sheikh’s other side. She began to curry the horse.

‘You’ve had a long day. I noticed Sheikh was gone when I came back this morning. You must have been here early and now it’s dinner time,’ Aurora commented.

‘Peyton and I rode over to see some property,’ Crispin said, surprising himself with the truth. He could have answered the question just as easily by saying he’d waited until lessons were done. Such an answer would not have given away any particular information about his whereabouts and it certainly wouldn’t have invited any further conversation. His chosen answer, on the other hand, invited all nature of possible comment, none of which Aurora opted for.

‘Your brother is eager to see you settled,’ she said, meeting his eyes for an instance over Sheikh’s back.

Of all the things she could have said, he’d not expected that. He’d expected the usual; ‘Do you mean to settle here?’ ‘Where is the property?’ ‘What do you plan to do with it?’

‘I suppose he is,’ Crispin replied, bending over and clicking to Sheikh to lift his hoof.

‘How do you feel about that?’

Crispin answered honestly. ‘The property is enticing, but I’m not the right man for that kind of life. I’ll sell the property outright and then I’ll be on my way.’ He finished picking the hoof and stood up, stretching his back. Aurora was nearly finished brushing Sheikh’s opposite flank.

‘I know what you mean,’ she said casually. ‘I’ve been here longer than I’ve been anywhere else. I’d always taught on a property owned by someone else. But Tessa talked me into leasing this one. Actually, in all truth, Tessa wanted me to buy it, but I couldn’t go that far. A lease was as permanent a commitment as I could make.’ Aurora stopped brushing and shook back her hair, which had fallen forwards over her shoulders as she worked. An awkward silence fell between them as if they both suddenly recognised they’d said too much to someone they didn’t know.

Crispin met her eyes over the back of Sheikh and nodded in the awkward quiet; a wealth of understanding passing between them in that single look. He could well imagine all the trappings of permanence to which she referred, trappings that went beyond owning the actual structure.

Buying the property would have meant applying for a loan. She wouldn’t have had any money of her own. She would have had to have relied on Peyton’s support. Support Peyton would have provided based on the comments Peyton had made at dinner, but she would have been indebted to him. She couldn’t have left until that obligation was fulfilled. Once again Crispin’s hypothesis proved true. Permanence bred obligation. It was odd to think how much this stranger’s situation paralleled his own in spite of its own unique circumstances. It begged several questions.

How had a strikingly beautiful woman come to own a riding academy in the unlikely middle of sheep country? How was it that a stranger he’d never met until yesterday could sum up in a sentence his precise feelings over the property? She could empathise with him on this issue while his brother, who knew him better than anyone, could not.

Aurora cleared her throat in the silence. ‘It’s late and I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet.’

Ah, the audacious woman was dismissing him. Of course. She’d want to get to her own meal. It had been a long day for her as well. She’d been up jumping before he’d even arrived that morning. It had been a long time since a woman had dismissed him.

‘I’m sorry to keep you. I’ll just see to Sheikh and be going.’ Crispin piled the brushes into the kit, disappointment unexpectedly swamping him. He hadn’t been ready to leave the stables. Or perhaps he hadn’t been ready to leave her. They’d got off on the wrong foot yesterday. This brief exchange had been a pleasant contrast, but perhaps that was too much to hope for. Perhaps she was merely being nice.

‘No, don’t go.’ Her words rushed out. ‘I was going to suggest, before you interrupted me, that you stay for dinner.’

There was that sharp tongue he remembered. Crispin stifled a laugh on behalf of the truce they seemed to have struck. But he noticed she couldn’t help sneaking that small rebuke in—‘before you interrupted’. What might have been an invitation had now been turned into a suggestion, which everyone knew was just a step below a command. He was very familiar with ‘suggestions’. Peyton made a lot of them.

But she wasn’t Peyton and Crispin found he’d like nothing more than to have dinner with the intriguing Aurora Calhoun, who was less like his brother and perhaps more like him; a wanderer, a straddler of worlds. A kindred spirit? It was far too early in their acquaintance to draw that conclusion. There was too much unknown about her for him to make such leaps of logic. Still, it couldn’t hurt to find out and Crispin intended to explore the potential.

Chapter Four

What was she thinking to invite the earl’s brother to dinner? Because that’s what he was, when all was said and done. Men with that kind of power were dangerous to her freedom. One word from him and Dursley could shut her down with a single sentence dropped at a dinner party.

She needed Crispin Ramsden to keep his distance. But, no, she’d invited a potential danger right to her dinner table. It didn’t matter that he wore plain clothes and didn’t put on aristocratic airs. It didn’t matter that she wanted to see if he was worthy of riding Kildare. He was still brother to the earl.

In retrospect, she was amazed she hadn’t seen the resemblance instantly. He had the earl’s raven-black hair, the earl’s dark-blue eyes, but not the earl’s urbane demeanour and that made all the difference, distinguishing them from one another in spite of their inherited physical similarities.

Dursley carried his confidence like one born to it. Everything Dursley did was done with a polished veneer of sophistication. Not Crispin. He exuded a rough worldliness. She was certain his blue eyes had seen things that would render most men cynical about the world they lived in. The tanned skin of his face and hands suggested he was a man who knew how to work. The rugged planes of his face and the breadth of his shoulders affirmed this was a man used to hard living. He was no pampered prince of the ton regardless of who his brother was.

That was why she’d invited him to dinner. Like her, he knew a world outside the circles of rarefied society, he’d lived in its milieu and, like her, he’d been a participant in that world beyond the drawing rooms. When their eyes had met across the back of his stallion, she’d felt a connection; two wayward souls contemplating the merits of landowning against the odds of their natural tendencies. It would be somewhat comedic if the connection hadn’t been so strong.

Aurora laid out the dinner things, setting the earthenware plates down on the plank table with a harder thud than she’d intended. She tried to remember anything, everything, Petra or Tessa might have mentioned in passing about Crispin. There was very little she could recall. She could hear his boots coming down the short hall from the stables. In moments he’d be there in her meagre rooms, thanks to her impetuous offer, and she would have to live with it.

‘Smells good.’ Crispin ducked into the room under the low-beamed door. He was all male, all six foot two and change of him. He positively radiated potent masculinity and Aurora wondered what other impetuous decisions she might be tempted to make before the night was over.

Crispin had taken time to wash off at the pump outside in the yard. Leftover droplets of water glistened at his neck where his shirt opened in a V, offering a small glimpse of his chest. She smiled at the interesting dichotomy he posed; a man who cared enough to wash before dinner, but had no use for the finer rules of gentlemanly dining that demanded he eat with a waistcoat and jacket on. Aurora doubted one ever caught Dursley dining in his shirt sleeves.

‘Stew and fresh bread,’ Aurora announced, placing a pewter plate laden with slices of dark country bread on the table. ‘Sit down, I’ll have the stew on in a minute.’ She was suddenly conscious of his eyes on her, following her movements. She told herself it was to be expected. Her quarters were small—where else was he supposed to look? It was only natural to be interested in the one moving object in the room. That object just happened to be her.

Crispin straddled a bench on one side of the table and politely tugged off his boots to save the floor from dirt. ‘You live here instead of the house?’

Aurora put a pitcher of ale on the table. He was referring to the cottage at the end of the drive. She’d never lived there even though it was part of the lease. ‘I like being close to my horses.’

She turned to the fireplace and the hob where the stew pot hung, feeling his eyes peruse her backside. ‘The cottage is too much work for me to keep up and run the stables on my own.’ She set the stew down and began ladling it into bowls.

Crispin nodded. ‘I like these rooms. They’re cosy.’ His gaze stole past her to the small bedroom. Aurora wished she’d taken time to drop the curtain that separated the bedroom from her main room. She wished she could read his mind as well as she was following his gaze. What was he thinking about her invitation to dinner? Was he thinking it was an invitation to something more? Did he think because he was the earl’s brother and she a woman without rank that he was entitled to something more? Aurora rather hoped not, but her experience with Gregory Windham had proved that hope was often misplaced. She was now fully regretting her impromptu decision to invite Crispin Ramsden to dinner and the finer philosophies that might have motivated it. She had convinced herself last night this wasn’t the right time for a flirtation. She should have stuck with that. But those resolutions had been quickly trampled.

‘This is good,’ Crispin said between mouthfuls. ‘There’s nothing like hot stew on a cold night.’

Aurora watched him thoughtfully throughout the meal. He ate much like regular people ate, people who were conscious of the cost of food and the effort it took to prepare a meal. He used a piece of bread to sop up the remaining stew, making sure not a spoonful went to waste in his bowl. It was odd to think of him as a man who knew hunger, who knew of the simple things it took to survive the day when he could have chosen otherwise. His brother’s table was always set with plenty.

Aurora had not meant to pry, but the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. ‘What do you do, Crispin? I mean, where have you been for three years?’

Crispin set down his bread crust and fixed her with his sharp gaze, a small smile playing at his lips. ‘How badly do you want to know?’

Aurora smiled back, recognising the game afoot. ‘Ah, so it’s to be twenty-questions?’

‘Precisely. I’ll answer your questions, but you need to answer mine.’ Crispin reached for another slice of bread and buttered it.

‘I work for the British government when they have need of me. Before that, I used to be in the cavalry. I found I didn’t enjoy the life of a half-pay soldier. It was too dull for me. I saw some action in the early twenties after Napoleon’s defeat. But then my regiment came home and I spent far too much time being Dursley’s brother.’ Crispin swallowed some ale. ‘There wasn’t much to do as Dursley’s brother, as you can imagine. Peyton doesn’t need any help and, frankly, I’d rather be my own man. I didn’t relish the idea of being defined as the “spare”. I was at a loose end. So, Peyton introduced me to some friends at the Foreign Office and off I went to look after British interests abroad.’

‘Where did you go?’ Aurora asked, feeling as if she’d been told everything and yet nothing.

Crispin winked across the table. ‘Princess, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’

‘You were a spy?’ she asked evenly, deciding to push the boundaries of his disclosure.

‘More like the government’s best-kept secret,’ Crispin corrected with equal seriousness. ‘Suffice it to say that I’ve been places that don’t exist on maps. I wasn’t responsible for the kind of diplomacy that goes on in the glittering mansions of Vienna.’ He drew a deep breath and steered the conversation away from himself. ‘Now, it’s your turn. Where did you learn to ride?’

‘Ireland,’ Aurora said shortly. She’d expected a question along that vein, but, like Crispin, she wasn’t ready to divulge all the details. ‘Now, as for my next question—’ she began, leaning forwards on her elbows. But Crispin had no qualms about interrupting a lady.

‘No, Aurora, finish your answer,’ Crispin said shortly, arms crossed over his chest. ‘You have to say more than that. Where in Ireland? I saw you jumping this morning when I came to get Sheikh. No one rides the way you do without extensive training.’

He had been watching. She’d thought she’d glimpsed someone at the entrance to the arena, thought she’d felt his presence. When no one had materialised, she’d chalked it up to silliness on her part. Of course no one could really feel another person’s presence.

‘I lived near Curragh in County Kildare. My father was head groom to a wealthy family.’

‘You don’t have an accent,’ Crispin said pointedly as if judging the truth of her answer.

‘Accents can be bred out of you.’ Among other things. Once upon a time there’d been such hopes for her, thanks to the status of her mother’s family. A moment of foolishness had dashed those hopes. Aurora rose from her bench and began collecting the dishes. The conversation was heading in a direction she was distinctly uncomfortable with. There were things Crispin didn’t need to know about her. Those things could make no difference now. She’d negotiated her own peace with the past and accepted the consequences of her decisions, as lonely and as costly as they were.

She reached to take Crispin’s bowl, but his hand shot out and his fingers closed around her wrist. ‘Why did you invite me here, Aurora? You won’t tell me anything about yourself, so, clearly, getting to know each other was not the purpose.’

Aurora tried to pull away, but his grip held firm. ‘You’re hardly the epitome of a forthcoming gentleman,’ she replied tartly. ‘You can’t or won’t tell me anything about yourself either.’

‘Perhaps that gives us something in common.’ Crispin’s voice was husky. ‘Two people with mysterious lives.’ His eyes moved to her mouth and back to her eyes.

Aurora’s temper rose. ‘Did you come here to seduce me?’

Crispin laughed softly. ‘How could I do that? I had no idea I was coming to dinner until you invited me.’ Silence rose between them. Aurora was acutely aware of the crackle of the fire, of the light drum of rain on the roof, of the intimate play of firelight on her walls, the only light in the room.

Crispin released her wrist and ran the back of his knuckles gently down the side of her cheek, skimming it low where cheek met jaw line. ‘Would it be so bad if I did?’

‘Did what?’ Aurora’s concentration waned, heat surging in her belly at the stroke of his hand against her cheek. She could not delude herself now. She had not asked him here for Kildare. She’d asked him here for herself.

‘Seduced you, hmm?’ His tone was languorous. He shifted on the bench, straddling it to draw her down to him. She went willingly, cognisant of her growing need. She’d been alone too long. It had been ages since she’d taken a lover. No one had compelled her. Even the ones that had were few and their appearances in her life had been irregular at best. Men were a luxury she could not afford. They’d shown themselves to be fickle companions on the path she trod.

Why not play his game a while? It’s just one night and he’s already said he’s not planning to stay around. It won’t upset your plans, a wicked voice in her head prompted. It was the perfect night for love, or what temporarily passed for it: English rain on the roof, a fire in the fireplace, a handsome man who knew the rules of this sort of engagement, a man whose hot kisses in the road had already proven he was a master of pleasure, a man who was the master of his own destiny just as she was of hers.

Crispin’s lips replaced his hand against her cheek. He trailed a line of gentle kisses to her mouth where all gentleness ended. Intuitively, he seemed to know she would not tolerate being seduced. Seduction implied that she was somehow not an equal participant in the activity, that she needed to be led. Aurora revelled in the aggressive action of his mouth on hers.

She pulled his shirt loose from the waistband of his trousers and pushed the linen up, her hands running underneath the fabric, caressing the expanse of chest beneath the cloth. The man felt magnificent, all sculpted muscle beneath her fingertips.

He gave an appreciable shudder as her hands ran over his nipples. ‘Perhaps I should be asking you the question. Did you invite me here to seduce me?’ Crispin said.

Aurora gave a throaty laugh and repeated his earlier words. ‘Would it be so bad if I did?’

‘No,’ Crispin breathed against her neck. ‘It wouldn’t be bad at all.’

But Aurora had no illusions about being in charge of the seduction. Crispin Ramsden was very clearly a man used to being in charge. He would let her participate; in fact, he gave every indication so far of liking a partner who was actively involved, but he would call the shots. Still, Aurora thought she’d see just how far she could go before he rebelled.

She shifted back on the bench and stood up, tugging on the neck of his shirt. He had little choice but to rise and follow her. Once on his feet, Aurora tugged him closer, pressing a full-mouthed kiss on his lips. She reached a hand between them to the front of his breeches. Her own aroused state grew at the feel of him, hard and ready behind the cloth.

‘God, Aurora,’ Crispin growled at the intimate contact. He propelled her backwards until she made contact with the wall. He grabbed both her hands and raised them over her head, manacling them in position with his strong grip. His eyes were dark and wild now, his hair erotically loose about his shoulders. There was an immediacy to his actions that warned Aurora they weren’t going to make it to the bed. He was going to take her rough and fast against the wall.

A tremor of anticipation, of pleasure at the very thought of his impending actions, surged through her, firing her passion. The core of her was weeping already. She rattled her arms beneath his grip, wanting her hands free to touch him, to push his shirt off his shoulders, to drag his pants down his hips.

‘Not yet, my impatient one.’ Crispin was all seductive huskiness. His free hand deftly slipped the buttons of her shirt free. He pushed the folds of her shirt aside, only momentarily foxed by the presence of her thin chemise. He would have to let her arms go now, she thought gleefully. But Crispin surprised her. He bent his mouth to the chemise and held a bit of it between his teeth and ripped with his hand. The fabric gave easily, releasing her breasts to Crispin’s hot gaze. He cupped them, one at a time, his breath coming in gratifying rasps. His arousal was full and complete. Only then did he release her arms, letting her work the fastenings of his trousers as he worked hers.

Aurora kicked out of her breeches, feeling his naked member brush against her thigh as she did so. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, so intense was her longing. It was time. Her body knew it was time. No part of her wanted to wait a moment longer. Crispin was lifting her, his hands fitted beneath her buttocks. She wrapped her legs about his waist, gripping his shoulders for balance. Crispin took her weight easily.

‘Oh, God, you’re so ready.’ Crispin’s member teased at her entrance, testing, planning its entry. She moved slightly, forcing him inside, taking all of him without a qualm. He slid deeply. For a moment, Aurora savoured the feeling of fulfilment his presence brought. Then he began the exquisite rhythm. This time she did cry out as he pleasured and tortured by turn. The roughness she’d anticipated came and she welcomed it. His mouth seized hers in a bruising kiss even as his body claimed hers against the rough-hewn wall.

Crispin was her only source of stability. She clung to him, feeling her body’s passion crest, feeling his own need peak alongside of hers. He shuddered his release into her shoulder moments after she gave voice to her own. She was drained, so completely sated that coherent thought eluded her. The wildness of the interlude had gone, replaced by something more peaceful.

She tried to tactfully disengage her legs, sure that even Crispin’s strength must be waning beneath the extended weight of her, but Crispin murmured a soft denial in her ear. Still buried deep in her, he carried her, carried them, to the pine-framed bed just beyond the doorway. He lowered them down on the soft blanket. She could feel his member stirring inside her, could see his body towering over her, possessive and primitive in the echoes of firelight from the other room. Her breath caught; her desire rose again.

‘This time, we’ll go slowly,’ came Crispin’s whispered promise in the firelit darkness.

Slowly or roughly, on top of her or underneath her, the night could not outlast Crispin, nor the insatiable desire he raised in her and fulfilled repeatedly until dawn when at last Aurora fell asleep, deeply and wholly sated with a pleasure beyond any she had felt before. She had to admit privately as she drifted off to sleep that when Crispin Ramsden had boasted there weren’t men like him, he just might have been right.

Crispin dozed beside Aurora, more awake than asleep, savouring the languorous peace that held him in its thrall. The intense night of love-making had left him feeling unusually complete. The concerns he’d carried throughout the day were securely tucked away at the back of his mind. His thoughts were centred on the black-haired beauty breathing softly next to him.

She had been boldness personified the prior evening, matching him relentlessly in their passionate explorations. No lover he’d ever taken had been as compelling, as beguiling. Aurora moved against him in her sleep and Crispin felt himself harden yet again at the merest touch.

Perhaps what made her so appealing was that she’d established herself as his equal thus far. Last night she had taken what she needed and given him what he needed in return without him having to ask. There had been women who’d purported to be capable of such loving, but all had fallen short when put to the test.

That test wasn’t complete, Crispin reminded himself. There was still the morning to contend with. He’d bedded women too who had no expectations of further commitment in the night, but who were suddenly struck with a need to attach themselves to him come the morning.

His gaze drifted the length of Aurora’s form, half of it under the warm plaid blanket, the other half encased only by his arm. He knew her, and knew her not. He could no more predict what Aurora Calhoun would do when she awoke than he could predict next month’s weather. The woman in his arms was a marvellous mystery. In most cases, he’d be happy to let a woman’s mysterious history lie untouched. Not so with Aurora. He found he wanted to know everything about the groom’s daughter from Curragh.

Aurora gave the semblance of waking, her body stretching against his. Crispin decided to encourage that behaviour, his curiosity getting the better of him. What would she do when she awoke? He didn’t want to wait any longer to find out. Neither did his rising member, which apparently had a mind of its own and was fairly certain what it thought Aurora’s response would be. Crispin pulled her firmly against him, letting his not-so-bashful erection greet her buttocks. He pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, his hand tenderly massaging a naked breast.

‘Good morning,’ Aurora murmured in appreciative, husky tones. She turned in his arms to face him, her hair spilling thickly around her in a morning mess of tumbled curls. He watched her study him through sleepy green eyes, the beginnings of a smile flirting on her lips. Then she tugged at him, pulling him on top of her, her legs parted, ready to take him into her. ‘I want you, but we’ll have to be quick. The horses need to be fed.’

Crispin laughed softly. ‘They can wait a few minutes more, Princess.’ He entered her, finding her slick and eager even after their night. He quickened at her welcome, his body throbbing with the intensity of his need. This coupling would indeed be swift and urgent. Such an outcome would please them both. Crispin could sense the fervent urgency in her body as well. She was impatient in her desire to achieve her ecstasy, like a child who couldn’t wait for Christmas morning. Beneath him, she cried out.

‘Almost, hold on, Princess,’ Crispin groaned, his own pleasure about to overwhelm his sensibilities. Somewhere in his passion-addled mind a distant jangle of sound registered. He crested and let his release swamp him.

With a surprising amount of haste, Aurora squirmed beneath him. ‘The horses are fine, they can wait,’ Crispin repeated.

‘I know they can,’ Aurora said tartly. ‘But the blacksmith cannot.’ She gently pushed him aside and leapt out of bed, grabbing up clothes from where they’d fallen the previous night.

Crispin rolled over and folded his arms behind his head, appreciating the view of Aurora dressing at rapid pace. She struggled into her boots and strode out of the rooms into the stable. Crispin gave full rein to the smile he’d sought to suppress. He let out a low whistle and raised his eyes to the low-beamed ceiling. He could not recall having ever been thrown over for a horse or a blacksmith before. It was quite a novel experience really. He couldn’t blame her. In her position, he would have done the same. Clearly, this was his kind of woman.

Chapter Five

Reality pierced the morning and Crispin suddenly remembered. The blacksmith wasn’t coming. The realisation served to hurry Crispin out of bed. He dressed hastily. If that wasn’t the blacksmith, then who was it in the stable yard? Recalling the conversation from the tavern made him worry for Aurora’s safety.

Crispin moved into the dim hallway between the apartment and the stable, still tucking his shirt into his breeches. If he had to make his presence known, he didn’t want to do it half-dressed and broadcast to everyone where he’d spent the night. Until then, he’d wait and watch. From his vantage point in the hall, he had a good view of Aurora in the yard.

‘Where’s Mackey?’ Aurora stood her ground, arms crossed, disgust evident in her expression. Crispin could see that Mackey had not come. Instead, he’d sent one of his assistants, a drunken lout named Ernie who still looked hung over.

‘He sent me to tell you he’s not coming. He said to give you this.’ Ernie fished a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket with grimy hands.

Aurora scanned the note, fighting to keep her temper in check. Mackey wasn’t just not coming today, he wasn’t coming again, ever. Well, she’d see about that.

‘Shall I tell Mr Mackey anything?’ Ernie sneered.

Aurora’s gaze hardened. ‘I’ll tell him myself. Now, get off my property.’ She turned hard on her heel and swept past the hallway where Crispin stood, not seeing him in the dim light of the passageway. She threw open the first stall door she came to and swung up bareback on the sturdy gelding. Her intentions were clear. Crispin could read her thoughts plainly. If she went cross-country, she’d beat the worthless Ernie back to the forge and get Mackey out of bed with a wake up he wouldn’t soon forget. Crispin couldn’t allow that to happen. Such an action would be more damaging than helpful.

Aurora flew out of the stables, urging the gelding to full speed. Concern spurred Crispin into motion. She had no idea what she might be riding into. She hadn’t heard the anger directed at her last night at the tavern, but he had.

Crispin flung open the door to Sheikh’s stall, not bothering to go back for a coat. ‘Come on, boy, we’ve got to stop her.’ He led the stallion into the aisle and leapt up on to the Arabian’s lean back. Aurora hadn’t taken time to tack up, so he couldn’t either.

He sighted her veering off the Dursley road and followed, pushing Sheikh into a hard gallop. Aurora’s gelding might not be fast, but she had a head start. Crispin had ground to make up. With sure feet, Sheikh overcame the distance.

‘Aurora, hold up!’ Crispin shouted over wind and hooves, pulling alongside the gelding.

The gelding slowed slightly in response to Sheikh’s presence. Crispin grabbed for the reins and missed. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Aurora railed.

‘Saving you from yourself,’ Crispin shouted, angrier than he’d recognised. ‘You’re a stupid fool if you think you can ride into the village and call the blacksmith to account.’

‘Why is that?’ Aurora’s eyes flashed a lethal green. She urged the gelding to more speed. Crispin matched her.

‘Because they mean to pillory you. Your secret’s out. Mackey told everyone who would listen last night. I was there at the inn when it happened.’

That brought her to a full stop, the gelding’s sides heaving from exertion. ‘What secret is that?’

‘The girls ride astride,’ Crispin replied, choosing not to acknowledge the implication of her response. She had more than one secret. He wondered what they were? He would have to tread carefully if he meant to unearth them all.

‘How did he know?’ Some of the fire had gone out of Aurora’s eyes, replaced by a sense of betrayal. ‘Who would have told him? None of the girls would have. We’re all sworn to secrecy. They know it would be the end of the academy.’ She shot him a chilled look. ‘Was it you? Did you tell him?’

It had not crossed his mind that she would suspect him. The idea that she would was a slap in the face of his honour. ‘It wasn’t me,’ Crispin said defensively. ‘It doesn’t matter who told him. What’s important is that you don’t go charging into town and live up to their expectations. They’re ready to think the worst of you and ranting at Mackey will only prove it.’

Aurora looked out over the fields, away from him. ‘I haven’t a choice. If I don’t confront him, it will only serve to encourage him and others. They will think they have power over me, that they control what I do.’

Crispin stared at her. Had she not heard what he’d said or understood its importance? ‘I hardly think it’s a question of supply and demand. It’s larger than that. Someone means to see you run out of business and out of town if possible.’ He related what he’d heard at the inn.

Aurora snorted and fixed him with a baleful stare a lesser man might have shrunk from. ‘Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think this is the first time something like this has happened to me?’

The weariness in her voice cooled Crispin’s anger. ‘If you know what people are up to, what will shouting at the blacksmith solve?’

She didn’t have a ready answer for his question. ‘It will make me feel better.’

Crispin nodded. ‘Breakfast might make you feel better too.’ He was starting to feel the chill in the air now that the heat of emotions had been banked. He turned the horses in the direction of the stables.

Aurora put up one last effort at resistance. ‘Breakfast won’t solve the problem.’

Crispin grinned. ‘No, it won’t, but I always think better on a full stomach. I imagine you do too.’

Crispin stood at the hearth, making breakfast, intent on the cast-iron frying pan he held over the fire and presenting Aurora a glorious view of his backside encased in tight, buttock-hugging riding trousers. This morning was her turn to do the perusing, but the opportunity was lost on her. She might have found the sight arousing if she hadn’t been so angry. Empirically, there was something positively alluring about a man cooking breakfast. She was just too upset to appreciate it at the moment. Her mind was reeling with questions and conclusions. The battle had begun. She knew this pattern well, but what had provoked it? Crispin was wrong about one thing—it did matter who’d told Mackey.

Aurora drummed her fingers on the table, trying to follow the twisting paths of her thoughts. Who had spilled the secret to Mackey? On his own, Mackey wasn’t ambitious enough to care what went on at her stables.

‘Someone’s behind Mackey, using him,’ Aurora spoke her thoughts out loud.

‘A phantom puppeteer?’ Crispin asked.

The very notion gave Aurora chills. ‘It’s the most likely reason.’ She shrugged, trying not to let it show how much the idea bothered her. ‘Mackey has no reason to know such a thing or to share it. Someone has given him a reason and the information.’

‘Any ideas who might want that information spread around?’

‘None comes to mind,’ Aurora said quickly. It wasn’t true. One did come to mind, but surely he had come to terms with her rejection long before this? Surely he would not stoop to such levels?

Crispin turned towards the table with the frying pan in hand. ‘I’ve managed a fry-up of sorts.’ Crispin scooped eggs and sausage from the pan and popped them on to two wooden plates. ‘There’s toast too.’ He reached for the slices of bread he’d placed on a rack in the hearth, juggling them so as not to burn his hands as he placed them on the plates. ‘And coffee.’ He retrieved the tin coffee pot from the embers of the fire where he’d left it to heat.

‘Delicious.’ Aurora took a bite of the eggs, more than half-expecting they wouldn’t taste as good as they looked, but they did. ‘Where did you learn to cook like this?’ It was better talking about food than potential enemies.

‘The military,’ Crispin said between bites. ‘Most useful skill a soldier can have besides knowing his weapons. A soldier can’t fight on an empty stomach, although most quartermasters I’ve known have been hard-pressed to believe it.’ Crispin winked. He bit into his toast and sobered, returning to the earlier conversation.

‘You should tell Peyton.’

Aurora shot him a hard look. ‘If I went running to the earl every time someone troubled me, I’d never convince anyone I was anything more than the earl’s lackey. How could people take me seriously as a horse breeder, a horsewoman, if I couldn’t manage my own business? I would think you of all people would understand why I won’t mention it. You don’t strike me as the type to let your brother fight your battles.’

‘Touché.’ Crispin tossed her a wry smile. ‘Still, don’t let pride get in the way of your security.’

Aurora sensed a stalemate and tacitly returned to her eggs, but Crispin wasn’t content. ‘Are you sure one of the girls didn’t let it slip?’

Aurora shook her head. ‘I am sure.’ She gave him a hard stare. ‘It is unconscionable to doubt my students.’ Even as she said it, an uneasy suspicion crossed her mind. Her students would keep the secret to the best of their abilities, but she didn’t expect them to withstand extreme punishments or worse in order to protect it. They were gently bred young women after all and had little experience with the darker side of life. Except for Eleanor Windham. The poor girl! Could Gregory Windham have extracted such a confession from her, his own daughter?

Crispin leaned across the table, answering her with equal steel. ‘In my experience, Princess, secrets are leaked by those on the inside. Very rarely does an outsider stumble upon a secret and expose it. Don’t be naïve, Aurora. In all likelihood, one of your girls told someone. Don’t ignore the reality simply because it is unpalatable.’

Aurora rose from the table, pushing her unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind. ‘You presume too much on too short an acquaintance, I think, Lord Ramsden.’ She gathered up the plates. ‘Thank you for breakfast. I am sure you have responsibilities elsewhere that demand your attention.’

His hand seized her wrist. ‘I will not be dismissed so easily.’

‘Unhand me.’ This was how it had all started last night; a quick touch, a little flirting, and she’d talked herself right into bed with the earl’s brother. Now she had Sir Lancelot in her kitchen wanting to do good deeds.

‘We’re not finished. If you won’t talk about the potential danger you’re in, then we can talk about last night.’

Aurora groaned. The only thing she wanted to talk about less than the stables was last night. Conversations that began with ‘about last night’ never went well.

‘What is there to mention?’ Aurora sat down hard on the bench. ‘I thought we were doing rather well not mentioning last night at all.’ That was the way she preferred it at least, which was one reason she so seldom took a man to her bed. Worthy men always wanted to complicate matters afterwards with feelings of obligation. With feelings of obligation came feelings of ownership. Aurora fought back a shiver. She did not belong to any man. Not any more. Not ever again.

‘What is there to mention?’ Crispin repeated coolly. ‘Surely it hasn’t escaped your notice that we didn’t take any precautions.’

Aurora looked him firmly in the eye, her tone brisk. ‘I did not consider you a traditionalist in that sense. There won’t be any complications. You needn’t worry. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have classes to prepare.’ She moved to go past him.

He put a staying hand on her arm. ‘This discussion is not over,’ Crispin said warningly. ‘Peyton has set up a meeting with my steward today, but I’ll be back and this discussion will be continued.’

Mackey finished his report and Gregory Windham rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. ‘And the rest? Was your man, Ernie, able to scout out the stables last night?’

Windham preferred to believe that his indirect attempt to stir the villagers against her would be all that was required. However, in the event that failed by the month’s end, he needed a back up. He’d hired Mackey’s assistant to find out the night schedule of the stables in case more direct intervention, such as an injury to Aurora’s prize horse, was needed. Such drastic measures were only to be used in desperation. He didn’t want to risk anyone being caught in the act and have them lead the authorities back to him.

Mackey shuffled his feet. ‘Ah, no, sir. She had company at the stables last night and we weren’t able to get close without fear of being spotted.’

Windham steepled his hands, pretending apathy. ‘Oh? Who might the visitor be?’

‘Ernie says it was Crispin Ramsden, sir. Dursley’s brother. I’ve never met him before, so I have to take Ernie’s word on that,’ Mackey hedged.

‘I’d heard rumour he was home. You could have waited until he left. I pay you enough to wait all night if need be. Everyone has to go home some time.’

Mackey coughed, embarrassed. ‘That was the problem, sir. He didn’t go home. Ernie said he stayed all night.’

Envy shot through Windham in hot bolts. The Jezebel! She’d shunned his offer only to take Dursley’s rakehell brother to bed instead. It sickened him to think of her with another, doing the things he’d dreamed of doing to her.

Windham carefully schooled his features to not give away any hint of his inward turmoil. Ramsden certainly complicated matters, especially if he was welcome in the hoyden’s bed. Yet, this last transgression provided another nail in the proverbial coffin, proof that Aurora Calhoun was no better than she ought to be. It was his experience that women living alone without a man’s guidance were prone to illicit behaviours. He would make sure that was the village’s experience too. When he finished with her, no man would want her again except for him and she would be glad to welcome his attentions. When she was broken, finally, she would see that only he could save her.

‘Did you know?’ Crispin fixed Peyton with a challenging stare over the decanter of brandy in the empty dining room. He’d dined at Dursley Park that evening, but the excellent food and company had done little to appease his dark mood. The day had gone steadily downhill after leaving Aurora’s.

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