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All the anger drained from Victoria. Withington couldn’t know it, but he’d just fired an arrow right into the bull’s-eye, and no matter how her sister tried to hide it, his words had stung her mightily. “You should see my Primero, then,” she said, looking to Cavendish in desperation. Help
me!
“Actually, I came with the anticipation of visiting your stables,” said he, rising. “Father practically believes your Primero to be a direct descendant of Pegasus himself.”
Amelia turned to him with a too-bright smile. “Then I suppose we had better satisfy your curiosity. Victoria, why don’t you take our guest to see your favorite companion?”
“Actually, I’d adore a good stretch of the legs, as well,” chimed in Withington, rising and extending his arm to Victoria. “You must come to the races at Ascot! It would be my honor to escort you this Season. My family enters a horse every year.”
“Naturally, I should love to attend with you, my lord,” Victoria replied as Cavendish offered his arm to her sister, who took it in silence. She waited until they were far enough ahead to ensure she would not be overheard. “I think it is working,” she whispered to Withington.
“No doubt she thinks me bent on your ravishment,” he answered drolly.
She grinned back. “Good! Let us help that perception, shall we?” She dropped the posy she carried. “Ooh! How dreadfully clumsy of me.” As he bent to retrieve it, she bent also and deliberately fell into him, causing them both to tumble to the ground—with her atop, of course.
As Withington lay there looking stunned, she loosed another loud giggle. When he placed his hands at her waist to help her up, she let out another little squeak.
Quickly, he regained his feet and hastily yanked her up beside him. “Cavendish is going to bloody well kill me!” he hissed.
“Oh, relax. It’s all part of the ruse,” she whispered, making for the stables.
JULIUS GROWLED. HE knew they were only putting on a show, but it still grated on his nerves. His thoughts returned to the kiss in the conservatory, to her yielding body and passionate responses. Watching her flirt with another man, even if it was just a pantomime, was enough to make him feel positively uncivilized.
“What are we to do?” asked Amelia.
“We’ll think of something,” he said to her, keeping his voice neutral.
She stopped him. “Victoria might be playing the naïve flibbertigibbet, but in truth her mind is extremely sharp. She is obviously determined to bait him into doing something foolish, and I fear her success. Men do not always do as honor demands after behaving foolishly.”
“She will not succeed,” he replied. “You may trust in that, my lady.” Another piece fell into place. It was fast becoming obvious that Lady Amelia had previously suffered at the hands of a reprobate.
They entered the stables to find the other couple already at the far stall. Withington remained a respectful distance away from the open gate where Victoria stood with her hand palm-up beneath the nose of a truly enormous bay stallion.
Julius watched as she rubbed its glossy neck. She smiled as the giant huffed gently and nudged her shoulder with its huge head. “Good boy, Primero,” she cooed. “I’ll take you for a long ride this evening, I promise.”
The horse answered with a soft whicker and butted her gently. As Julius approached, however, the beast’s nostrils flared. It eyed him with ambivalence, and then stamped a hoof in challenge.
“You must move slowly, my lord,” said Victoria, stroking the horse’s withers to calm it. “He’s still a bit skittish around strangers.”
He did as she bade, knowing better than to present a threat. A horse like this could strike a man dead with one blow.
“How many hands is that thing?” whispered Withington as he passed.
Julius guessed about sixteen, perhaps seventeen, but Victoria answered before he could speak.
“Seventeen and one half,” she said proudly, then frowned. “And he’s not a ‘thing,’ Withy. He’s an Andalusian. A very fine one, at that. I thought your family bred horses.”
“Thoroughbreds and Arabians, which are bred for speed,” replied Withington. “This fellow is a ruddy destrier—I think he’s even bigger than your brute, Julius.”
“He’s big, but he’s quick enough in a pinch,” said Victoria. “You should see him on a hunt. He practically flies over the hills, and there’s none can touch him when he jumps. Riding him is like floating on a magic carpet.”
“He’s magnificent,” Julius said with reverence.
Her gaze remained on the horse, but her cheeks lifted in a smile. “Isn’t he? I bought him last year. Paid a pittance, too—only fifty-five pounds.”
“For this horse?” Julius asked, surprised. The animal was beautiful, absolutely perfect in line and proportion. He checked the legs, but there was no sign of a healed break or any injury. “Was it ill?”
“His owner was desperate to be rid of him.” Her voice was bitter. “He claimed that Primero was foul-tempered and dangerous. Said he jumped fence, bit at his groom, and kicked down the doors of his stall on a regular basis. This beauty was about to be gelded because that idiot felt there was no other way to tame his temperament.”
