Jackie Manning - Taming The Duke

Alicia gasped. Somehow she knew this Thoroughbred must be Wexton’s Bashshar. Dismissing thoughts of the man, she moved away from the stall’s door to give the animal a sense that he wasn’t cornered.

He tossed his massive head; the lantern’s soft glow emphasized the fiery glints along his satiny black coat. The stallion pawed the ground, ears laid flat against his head, teeth bared.

Alicia’s need to comfort far outweighed her fear. In a low clear sound, she began to hum, while in her mind she pictured a soothing image—wind rippling through swaying willow branches. At a safe distance from the horse, she stood still, allowing him to become accustomed to her scent. Although Alicia thought the stallion might rear, she held her ground and continued to hum.

She looked for some outward sign of his distress. Raised white scars zigzagged across the animal’s left flank, shining in the lantern light. She grimaced but leaned closer. The laceration had occurred within the month, as indicated by the proud flesh—the raised, white tissue—that formed around the wound.

She met the animal’s frightened eyes. Aye, what troubled the horse was more than his wounds. She could feel his terror and agony.

Penn peeked through a knothole in the wooden wall. Immediately, the horse caught the brief movement; his eyes again were ringed in white. Lips curling, the animal let out another terrifying scream. Alicia felt as if her body were being ripped in two. She squeezed her eyes shut, and reached to touch the animal’s neck.

Immediately, the horse’s feelings of fear and confusion shot through her—feelings so intense that she thought she had been pounded hard alongside the ear. Forcing the fervor from her mind, Alicia cleared her thoughts and braced herself. Her hand pressed gently along Bashshar’s warm, silky neck.

“Nobody dares touch the ‘orse ‘cept ‘is lordship.” Penn had opened the door a crack, keeping a respectful distance from her and the stallion.

Alicia turned to face the lad, “Then this is Bashshar?”

Penn nodded, his eyes wide.

“How did the accident happen?”

When Penn didn’t answer, she stopped petting the horse and backed up toward the door, moving very carefully so as not to frighten Bashshar.

“I asked you how the accident happened.”

“Dunno.”

“Nonsense. A valuable animal like Bashshar is injured and the stable boy knows nothing about it?” Maybe it was the severe look she gave him, but Penn finally answered her.

“Me father is Ulger, the stable master. He said fer me t’ say nothin’ ’bout that night.” Penn muttered so softly she could barely hear him.

“Why would your father give such an order?” But as soon as she’d asked, she wondered if Ulger felt intimidated by the duke. She decided on a change of tactic. “Was the duke of Wexton riding Bashshar when the injury occurred?”

Penn’s widening hazel eyes was his only answer.

“Please, Penn. If I knew how the horse was injured, it would help me understand him.” She felt guilty pressing the lad, but she needed to find out what she could. “Was the duke riding the horse when the accident occurred?” she repeated.

Penn pressed his lips into a grim line. “Yes, my lady. An’ weren’t no accident, neither.” His gaze narrowed with intended meaning.

“Surely you don’t mean that someone deliberately harmed the animal?” She studied Penn, who immediately averted his gaze.

No, Alicia thought. Penn wouldn’t dare say anything derogatory about his master, either. She took a deep breath. “Did you see—” she hesitated “—the incident?”

Penn shook his head. “Me father an’ the master brought the horse in an’—” He shook his red curls. “Never saw Bashshar like ’e was that night. Never saw any animal like ’im, thank God. When I asked what ‘appened, they told me t’ get out an’ sleep in the servants’ wing.” Penn glanced around as if he might be overheard. “After I left the stable, I couldn’t sleep thinkin’ o’ th’ poor creature’s sufferin’.”

Although she wanted to know more, Alicia didn’t want Penn telling Ulger or the duke that she was prodding the lad with questions. She’d find out what she needed to know in her own way. “Thank you, Penn. I won’t say a word to anyone about the matter.”

He gave her an uneasy look, then scratched his head.

Alicia felt the horse begin to settle. “Go back to sleep, Penn. I’d like to remain with Bashshar for a time.”

His eyes rounded like amber saucers. “B-but…”

She smiled reassuringly. “If your father should question you, I’ll explain to him in the morning.”

“It’s not me father I fear, my lady. It’s ’is lordship. ’E’ll eat me alive if ’e finds I let ye near ’is ’orse.”

Surprised that Penn hadn’t been told earlier that she was coming to help work with Bashshar, Alicia wondered how many people Dalton had told about her arrival. “Let me worry about his lordship.”

Penn hesitated, then glanced at the stallion. Bashshar tossed his head, the long silky mane shimmering like black satin in the lantern light. “The beast does seem quieter,” Penn said after a moment.

Alicia purposely waited for Penn’s approval. She sensed that the lad, although now frightened of Bashshar, held great respect and pride for the stallion.

“I think Bashshar likes ye,” the lad said finally, as though he’d considered the matter carefully. “’E might enjoy yer company.” Penn gave her a furtive glance, then dashed out of sight, his footfalls fading along the crushed gravel.

After the boy left, Alicia was still caught up in the intense feelings of her intuition. Although the stallion was still terrified of her, she sensed that eventually, she might earn the horse’s trust. But first, she must insist upon the truth about the accident from Wexton.

A shiver passed over her. She glanced out the window to the golden glow of Havencrest, sitting in the distance like a glittering diamond against the inky velvet sky.

Whatever the truth, Wexton, I’ll find it out, you can be sure of that .

When Dalton returned to the ballroom, he was more determined than ever to find out what Olivia had learned about the mysterious Lady Alicia. His gaze veered toward the crush of his mother’s guests—London’s finest. Damn, his sister was nowhere in sight.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Elizabeth waving to him from a crowd of admiring young bucks. Dalton nodded politely, giving her a warm smile.

His mother caught his attention. Garbed in black widow’s weeds, her diamond tiara atop her elaborately styled black hair, Mildred, the five-and-fifty-year-old dowager duchess of Wexton was still an attractive woman. She held court to the admiring throng of society’s ton as she always had. Several wives of the earls and viscounts met his eye. Dalton gave them a perfunctory nod.

His mother knew the latest rumor and scandal, although she’d never admit it to him. How ironic, he mused. As he stood watching her, the unbidden childhood image of his mother and her lover jumped into Dalton’s thoughts. He immediately pushed away the painful memory.

Reluctantly, Dalton made his way through the crush until he stood at his mother’s side.

“It’s about time you made your appearance, Dalton.” With stony dignity, her fingers brushed the glittering onyx-and-diamond necklace at her throat. In a whisper for his ears only, she added, “I expect you to attend these—”

“Dalton,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She curled her hand around his sleeve, then gave the dowager a most dazzling smile.

“Your grace, surely you don’t wish to keep your son from his guests?” she teased. “We see so little of Dalton as it is.”