“Hmm. If it’s a colt, can I have the next colt?”
“All right.”
She gave him a big grin. “Very well, I’ll go speak to Henry. I think she’ll be in season very soon now. As you already know, summer is the best time for mating, so we need to hurry. I asked your uncle Tysen to bruit it about that we were open for business. My uncle Burke as well. Dodger will be very busy.”
“We are lucky to have Henry back with us again. He told me about the last few years of Squire Hoverton’s life, how Thomas was always-” His voice dried up when she suddenly rose, and he nearly fell off his chair. He couldn’t believe it. She was wearing black breeches, a loose white shirt covered with a black vest, and shiny black boots. She’d tied her hair back with a black velvet ribbon. It was quite obvious that everything she wore was new and well-made. He remembered the first time he and James had seen her at Lyon ’s Gate. She’d been dressed in dusty old boy’s clothes. Now that he thought of it, he’d never seen her off Charlemagne’s back, either.
He found his voice as he roared out of his chair. “Don’t you move, Miss Carrick!” For an instant he couldn’t think. Her long legs were on very nice display, leaving very little to a man’s imagination. Her rear end-
Thank God Hallie slowly turned to face him and he could make himself look up at her face. He leaned over, splaying his palms on the table. He hit his fork and it flew across the breakfast room, but he paid it no heed. She said, eyebrow arched, “What do you want, Mr. Sherbrooke?”
He tried to get ahold on himself. He wasn’t her father, dammit, nor was he her husband. But the outrage rolled out; he simply couldn’t hold it in. “You will go upstairs this minute and have Martha put you in a proper gown. You will not show yourself outside until you are properly dressed, more or less like a lady. You will not wear men’s clothing ever again. Is that perfectly clear to you?”
“Since you’re nearly yelling, yes, of course, it’s clear. Excuse me now, Mr. Sherbrooke, I have work to do in the stables.”
“Don’t move, Miss Carrick!” His face was red, the pulse pounding in his neck. Luckily his brain was holding on and told him to retrench. “Damn you-” No, no, try again. Calm, he needed calm and control with her. His voice slowed, deepened, surely a master’s voice, a serious man’s voice. “Don’t you realize that everyone in the district will hear of your man’s charade? Don’t you realize you will be labeled loose?”
“That is absurd. I already have an interesting reputation in the district simply because I am living with a man who isn’t my husband. But let me assure you, no one believes me at all loose.”
She’d started out all light and dismissive, amused even, but by the time she’d finished, her voice had risen an octave and her face was red. Well, Jason thought, she was an uncontrolled female, what was one to expect? Where he was calm, his reason sound, she was a stubborn uncontrolled twit. He actually flicked a bit of lint off his coat sleeve. “You can’t see yourself from the back, Miss Carrick, whereas I can see every curve-your backside in particular is finely outlined, and your long legs, nicely shaped they are. Trust me on this. Every man who manages only the slightest glimpse of your shadow will be positively delighted. He will immediately see his hands cupping your bottom.” Actually, he was seeing himself doing that, and he would swear his hands tingled.
She shook her head at him. “I looked at the back of myself in my mirror. My britches are loose. There’s no hugging, no outlining. You’re being ridiculous. Now, good morning to you, Mr. Sherbrooke.”
He spaced his words out for maximum effect. “If you try to leave the house dressed like that, I will carry you back upstairs, and change you into a gown myself.” He shuddered then. “Do you realize what you look like from the front?” He shuddered again.
“I look just like you do, like all men do. There’s nothing at all diff-”
“Would you like me to press yourself against me, Miss Carrick, so you can feel the difference between us? Would you like to simply look at me at this very moment to see the differences?”
He stepped from behind the table and walked toward her. “Look, Miss Carrick.”
She looked. “Oh dear.” Then she brought shocked, excited eyes back up to his face and took a step back. “So this is what happens to you when you look at the front of me?”
“Or the back of you or, I fancy, the side of you, perhaps even from fifty feet.”
He stopped not an inch from her, took her upper arms in his big hands and shook her. “You’re my bloody partner and you’re a nitwit.”
She jerked away from him.
He should simply haul her upstairs, strip off her clothes, burn all the breeches she’d had sewn up for herself without his knowledge. No, it wasn’t possible. Well, it was-Angela would probably be on his side-but no. Better to try a different tack. Shame, that was it. He drew in a deep breath.
“Attend me, Hallie”-he saw her ease immediately at the use of her first name-“the men working here will tell their wives and their friends how the mistress of Lyon ’s Gate prances around dressed like a man. The wives will be horrified, they won’t want their husbands working for us. As for the men who remain, they will sneer at you, they will be insolent, they will look at you every chance they get and trade jests with each other about your endowments and very probably your lack of character. Is that what you want?”
“The wages we’re paying are far too good for any of the men to quit. Also, I can deal with any insolent man in the world.”
He nodded. “Possibly you can. But here is the truth of the matter, Hallie. Your reputation will suffer irreparable damage-” He slowed, his voice deepened. “As well as mine. I will be known as the flagrantly debauched earl’s son who openly lives with a woman who is nothing more than his lightskirt. And every man and woman in the district will believe I’m rubbing their noses in my open philandering. It will redound upon my parents and on my twin and Corrie. Do you begin to understand the consequences of your britches?”
Hallie grew very still. She’d simply not considered this. “Your parents?”
“Oh yes. As for Angela, she’ll be snubbed. She will be regarded not as a respectable chaperone, but a procurer, no better than a madam who owns a brothel in London.”
“Surely not. That makes no sense. I simply want to take care of my horses, nothing more than that. It’s so much easier in britches. I could fall and break my neck wearing a wretched gown, you know it. All know it.”
“I understand your plight, but it can’t be helped. It is the way of the world. Given our very irregular living arrangements, neither of us nor our families can afford any more questionable actions. Britches are beyond questionable. Do you believe me now?”
Hallie folded; she looked ready to burst into tears. “The three shirts have beautiful stitching and the britches-they’re the finest knit. Oh goodness, and would you look at the boots? You can see your face in them.” She raised eyes now sheened with tears. She looked kicked and broken. “Three outfits, Jason, two pair of boots. They cost me a lot of money to have everything made. It isn’t fair, you know it isn’t.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry. Everything looks quite fine, and I say that as a man, not a fashion judge.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Does seeing me in these britches really drive you mad with lust?”
Jason laughed, not about to remind her that she saw proof of his lust. “Perhaps there is a bit of lust mixed with the outrage. Does that make you happy?”
She searched his face for a long moment. “You truly feel that I will ruin all of us if I step outside wearing britches?”