"If you are the winner, you may take the balance of the week for yourself—with pay, of course."
He shook his head. "Not good enough. If I win… let me see… How about, if I win, you muck out the stalls for Jimmy Murphy for the rest of the week?"
The gray pawed the ground, eager to be away. "You can't be serious."
"What's the matter? Afraid you'll lose?" He could almost see her mind working, spinning around the possibilities, intrigued by the challenge. Unable to resist.
"All right, fine. If I lose, I'll muck out the stalls for the rest of the week." She whirled her horse toward the stable. "Are you ready?"
Caleb turned the bay. "Whenever you say the word."
Vermillion grinned. "Go!" she shouted and dug her small heels into the side of the gray. The animal leaped into action and she settled low over its neck, urging the horse into a flat-out run. Caleb watched the mesmerizing sight for an instant longer than he should have, then set his heels to the bay.
It took longer than he thought it would to catch her. With her lighter frame and skillful handling of the horse, the pair flew over low rock walls and thundered across the open green fields. They were riding neck and neck, saddles groaning, legs brushing, hooves thundering as they approached the final stretch of the race and headed toward the big stone barn behind the house.
The bay began pulling ahead. He was going to beat her, but not by much. An image appeared of her small figure shoveling the heavy muck out of a stall and at the very last minute he found himself easing back on the reins. Vermillion shot past him with a whoop of glee, streaking into the courtyard in front of the stable, her braid bouncing up and down on her back. Tendrils of fiery hair whipped around her smiling face and he found himself smiling, too.
"I did it! I won!"
Caleb pulled his horse to a stop and swung down from the saddle, the laughter still in his eyes. "Yes, I guess you did."
Vermillion kept a tight rein on Grand Coeur, who snorted and blew and danced beneath her, then finally began to settle down. Caleb reached up and clamped his hands around her waist to lift her down and tried not to notice the feminine flare of her hips, how light she felt in his hands. For a moment, her breasts crushed into his chest as he swung her to the ground and he could feel the weight of them, the softness. They were round and full and he went instantly hard.
Swearing softly, Caleb took a step away.
"That was marvelous," Vermillion said, oblivious to the havoc she wreaked in his body. "Grand Coeur ran like the wind." Leading her horse next to his toward the door of the stable, she gave him a saucy grin. "Tomorrow morning, I expect you shall make Jimmy Murphy very happy."
Caleb chuckled. They continued leading the horses and had nearly reached the entrance when a man stepped out of the shadowy interior of the barn. It was Oliver Wingate, a colonel of the Life Guards. Spying Vermillion without her sophisticated rice powder and rouge and dressed in men's clothes, his face went utterly pale.
"My God, Vermillion! I can't believe it. Is that really you?"
She blinked as if waking from a dream. Caleb saw the transformation in the squaring of her shoulders, the haughty look she gave the colonel down her small, lightly freckled nose.
When it came to men, Vermillion gave no quarter.
"I wasn't expecting you, Oliver. Had you sent word ahead of your arrival, I should have been able to greet you in a more proper manner. The fault lies with you and not me."
The colonel's gaze ran over the tight brown breeches that curved over her small round bottom and Caleb could see the lust seep into his eyes. Caleb had never met Oliver Wingate, though he had a full dossier on the man and had seen him many times there at the house. Wingate, a high-ranking officer of the Guards, had access to a good deal of sensitive information.
"My apologies," the colonel said, making a very slight bow. "I can't say I approve your choice of garments, my dear, but I daresay I shouldn't quibble if you wished to wear them for me in private sometime." His look said he wouldn't mind peeling them off her right now, and Caleb's jaw knotted.
Vermillion paid not the slightest attention. Turning away from the colonel, she handed Caleb her reins. "Give Coeur an extra ration of oats, won't you? And see he gets a good long rubdown."
Caleb made a slightly mocking bow, wishing he hadn't let her win the race, wishing instead the colonel had come upon her shoveling manure out of one of the stalls.
"Your wish is my command… Miss Durant." Of course she probably would have reneged on the bet, at any rate. Undoubtedly would have, he told himself.
Vermillion didn't miss the sarcasm in his voice. As if they hadn't been laughing together just moments ago, she cast him a speaking glance and started walking back toward the house, allowing Colonel Wingate to trail along in her wake. All the way back to the mansion, Wingate's eyes remained glued to her rump and Caleb knew the man was thinking of the hours he hoped to spend in her bed.
Caleb made a mental note to find out what secrets the colonel might know that could be valuable to the French. What might Wingate be willing to divulge for a chance to spill his seed in Vermillion's delectable little body?
As Caleb turned to lead the horses back into the barn, unconsciously his hand tightened into a fist.
4
« ^ »
Caleb received a summons from the footman the following morning. Miss Durant would be traveling to Tattersall's Auction House in the matter of the purchase of several more head of blooded stock and she required his expertise in helping her make her selections.
As soon as his duties in the stable had been performed—including, to Jimmy Murphy's great delight, mucking out the stalls—Caleb freshened and changed into clean clothing and made his way up to the rear of the house.
"Miss Durant has summoned the carriage," the butler told him when he reached the back door. "She instructs you to await her out front."
He made his way round to the front of the house and Vermillion arrived a few minutes later, in company with a slight, brown-haired woman who appeared to be her maid. He was mildly surprised to see the maid, having expected Vermillion, never one to succumb to convention, to be traveling unchaperoned. Then he saw that today she wasn't dressed in the bold, bright colors she usually wore, but gowned very simply in a high-waisted garment of pale green muslin, her red hair covered by a matching flowered bonnet. Her unadorned features were shaded by the parasol resting on one of her small shoulders, an unremarkable young lady at first glance.
Unfortunately, Caleb thought she looked more appealing than he had ever seen her.
"Good morning, Mr. Tanner."
"Good morning, Miss Durant."
"This is Jeannie Fontenelle. She'll be accompanying us today. Jeannie, this is Mr. Tanner. He's taking Jacob's place for a while."
"Bonjour, M'sieur," the little maid said in French, reminding him again of the undercurrents swirling through the house and the Durant women's possible sympathies toward the French. The maid was slender and pretty, a few years older than Vermillion, with brown hair and warm brown eyes. He managed a smile, only a little surprised to have been introduced to a person who was, perhaps, another servant Vermillion considered a friend.
She carefully folded her parasol and he helped her climb into the open carriage, followed by her little French maid. The conveyance wasn't the fancy barouche she traveled in most evenings with her aunt, but a shiny black calèche. Caleb took a place next to the coachman, who smartly slapped the reins against the rumps of a nicely matched set of bays and they set off for Tattersall's.
Caleb had been to the auction house on several occasions: as a boy once with his father, in later years with one or another of his three brothers. Lucas, the eldest, enjoyed horse racing nearly as much as Caleb. Christian and Ethan also owned some very fine bloodstock.