She had indulged herself on purpose, knowing tonight would be another late night. Colonel Wingate would be escorting them to an evening of gaming in Jermyn Street. Then tomorrow night she and her aunt would be attending the theater. Lee had lost track of her schedule after that, but she knew that at each event, her tireless pursuers would be present.
While other girls her age entered the Season in search of a husband, Vermillion searched for a protector—the man who would become her first lover.
An image of the arrogant groom popped into her head. Why, she couldn't imagine. It was a fleeting vision, instantly forgotten.
She didn't think of Tanner again until three days later, when she saw him in the stable. The late afternoon sun had begun to fade and the soft glow of evening settled over the landscape. Aunt Gabby was giving a house party, so the servants were busy inside. Though none of the guests had yet arrived, they were sure to appear very soon. Dressed in a low-cut turquoise silk gown trimmed in black lace in preparation for the festivities, Lee slipped away from the house and made her way out to the stable.
She was worried about her beautiful horses, still not confident of Jacob's replacement.
She didn't expect to see the man himself, Caleb Tanner, standing in the middle of the exercise ring. He faced away from her, his collarless, full-sleeved shirt damp with perspiration and clinging to the extraordinary width of his back. The shirt was tucked into simple brown breeches that showed a narrow waist, curved over a round behind, and outlined a pair of long, muscular legs.
When he turned, she could see a vee of darkly tanned skin at his throat where the neck of the shirt stood open. The man was impressive. There was no denying that. Lee knew men—dozens of them—but she couldn't name one more beautifully built than Caleb Tanner.
He was busily working, Noir circling at the end of Tanner's lead line, the Thoroughbred's shiny black coat glistening in the fading rays of sunlight. Tanner didn't see her approaching. Or if he did, he simply ignored her.
Vermillion wasn't used to being ignored.
"You're jerking the line too much," she said as she came up to the fence. "He works better with a gentler touch."
The corner of his mouth curved up in a mocking half smile. "I'll keep that in mind." His dark gaze said he knew she had just made that up, which of course, she had. The stallion was working beautifully, doing his new trainer's bidding without the slightest hesitation. The man hadn't lied. He definitely knew horses. Noir could be fussy, and the stallion had never really liked being exercised on a lead.
Now the horse seemed to be enjoying every lap he made round the practice ring. Lee watched them for a while, unable to take her eyes off man and horse working so perfectly together. Then Tanner tugged on the rope and the stallion began to slow. Noir nickered and trotted over to where the groom stood in the center of the ring. Tanner reached into his pocket, pulled out a treat, and fed it to Noir on the flat of his hand. Speaking to the horse in that soft way of his, he ran his fingers through the stallion's course black mane.
Tanner led the animal over to the fence and stopped in front of her, and Lee tried not to think what a magnificent pair they made.
"He's in excellent condition," Caleb Tanner said, patting the horse's neck. "Jacob's done a fine job with him."
"Then you think he's going to win."
"I think he has a very good chance. Who's riding him?"
"Mickey Warner."
"Warner's good, one of the best riders in the country." His eyes moved from her face down to the cleavage swelling up at the front of her turquoise gown. She rarely dressed this way when she came to the stable. Lee had forgotten that tonight she was Vermillion.
His smile held a trace of insolence it was impossible to miss. "But then, I imagine you know a great deal about riding… wouldn't you say so, Miss Durant?"
Her cheeks went warm. She knew what he was implying. At least she understood he was referring to the act of making love. She'd been raised in the world of the demimonde. Her aunt, though wealthy and many years now with the same man, was once a notorious courtesan with a long string of lovers. All of London believed that Vermillion was a courtesan as well, as very soon she would be. Having accepted that future long ago, a subtle innuendo here and there, spoken by one of her admirers, had never upset her before.
But when Caleb Tanner looked at her the way he was now, as if she were less than the manure on his boots, her face flamed the same fiery color as her hair.
"Win the race," she said simply. "Or get a job somewhere else." Turning, she forgot to walk with her usual provocative, hip-swaying gait, and stomped all the way back to the house.
Caleb cursed himself. Dammit, Colonel Cox had gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange for the trainer, Jacob Boswell, to relinquish his position at Parklands for the next few weeks so that Caleb could work in his stead. All he needed was for the little chit to fire him.
He had to start controlling his tongue, he knew, but somehow, whenever he looked at Vermillion's exotically beautiful face, her luscious breasts displayed like pale, ripe fruit, he couldn't seem to do it.
It bothered him that she was so young. Even with the rouge on her lips and cheeks, he guessed her not yet twenty. It bothered him that she had so willingly abandoned the chance for a respectable life in pursuit of power and greed.
It bothered him that his body wanted her just as much as every other man in London while his mind absolutely did not.
A shuffling sound alerted him to someone's arrival in the big stone barn.
"Ye want ta be keepin' yer job, ye young buck, ye'd best be keepin' a civil tongue in yer head when ye speak ta Miss Lee." Arlie Spooner, retired Parklands groom, tottered toward him, his few sparse strands of dull gray hair whipping in the breeze coming in through the open stable door. He had a wrinkled, liver-spotted face and a spine that looked painfully curved. The old man was no longer able to work in the stable, but still retained a position. At least the Durant women had conscience enough to take care of a man who had been loyal to them for so long.
"Who's Miss Lee?"
"Miss Vermillion." Arlie continued to shuffle past the stall where Caleb stood brushing Noir and continued on his way toward the small room he occupied at the far end of the barn. "Miss Lee won't tolerate yer disrespect. Ye weren't so blasted good with them horses a' hers, ye'd already be lookin' fer someplace else ta work."
The old man was loyal, all right. Caleb hadn't missed the affection in the old man's voice when he spoke his employer's name. Caleb wondered how much Arlie Spooner knew about Vermillion and her aunt and determined that as soon as he got the chance he would see what he could find out.
In the meantime, he would keep his eyes and ears open, as he was there to do. Caleb's superiors, including General Sir Arthur Wellesley, believed information was being leaked to the French. The casualties in Spain had been staggering—more than five thousand British troops. Wellesley was convinced the numbers at Oporto would have been far less if a person—or persons—hadn't provided information directly to Napoleon.
Colonel Richard Cox and Major Mark Sutton had been assigned to find the traitors responsible, and both Cox and Sutton were convinced the source could be found at Parklands. It was Caleb's knowledge of horses and racing that had brought him into the equation and home to England.
Caleb watched old Arlie disappear into his room and finished brushing the stallion, thinking of Vermillion and the dozens of men who frequented the house, many of them military officers and gentlemen highly placed in the government. Had one of them traded his soul for the chance to satisfy himself in Vermillion's tantalizing young body?