Chapter 2
Peter Ambrose Micheal Taylor, Viscount Skyburn, had never wished to be friends with a horse.
Oh, no.
He’d wished he was one.
He sometimes still wished it. He wished he could be as fleet and as fast, with a physique that could outpace the world. That he could run away from it all. Tear across a field and never look back.
Yes, from the time he was a small boy, he had not wished to befriend his horses.
No, he had dreamt that he was running with them.
Sometimes at night, he had sneaked out from the heartless house of his childhood.
He’d raced into the fields, laid down upon the cold, dew-covered grass, stared up at the stars, and imagined what it might be like to be a stallion, a racehorse, free, without his father’s cruelty, without the judgement of the world, and entirely unafraid.
But his dream had never come true. He had never become a racehorse. He had never been able to race across fields, escaping the terror of his own home or the instability of his father’s moods.
No. He had learned to be swift on his own two feet, avoiding standing still. And even now, he did the same, whether it was upon a horse, or on his own feet in any room of the ton.
He knew how to outpace, outthink, and outmaneuver anyone and anything. He even knew how to do it with his mind and the wit of his tongue. But for the first time in a very long time, he did not wish to outpace the lady standing before him.
Oh, he was no stranger to ladies. Gentlemen of his class were not. But this was different. She was different. She was a young lady, it was true. She was no doubt having her first Season, since he’d never set eyes upon her. And she was the daughter of a powerful man.
Making light conversation with someone like her might be all right. This was not light conversation. This was a conversation layered with power and innuendo, dares, and excitement, and anyone who thought differently was a fool.
She was something.
She was the sort of thing that he wanted to devour if he could, and he had a funny feeling that she might devour him right back. But surely such a thing would be outlandish?
Yes, he might need a wife, but she’d be the last sort of wife he wanted: fiery, exciting, unpredictable, and uncontrollable. And those were the very last things he needed, despite what society might think. Yes, he needed a wife who was controllable and predictable.
He’d lived most of his life with a highly unpredictable parent, and he had no desire to live the rest of his life with an unpredictable wife, and yet he could not let her go.
When he heard her speaking to his horse, he had felt a moment’s disappointment when she said that the beast could not be hers. Because he’d almost felt as if she was speaking about him.
He couldn’t be hers. Still, if he was fast enough and fleet of foot enough, perhaps they might race along for a bit together.
“Are you coming out this year?” he asked.
“What a question,” she said, pursing her perfect lips. “Why? Do you wish to have my pedigree? I can give you patents so you understand the history of my family tree.”
He snorted. “I know enough about the Earl of Lynchfield,” he said, “to already know your family and what sides of what wars and revolutions you’ve fought on, etcetera.”
“Always the right one,” she sallied back.
“Always the most opportunistic one,” he returned.
“Which means it was always the right one,” she said without hesitation. “Ask who writes history, sir. It is certainly not those who were losers.”
“That is a very mercenary way to look at the world.”
“The world is mercenary, and if you don’t understand that, then you, my lord, are the one with a so-called lady’s heart. Not me.”
His mouth tightened. No one had ever dared to suggest that he might be somewhat ladylike. He certainly did not look like a lady, and she’d only just inferred how masculine he was, making comment on his rather large physique.
“I am merely trying to ascertain,” he said, “what allows you to be in a stable by yourself, assessing horse flesh,” he said, rather tempted to add that he had noticed her assessing his flesh.
But he wouldn’t be so blatantly rude. Not yet.
Even though he felt she might like it, even if she’d act slightly indignant about it.
“Well, my lord,” she said, lifting her chin, her golden curls catching the light, “you see, I am given a great deal of grace by my father to behave exactly how I please.”
“Lucky for you,” he said. “Though possibly dangerous too.”
“Ah,” she said. “Yes, it’s true. Ladies must be ever afraid of gentlemen, which is why I carry this.”
She gestured at him with her reticule. It was rather large and a bit clunky.
Much to his surprise, he had not noticed it before.
“What a nice reticule,” he said. “Does it keep all the money you’ll use to pay off people who displease you?”
“No,” she said. “It contains a weapon, and I am quite good at using it.”
His eyes flared. “Bloodthirsty, are we?”
“Practical,” she said. “I don’t have a bloodthirsty bone in my body, but I know that men will do stupid things.”
He winced. “Have you experienced it?”
“Yes,” she said easily. “As has my aunt, as has my grandmother, as has my cousin, as has my mother. She’s the one who hired a master to teach me how to use a dagger.”
He groaned. “There’s a litany of ladies who have experienced the stupid behaviors of men,” he said. “I am sorry for it.”
“Thank you,” she said, clearly surprised by his apology.
“So, you see, in my family, as opposed to in most families, we ladies discuss what can befall us and are prepared for it. I do feel sorry for all the ladies who are not prepared for it. What a terrible awakening it is to realize that a man dancing with them might be an utter bounder and do the most terrible things.”
“I wish men were better,” he said. “And that ladies did not have to be afraid.”
She tilted her head to the side. “All people should be better, but I thank you for your acknowledgement.”
He let out a guffaw. “Your speech is quite skeptical and yet your nature seems quite cheerful.”
“I am cheerful. I think it’s the fact that I accept people exactly as they are. One doesn’t get angry at the lion for chasing down the antelope, does one? So I don’t get angry at men for being as men are.”
He ground his teeth. Somehow, he found this answer to be deeply upsetting.
“You think the worst of us, and therefore you’re happier.”
She smiled at him. “Yes, if I always expect the worst from everyone, I can never be disappointed. You can’t disappoint me.”
“Well, if I can’t disappoint you,” he said softly, “perhaps I shouldn’t hold back.”
“Please don’t,” she replied swiftly. “But be prepared for the fact that I will respond in kind.”
He didn’t know why, but that reply did things to him. It sparked something inside him.
But Peter forced himself to stop. This was a tricky game, and he could never pretend to be what he wasn’t. “Just so you know…I could never do my worst. With anyone.”
Her face softened. “I thought not.”
“Truly?” he asked, astonished. His father had always done his worst.
“You don’t look like a jackal,” she said honestly.
A jackal. He fought a shudder.
“Thank you,” he replied. “And what’s the difference, exactly, between a jackal and a lion?”
“Not much,” she replied. “They both will take one down in the end. How they do it is what makes the difference.”
He sucked in a breath. “Do you loathe all men?” he asked.
“Not a bit. I loathe what happens to ladies in this society.”
He nodded. “Then I should leave you be.”
“My feelings are on behalf of my sex, my lord. But I? I am not afraid. And you need not retreat. I can handle myself. So if you wish to follow me, I certainly won’t tell you no.
But don’t be expecting a wilting female who will bat her lashes at you and praise you at every turn.
I say what I think, I see what I see, and I don’t put a fine coating on it. And it makes me quite merry.”
His heart began to hammer inside his chest, feeling as if he was being shoved off a cliff into flight. It was surprisingly appealing. “And what if I told you I spent most of my life doing the exact same thing?”
“Then we are two of kind, and we should have a very good time together.”
He swallowed. “But that’s not allowed.”
She rolled her eyes. “Men are not usually given to care about what is allowed or not allowed. That is usually the purview of ladies, which is why you asked what I was doing in a stable. And yet here you are. You are allowed to be in a stable, and yet I am not, though we both come from powerful families. Why shouldn’t I be allowed in the stable?
Should I be afraid of you and the stable boys? ”
“Possibly you should,” he said, “though not of me.”
“Then you acknowledge it, sir, that men are either lions or jackals, and they both are dangerous. To ladies, that is.”
“Well, you have your dagger,” he said.
She grinned rather saucily. “Yes. Perhaps I’m the hunter.”
“The metaphor, Madam, is most interesting, but I do hope you don’t stab me.”
“I have not yet stabbed anyone, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Not really,” he said.
She winked at him. “I’m really quite good at convincing troublesome fellows to leave me alone with the wit of my tongue,” she said.
He laughed. “And the power of your title, of course.”
“Yes, there is that. It is helpful. But attitude matters. There are many daughters of powerful men who have had difficult experiences because their fathers did not teach them how to stand up for themselves.”
“And yours taught you to?”
“Yes.”
He thought about this.
A father that taught someone to stand up for themselves? His father had tried to tear him down at every possible moment and yet, somehow, he had been made stronger for it. Of that, he was sure. He had to be.
“You’re going to turn the ton upside down this summer, aren’t you?”
Her lips parted in a delighted smile of anticipation. “Possibly. It could be fun. Want to help?”
He stared at her for a long moment, and then he started to laugh. “You want me to help you turn the ton upside down?”
“You look like a fellow who likes to have fun. Don’t you think we should have some? Otherwise, life will get terribly boring, and I hate for things to be boring. Don’t you hate for things to be boring?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, realizing that he had been all but holding his breath in her presence. “I do.”
And it was true. He needed things to be exciting. He needed things to always be moving. And it looked like he had found someone who felt exactly the same way.