After the Kiss (2 page)

She spotted Lord Bramwell; in his typical stark black attire with his coal-black hair and eyes, the Duke of Levonzy’s second son would stand out anywhere. He was now looking over a small paddock, an equally tall, lean man beside him and several horses, including a very fine-looking bay stallion, beyond. “He’s huge, Phillip,” she exclaimed. “I think he may be carnivorous.”

“I am,” Lord Bram returned with a lazy smile, turning
around to take her hand, “but never fear. I don’t bite unless asked.”

“Mind your manners, Bram,” her brother said a little abruptly. “My sister had a scare last evening.”

“Did she, now?” Lord Bramwell said, straightening. “Do tell.”

“We were burgled. Isabel came across the brigand in the middle of his pilfering. We’re certain it was the Mayfair Marauder. She might have been killed.”

So much for her telling the story. She was
not
letting Phillip take her to Bond Street.

The second man, the one beside Lord Bramwell, stirred. “I hope you’re well, then, my lady,” he said.

She looked over to find ice-green eyes gazing at her, the left one obscured by a stray lock of brown hair interlaced with strands of gold. Good heavens, he was handsome. And…familiar. Her jaw dropped, and all the blood left her face.
Him
. “You—”

“Apologies, Lady Isabel,” Lord Bramwell began at the same time. “Have you met Sullivan Waring? Sully, Lady Isabel Chalsey. You know her brother Lord Chalsey, I believe.”

Before Isabel could draw a breath to shriek or to protest that this man was the brigand who’d kissed her and stolen their things, her brother stepped in to shake Waring’s hand. “Mr. Waring. Last time we met I didn’t have the chance to welcome you home. I’m pleased to see you’ve returned safely from the Peninsula, sir.”

“So am I.”

Phillip grinned. “That’s the bay I’ve heard about, isn’t it? By Jupiter, he’s grand.”

Waring turned his gaze from Isabel to look over the paddock fence. “Yes, that’s Ulysses,” he said, a note of pride entering his voice. “He just turned three.”

“Is he broken to saddle?”

“He is.” Waring gave a low, two-toned whistle, and the thoroughbred tossed his head and trotted to the fence. “And despite appearances he’s actually a good-tempered fellow,” he continued, sending Isabel another glance before he produced a slice of apple for the bay.

He handed the rest of the apple to Phillip and moved back from the fence. Lord Bramwell and her brother began a conversation about the rarity of good-tempered stallions, while Isabel kept her gaze on Waring as he stopped beside her.

“I suggest you hold your tongue, my lady,” he murmured.

“You already attempted that on my behalf, I believe,” she said stiffly. “And do not threaten me. You are a common thief, and I will see you arrested.”

“Common, am I?” he murmured. “I’ll see you ruined if you speak a word about me. I could tell such tales about us, Isabel. You and a
common
thief.” With a slow smile that didn’t touch his ice-green eyes, he returned to the conversation about horses.

Isabel clenched her fists. How dare he threaten her? She’d spoken nothing but the truth. He was handsome, yes, but he was also a burglar. She spent a moment considering whether she would have been so…discreet if he hadn’t looked like a tall, lean Greek god, or if he hadn’t kissed as sinfully as the devil himself.

Her brother had said that she liked to overdramatize events, and she would agree with that. There was nothing wrong with giving happenings a certain flare to make them seem more interesting in the retelling. And she definitely, emphatically didn’t like being told what to do, or being threatened when she’d done nothing wrong. And Mr. Waring had befuddled her, when she didn’t like feeling confused.
She’d concealed parts of the truth on his behalf—and hers—and now he threatened her?

“So you wish to buy Ulysses, then, I assume?” she asked her brother, wrapping her hand around his arm.

“I’ll offer you fifty quid for him right now,” Phillip said with a nod, “if it will save me the bother of having to bid for him.”

Waring gave another cool smile. “Make it one hundred, and I’ll be more amenable.”

“A hundred pounds? That’s—”

“What about that mare?” Isabel interrupted, pointing at the pretty gray in the adjoining corral.

“She’s not saddle-broken,” Waring said, not looking at her, and apparently confident that his threat had cowed her. “I’ll sell her for brood.”

“I want her.”
Ha.
She didn’t cow easily.

“Tibby,” Phillip said in a lower voice. “Firstly, declaring you want a horse is hardly the way to get the best price. And secondly, an unbroken mare? For
you
? If you want to learn to r—”

“I want that one. I’m certain if you give him the hundred pounds, Mr. Waring would be happy to throw in the mare.”

Mr. Waring pulled in a breath, then gave a short nod, his gaze still on Phillip. “I would agree to that.”

“But—”

“
And
,” she continued, as though her brother hadn’t begun speaking, “I’m equally certain Mr. Waring would be willing to saddle-train her for me.”

“No.”

This time he looked directly at her. Apparently he didn’t like being dictated to, either. But he was the sinner; not she. He merely needed to be reminded who had the advantage
here today. She took a step closer. “A hundred pounds, Mr. Waring,” she said with a smile. “Surely for that you can break one mare to the sidesaddle, especially if she’s pure-blooded enough to be bred.”

He gazed at her evenly. “Very well. I’ll have her delivered to you in three weeks.”

“Oh, no. I want her now. You may train her at our stable.”

“Tibby,” Phillip broke in with a frown, “Mr. Waring is a very sought-after breeder. He doesn’t have time to—”

“A hundred and twenty pounds, then. Surely twenty pounds would compensate you for your time.” Isabel deepened her smile. “Then you wouldn’t have to go marauding about Mayfair looking for buyers.”

His jaw worked, fury in the straight line of his spine. Every instinct for self-preservation she possessed screamed at her to back away at once and tell her brother precisely what had transpired last night. Just as strong, though, was the wish to turn this to her advantage. She’d never had her hands on a secret of this magnitude before, and it excited her enough that she didn’t want to let it go. Not until she could show him she would not be intimidated because of a kiss and a threat.

“Sully?” Lord Bramwell drawled, and Mr. Waring visibly shook himself.

“I’ll bring the pair to Chalsey House this afternoon,” he grated. “Pray give me your address.”

As if he needed that
. With another smile she waved her fingers at her brother. “Phillip will see to that. Does my mare have a name?”

“Zephyr,” Mr. Waring returned, his voice curt. “But I call her Brat.”

Humph
. He would regret that. “Well, as you will be working for me, from now on you shall call her Zephyr. Phillip,
when you’ve paid Mr. Waring, please help me purchase an appropriate saddle.”

“You don’t ride?” Waring asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Well, I do now. Or I will, when you’ve finished your work.”

Deliberately turning her back on him, she walked over to take a look at her new horse from the safety of the other side of the wooden rails enclosing her. Whether she learned to ride or not, at least she would know where Mr. Sullivan Waring was spending his days until she could decide what to do about him. And to think, she’d wanted to go and tell her friends about last night’s excitement. She’d never reckoned that that would only be the beginning of the tale.

“You might have mentioned that someone saw you.” Bram opened his monogrammed handkerchief and spread it over a loose bale of hay before he took a seat.

Sullivan didn’t want to sit. Pacing seemed to be the only thing that would take the edge off his frustration. “I never expected to set eyes on her again,” he growled. “How the bloody hell was I supposed to know that her brother would be here today?”

Bram twirled a stalk of hay in his fingers. “She didn’t have you arrested. That does make one curious.”

It made Sullivan curious, as well. “I threatened her.”

“Apparently she realized that you have more at stake in this than she does. Because you, my friend, would now seem to be her slave.”

“Nonsense. I’m delivering a pair of horses.”

“And helping your pretty miss learn to ride.” He gave a lazy smile. “That’s usually a metaphor.”

“Not this time.” Sullivan bent down to pick up a clod of dirt to hurl it against the wooden side of a watering trough. It exploded into dust. “Damnation.”

Bram lifted an eyebrow. “You might leave London for a time.”

“I have four more paintings to recover.”

“If she carries your tale, Sully, they’ll hang you at Tyburn Hill for stealing from aristocrats.”

Sullivan shrugged. “If I was arrested, Dunston would probably see to it that I was transported. A hanging in the family tree is a bit messy.”

“You’re not in his family tree. Not according to his…well, his family.”

“Do you really think I need to be reminded of that?”

Bram sighed. “No. But I didn’t think you needed to be reminded not to be seen, either. Wear a mask from now on, for Lucifer’s sake.”

“I do wear a mask.”

“Then how did Lady Isabel recognize you?”

Yes, how had that happened? Oh, yes. He remembered.
“I don’t know,” he muttered aloud, turning as one of his groomsmen appeared. “Samuel, take Zephyr out of the paddock. She’s already been purchased. And have Halliwell take the mare and Ulysses off the docket.”

“Aye, Mr. Waring.”

Sullivan pulled out his pocket watch. The other four mares he’d brought today would be going up for auction in fifteen minutes or so; he needed to be there. “I’ll see you at Jezebel’s tonight, yes?” he asked, glancing at Bram as he retrieved his paperwork.

“No. I have plans to seduce a pretty young thing tonight.”

“Ah. And who is it this time?”

Bramwell stood, pitching the stalk of hay onto the ground and heading to where he’d left his own horse standing. “I haven’t decided yet.”

With a quickly covered frown, Sullivan glanced at his friend and then away again. “I kissed her,” he said shortly.

He felt rather than saw Bram pause. “Beg pardon?”

“I kissed her, and she took my mask off before I’d realized it. That’s how she recognized me.” Sullivan kept his back to his friend, but it didn’t help. He didn’t need to see Bram eyeing him to know that he’d been an idiot. “I never expected her to appear at Tattersall’s, and it’s not as though we’d ever meet at Almack’s.”

“What? Apologies. I’m still at the part of the conversation where you said
you kissed her
.”

“She stumbled across me.”

“And onto your mouth?”

“I couldn’t think of anything else to do to keep her from screaming.”

“You were distracting her, then.”

Sullivan shook out his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension in his muscles. “Yes. I was distracting her.”

Bram approached him again. “Having distracted several women myself,” he said, placing an arm across Sullivan’s shoulders, “all I can say is that you, Sullivan, are a complete nodcock.”

With a glare, Sullivan broke free of the embrace. “I’m aware of that.” Very aware. Not only had he accosted the virtue of a lady who outranked him socially, but he’d put himself, his freedom, into her hands. And from what he’d seen this morning, she was nothing but a spoiled, headstrong chit who liked to play games.

“What are you going to do about it, since you won’t listen to me and leave London?”

Sullivan looked at his friend. “I’ll find out what it will take to convince her to keep her pretty mouth shut, and then I’ll finish what I began.”

“Ah. With the kiss, or with the thefts?”

“The thefts, Bram.” Sullivan stalked over to the wagon where he kept his equipment and tack, and climbed up to look for his longeing whip. “I don’t give a damn about the kiss.”

Thankfully Bram had enough wit to refrain from replying to that, and instead he rode off in the direction of Pall Mall. Good. Sullivan didn’t feel like continuing the discussion of his missteps and errors in judgment today. Not when he still couldn’t shake the odd, foggy sensation that had dogged him since he’d turned around to see Lady Isabel Chalsey standing in her foyer this morning.

He blew out his breath. If he’d threatened her rather than kissed her, if he’d stayed back rather than let her pull off his mask, then even if they had come face-to-face today, even if they’d spoken, she never would have known. He would have been Sullivan James Waring, the most sought-after horse breeder and trainer in the south of England. He never would have tasted her sweet mouth, and she would not have any cause to blackmail him into playing her bloody game, whatever it might be.

“Mr. Waring?”

He jumped down from the wagon as a large, well-dressed man with close-set eyes and a weak chin approached. “Lord Massey,” he said, lowering his head briefly and dusting off his trousers. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“I heard some gossip flying about that you brought Ulysses with you today.”

“I did, but for a private sale, I’m afraid.” Something else he never would have done if not for that damned chit.

The viscount’s left eye twitched. “I’d hoped to acquire him, you know.”

“You and several others, my lord. Unfortunately, the gentleman to whom I’d given first right of refusal decided to take him.”

“Reconsider. I’ll give you a hundred pounds for him, if you’ll say
I
had the prior claim.”

“That’s very generous, but a deal is a deal.”

“Two hundred pounds.”

Sullivan kept his expression cool and sympathetic. “Once again, I cannot, my lord. Ulysses is sold.”

“I won’t take no for—”

“What I
can
do, however,” Sullivan cut in, wondering if Massey had any idea how little he liked being bullied or pressured, “is give you first run at Ulysses’ brother, Spartan. I’ll be bringing him in for auction early next month.”

“Spartan, eh? The sire is Hector?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s the dam?”

“Lilac Pleasure. The sister of Ulysses’ dam, Lavender Pleasure.”

“I insist on seeing this Spartan before I commit to anything.”

“Come by my stables at your convenience. Someone will put him through his paces for you.”

“Very well. The next time you intend to sell one of your prime animals, Waring, I expect to be the first buyer you inform.”

Sullivan clenched his jaw. The only thing keeping him from demonstrating his own displeasure with Lord Massey was the knowledge that a fortnight ago the viscount’s London
house had suffered a break-in. “As Spartan is my next prime animal to be offered for sale, you
have
been informed before anyone else. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I have some matters to attend to.”

The viscount glared at him for a moment. Apparently his desire for a prime blood-horse and for the opportunity to bid on future animals, however, outweighed his anger, because with a curt nod he turned on his heel and headed back to the main auction arena.

Bloody self-important aristocratic pudding-bag. As though Massey’s parents wearing wedding bands made the viscount less of a bastard than someone whose parents had succumbed to something baser. Sullivan went to find his men to give them instructions for the remainder of the day. If Lady Isabel Chalsey thought he would fall meekly into her little game, she was about to be in for a rather nasty surprise.

“You purchased a horse?” Lord Douglas Chalsey said skeptically. “You, Tibby?”

Isabel favored her younger brother with what she hoped was a disdainful glare. “Yes, I purchased a horse, Douglas. Young ladies of quality do ride, you know.”

The sixteen-year-old circled her again. “Yes, I know. But those chits ain’t frightened of horses. You are.”

“I am not! And stop prancing around me; you’re making me ill. For your information, Douglas, I’m cautious around large animals, as anyone with any sense should be. I am not afraid of them. I’m not afraid of anything.”

Douglas made a rude sound. With his usual impeccable timing their father Harry, the Marquis of Darshear, appeared at the top of the front steps and descended to cuff his youngest offspring on the back of the head.

“Having manners means toward everyone, Douglas,” he intoned, and kissed Isabel on the cheek. “Even your sister.”

“For someone who’s not afraid of anything, she screamed loud enough at that bit of burlap in her bed.”

“You made it look like a snake,” she protested, wishing the men in her family would make themselves scarce until after her horse arrived. She wanted a moment to speak with Mr. Sullivan Waring in private about who could threaten whom. “You even painted eyes on it.”

Her younger brother laughed. “You’re such a girl.” Sometime over the winter he’d surpassed her in height, and he apparently thought that made him invincible, silly boy. “And you were the one who tried to cow me first,” he continued, “when you said you were going to write a book about how to commit a murder.”

She’d forgotten about that. It might have come in handy today. “You said reptiles were going to devour me.”

“Children, please. If you’ll recall, Douglas,” her father said, checking the time on his pocket watch, “while you were fast asleep last night your sister frightened away a thief. I hardly call that a demonstration of cowardice.”

“Yes, well, if
I’d
come across the Mayfair Marauder, I would have put a ball in him or run him through.” Douglas assumed a boxing pose.

Isabel doubted that. Mr. Waring had several inches even on Phillip, and he seemed supremely…capable. Looking from one brother down the drive to the other, for a moment she was glad that she’d been the one to stumble across the thief, giving him the option of delivering a kiss rather than a ball.

“Our brave girl did precisely the right thing,” the marquis countered, “and I’ll not hear otherwise. Now tell me again why your brother is pacing the street like a hound waiting for his master.”

She mustered a smile. “He’s smitten with his new stallion. We’re expecting a delivery at any moment now.”

“Ah, your brother and his cattle. I should have known.”

Phillip obviously heard them talking, because the earl returned up the head of the short drive to join them. “He’s not just any horse, Father,” he said, grinning as he had been for the past two hours.

“That’s right,” Douglas piped up. “He’s a thoroughbred.”

“What stable?” the marquis asked.

“Sullivan Waring’s.”

Her father looked impressed. “You must have paid a pretty penny, then.”

“A hundred and twenty quid for the two animals
and
training for Tibby’s mare.” He leaned closer. “Training from Waring himself. Our Isabel’s quite the negotiator.”

Douglas grabbed her arm, making her jump. “You never said!” he exclaimed. “Sullivan Waring’s coming here?”

She shook herself free. “For heaven’s sake, Douglas. Yes, a horse breeder’s coming here to deliver the horses we purchased from him.”

“I thought chits knew all the good gossip,” her younger brother said with a grin. “Sullivan Waring ain’t just a horse breeder, though he’s a lion at that. He’s supposedly the by-blow of—”

“Quiet. He’s here,” Phillip interrupted, sprinting for the entrance of the drive again.

Mr. Waring clattered up the drive, riding a spectacular black stallion, Ulysses and Zephyr in tow. In her admittedly unschooled opinion, Isabel thought Phillip had purchased the second-best stallion in Waring’s stable. Beautiful as the horses were, though, her gaze drifted to Sullivan Waring, his chestnut hair shot with gold, his easy, confident seat in the saddle, and the expression in
his ice-green eyes as they flicked across her face and traveled on to her father.

“Lord Darshear,” he said, giving a brief nod as he dismounted.

“Mr. Waring. What splendid animals.”

“Thank you.” Waring glanced at Isabel again. “I do ask that you speak with your daughter, my lord. Zephyr is a fine mare, but not fit for a novice.”

Shaking herself, Isabel stepped forward. “It’s your task to make her so, I believe. That
is
what I paid you for.”

“Isabel,” her father chastised sharply, surprising her. “Mr. Waring, is Zephyr a dangerous animal?”

All she needed was for her father to release Sullivan Waring from his obligation to remain close by; then the thief could vanish to God knew where, robbing willy-nilly. Even worse, she wouldn’t know why. Because while she adored a good mystery or a good secret, she hated when one was kept from her. Especially one that had kissed her.

“No, Zephyr is fairly levelheaded,” the horse breeder interrupted, as though she hadn’t been speaking. “She’s been raised for breeding, however. I’ve never done more than put her on a lead.”

With a frown her father looked over at Isabel. “I have to agree with Mr. Waring, then, Tibby. For your first mount, you should have an older, more gently bred mare who’s well experienced at carrying a novice rider.”

Isabel lifted her chin. “I want Zephyr,” she said, using the same tone she’d favored when she’d been twelve and had wanted a particular new hat. But damnation, she seemed to be the only one who knew what this fellow was doing, and she had apparently developed an obsession to find out how and why. That silly craving she had for drama and excitement again. He looked to provide a great deal of it for her.

“Tibby,” Phillip seconded, grimacing at her, “be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable,” she said. “You’ve all three been bragging about Mr. Waring’s skill with horses. I’m certain he will sufficiently train Zephyr so that I will be perfectly safe riding her.” She deliberately turned to gaze at Waring. “Isn’t that so, Mr. Waring?”