Caleb frowned. Stalking toward her, he reached over and jerked the pitchfork away. "Arlie's mistaken. You won the race."

She eyed him skeptically. "You're lying—I can see it in your eyes. What I can't figure out is why. Arlie says you were playing the gentleman. But you aren't a gentleman, are you, Caleb Tanner?"

His gaze ran over her, skimming the fullness of her breasts, the swell of her hips, outlined so clearly by the breeches. He reached out and caught the tops of her arms, and she didn't resist when he drew her toward him. His eyes were a darker shade of brown and there was a glint in them that hadn't been there before. Unconsciously, her palms came to rest on his naked, sweat-slick chest.

"No…" he said softly, "I'm no gentleman." Their eyes locked for an instant, then his mouth came down over hers.

Lee staggered at the jolt of unexpected heat. Beneath her palms, his skin felt hot and slick. He smelled of sweat and horses, and the powerful muscles across his chest flexed each time he moved. He took what he wanted, but his lips felt softer than they should have and heat spiraled out through her limbs. His tongue slid into her mouth as he deepened the kiss and she started to tremble.

All too soon, Caleb ended the kiss. He let her go and when he stepped away, she could see the heavy ridge of his sex pressing against the front of his breeches. Instead of fear or repulsion, she felt a strange blend of curiosity and excitement.

"The week is over," Caleb said as if the kiss had never occurred. "Which of us won no longer matters. With your permission, now that Jimmy will be busy riding for you, I'll hire one of the village lads to help Billy do the dirty work in here."

Lee swallowed and nodded, tried to sound as nonchalant as he. "All right, that will be fine." She turned and started walking, her heart still beating madly, her legs like India rubber. Outside the stall, she stopped and turned. "I want a rematch. You owe me at least that much."

Caleb's lips curved. She remembered the heat of them moving over hers. "Anytime, Miss Durant." But the hunger in his eyes warned that racing him today could have dangerous consequences. Lee ignored the little voice daring her to accept the unspoken challenge; she turned and walked away.


It was later that same night that Vermillion joined her aunt Gabriella and a small party for a night at the theater. Jonathan Parker, Lord Nash, was their escort, handsome with his silver-touched brown hair, impeccably dressed in a blue, velvet-collared tailcoat, blue-and-silver waistcoat, and dove gray breeches.

"I'm glad you and your aunt accepted my invitation," he said as he escorted Vermillion into the Theatre Royale in Haymarket for a production of Richard III. "It seems eons since we've enjoyed a moment to ourselves."

Which was true, of course, with Wingate and Mondale hovering over her every moment, to say nothing of Aunt Gabby's usual throng of hangers-on. But she had purposely excluded the others tonight. If she were going to make the right choice, she needed to get to know each of the men a little better.

And Nash was certainly charming. He smiled as he offered his arm and led her through the lobby, which blazed with the light of a dozen crystal chandeliers. Candles gleamed against the deep-red velvet draperies, and gilt-framed paintings hung on the walls. Nash guided them up the sweeping staircase to his private box on the second floor and they sat down in small, round, velvet-covered chairs.

He leaned toward her and she felt the brush of his coat. "I hear Noir will be racing at Newmarket come week's end. I imagine he'll sweep the field."

"It's going to be a difficult race, but I believe Noir will win."

The red velvet curtains moved just then and Aunt Gabby, dressed to kill in an exquisite gown of black and silver, turned to see Lord Claymont walk in.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, smiling at Gabriella. "Though it doesn't appear I've missed anything yet." The earl was average in height and build, with lightly graying black hair and intense blue eyes. He was attractive and intelligent, a generous, kind-hearted man, and Vermillion had grown extremely fond of him.

"We've been invited to a party in honor of Michael Cutberth, darling. Isn't that exciting?" The actor was one of England's most renowned thespians and Gabriella was wild to meet him.

Not surprising. Aunt Gabby lived for nights like this.

The earl whispered something in Gabriella's ear and she laughed.

The viscount moved a little closer. "You must be looking forward to the race," he said. "When will you be leaving?"

"On the seventh. The horses have already departed."

He flashed her one of his charming smiles. He really was a handsome man. "I'm sure they'll all do very well."

Aunt Gabby tapped his sleeve with her painted fan. "It's going to be great fun, Jon. I've taken a house for the occasion—quite a lovely place, actually. I plan to do a little entertaining. Why don't you come with us?"

He flicked a glance at Vermillion, but regretfully shook his head. "I should like nothing better, believe me. Unfortunately, I've a ministers' meeting I cannot escape." He smiled. "I promise, however, I shall find a way to make amends." His eyes were warm on her face and Vermillion felt a smile of her own appearing.

They talked more of racing and a little of the war, the threat of invasion a constant worry on everyone's mind.

"Some say the little corporal will try to make the crossing with an armada of steam-powered airships," Nash told her.

Vermillion toyed with the diamond and ruby necklace at her throat. "Airships? I should think if Napoleon has been building steam-powered engines, using them on real ships would be far more efficient."

"I agree," Nash said. "But who can know the mind of the enemy?"

"I've heard rumors he is amassing more troops in Spain, which I suppose makes sense, in light of what happened at Oporto."

Jonathan turned toward her. "I'm certain General Wellesley has the matter well in hand. At least we must pray that he does."

Amazingly, the viscount actually spoke to her as if she had a brain. It was one of the things she liked about him. They didn't discuss the latest on dit, but matters of importance.

"They'll be starting the play any moment," Nash said as the candles at the foot of the stage were doused. A few minutes later, the red velvet curtain went up and Vermillion settled back to enjoy the performance.

It was late when Lord Nash's carriage returned them to the house at the edge of the city. Aunt Gabriella excused herself and retired upstairs, allowing Vermillion and the viscount a moment in the salon. Claymont would be waiting for Aunt Gabby in her bedchamber, having used the stairs at the rear of the house. It was a silly pretense, done mainly for the servants, but Claymont insisted, and occasionally even Aunt Gabby demurred to certain of Society's dictates.

"I hope you enjoyed the evening, Vermillion." The viscount's deep voice drew her attention. His gaze took in her low-cut sapphire gown with its black lace trim and nearly unobstructed view of her breasts, but didn't linger as another man's would have. "I know I certainly did."

Lee glanced away, finding it harder and harder to maintain her façade when she was with the viscount, a man she considered a friend. She forced her chin up and smiled her Vermillion smile.

"It was a wonderful evening. Mr. Cutberth did a marvelous job as Richard the Third."

"I hope you enjoyed the company, as well."

She thought she caught a glimpse of the desire he usually kept well-hidden. "I enjoy your company very much, Jonathan. I've come to consider you a very dear friend."

Nash drew her closer. Raising one of her black-gloved hands, he pressed a kiss into her palm. "I am hoping for more than mere friendship, Vermillion. In that regard, I've made my intentions perfectly clear. I wish to provide for you, dearest, to see to your pleasure in any way I can."

She didn't miss the faint roughening of his voice. She wished she felt at least some measure of passion for him, this man whose friendship she valued so highly.

Jonathan bent and brushed a kiss over her lips, then kissed her more deeply. A memory arose of Caleb Tanner's kisses and inwardly she prayed to feel some of the fire he stirred. Instead, when the viscount touched his tongue to her lips, she turned away.

"Thank you for a very lovely evening, my lord."

Nash stood rigid, a frown on his face. "I realize you are enjoying the chase, my dear, but I won't wait longer than your birthday. Think what a man of my position can do for you. Think of your future. I pray you choose well, Vermillion."

She moistened her lips, which suddenly felt dry. "I promise to do my best, your lordship."

Turning away, he strode out of the drawing room and Vermillion released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her aunt had made choosing a lover sound simple, as if it were some kind of a game that could be played with the veriest ease. Instead, her nights grew more and more restless and images of Caleb Tanner continued to creep in.

She dreamt of him that night, though in the morning she only vaguely recalled. She thought of him again as she dressed in her comfortable men's clothing and made her way out to the stable to check on the foal. The gangly little colt with the fuzzy, sandy coat grew bigger every day. She smiled as she watched the tiny horse nursing, then laughed when he tugged with determination at his mother's swollen teat.

She was so engrossed in the foal she didn't hear Caleb approaching until he stood directly behind her.

"Up early this morning, aren't you?… Considering the lateness of the hour you returned home last night."