At Parklands—trying to catch a traitor.

Caleb watched the women walking toward the carriage, felt the pull of Vermillion's aqua eyes the moment they touched his face, and a second jolt of lust hit him, making his dislike of her harden even more than the erection pressing against the front of his breeches.

Inwardly he cursed.

But he didn't look away.


Vermillion paused as she reached the carriage, her glance straying to the beautiful matched grays standing calmly in their traces. She loved horses. The animals at Parklands were her pride and her passion, but she didn't recognize the groom who stood next to the grays and she knew every man and boy who worked in the stable. She had personally hired each one.

Except for this man. This tall, broad-shouldered stranger with the hard, dark eyes and faintly insolent smile.

Instead of following her aunt into the carriage, Vermillion kept walking, pausing when she reached the man beside the horses.

"Where is Jacob?" Jacob had been the head groom and trainer at Parklands for the past fifteen years. "Why are you here? Has Jacob fallen ill?"

"He was fine the last time I saw him."

She didn't like his tone any better than she liked the smug look on his face. "Then where is he? And just exactly who are you?"

His gaze ran over her, starting at her toes, moving to the top of her sophisticated coiffure, then returning to her breasts. She received that same too-bold perusal from a gallery of males every night, yet when this man did it, it made her cheeks begin to burn. He wasn't one of her admirers—he made that clear by the casualness of his regard and the faintly cynical twist of his lips.

"I'm Caleb Tanner. Parklands's new head groom. Jacob had some family problems in Surrey he needed to attend. He hired me to take his place until he is able to return."

She lifted her chin, wishing for once she were taller. "I'm in charge of the stable. If Jacob had some sort of problem, he should have come to me. Do you have papers to recommend you? How do I know you can handle the job?"

He was a big man, not brawny, just tall and broad-shouldered, perhaps in his late twenties, with brown hair a little too long that curled against the nape of his neck.

"I was raised around horses," he said. "I worked mainly in the north…York, mostly. My specialty is racing stock."

"So you're a trainer as well?"

"That's right. Jacob spoke of a stallion named Noir you'll be racing at Epsom this week. At least give me till after the race to prove I can handle the position."

That seemed fair enough. Jacob had a knack with horses and he loved them as much as she did. He wouldn't turn them over to just anyone and certainly not to a man he didn't trust completely. Still, there was something about this man…

"All right. You have till the end of the week. If Noir wins the race, you stay on until Jacob returns."

A dark brown eyebrow arched up. "You believe if the stallion loses, the fault will be mine?"

Of course not. He would have been there less than a week, but it would be a way to get rid of him and for reasons she couldn't seem to explain, she wanted exactly that.

"Noir is a champion. It's up to his trainer to see that he wins. If he does, you can stay."

His mouth barely curved. "Then I had better make certain he wins."

It was said as if there were no doubt he could do it, as if the outcome had already been decided. Vermillion made no reply, just turned and started back to the carriage, her scarlet cape whirling out behind her. They were heading into London, to the box they kept at the Royal Opera House. Though they would be snubbed by the nobles and other members of the ton, on the third floor of the building, where certain wealthy but less socially acceptable members of society watched the performance, they would be treated like royalty.

"Hurry up, darling, we're going to be late." Aunt Gabby's voice floated out through the carriage window.

Vermillion cast a last glance over her shoulder at the groom, who was stroking the neck of the gray, speaking softly into the animal's ear. Both horses had impressive bloodlines. They were beautiful, spirited, and often difficult to handle. Not tonight. Tonight, they stood with their elegant heads hanging down while the groom's long fingers scratched between their ears.

Perhaps the man was as capable as he appeared, his oversized ego well deserved. As she settled back against the tufted red leather seat, Vermillion found the notion irritating in the extreme.


The purple flush of dawn brightened the sky by the time Vermillion returned to Parklands the following morning. After the opera, Spontini's La Vestale, Aunt Gabby had insisted they attend a party given by Elizabeth Sorenson, Countess of Rotham, a woman with a scandalous reputation whom Lee and Gabriella both adored.

The party was an outrageous affair held at the countess's town house, with boundless amounts of Russian caviar, crystal goblets overflowing with champagne, and no shortage of attractive men.

A number of Vermillion's admirers were there: Jonathan Parker, Viscount Nash; Oliver Wingate, a colonel of the Life Guards; and the outrageously handsome and utterly notorious rake Lord Andrew Mondale.

There were other men, of course, dozens of them, but these were the three who vied most strongly for a place in Vermillion's bed.

Lee shoved the distasteful thought away as she wearily climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the fresh bouquet of flowers Jeannie had placed on the rosewood dresser. The deep mauve counterpane was welcomingly turned back beneath the matching satin bed curtains.

Jeannie would be sleeping and Lee hated to wake her at such a late hour. She struggled with the gown and finally managed to undo the buttons, put on a long white night rail and climbed beneath the sheets. Exhausted from the events of the evening, the champagne and the dancing, she slept the sleep of the dead, lacking even the energy for her usual morning ride, and didn't wake up until nearly noon.

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.