He wanted to drag her down in the grass and lift her skirts, wanted to cover her small, lush body and drive himself inside her. Instead he forced himself to go slow. He wanted this to be good for her, good for both of them. He didn't know how many men she'd had but he wanted to be among those she remembered. He didn't know why it was important, only that it was.

Caleb felt her fingers digging into his shoulders and deepened the kiss, claiming her lips first one way and then another, his hands working the black satin loops on the front of her jacket. He eased the fabric off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground at her feet. Vermillion seemed not to notice. The bodice of the gown was cut indecently low and it was easy to slide his fingers inside, to cup one of her pale, full breasts.

They were round and firmer than he had imagined, heavy and warm in his hand. His pulse took a leap and fire sank into his loins. The blood pounding in his ears made his pulse feel thick and sluggish. Vermillion made a soft little mewling sound as he began to knead the fullness, to pebble the peak, then gently pinch the ends. He felt her go lax, as if her knees refused to support her. His fingers cupped the sweet curve of her bottom to lift and hold her against him and her hold tightened on his neck.

"Caleb," she whispered, the words faint and breathy, edged with her growing desire.

"Easy," he whispered, trying to control his raging lust, determined to make the experience last. He began to work the tiny jet buttons at the back of her gown, felt them part one by one, skimmed his fingers over the smooth skin beneath. He slid the bodice of the dress off her shoulders, leaving her naked to the waist, and eased back a little to enjoy the view.

Her breasts were high and full and tipped with big pink nipples, and as he gazed down at them, they quivered. Desire expanded inside him. His loins tightened painfully and he wondered how much longer he could resist the incredible temptation she made.

Reaching down, he cupped the heavy fullness, lowered his head and took the diamond-hard tip into his mouth. Vermillion whimpered and arched her back, giving him better access, and her fingers slid into his hair. She tasted like rose petals or silk or perhaps a little of both. She was trembling, clinging to him, making soft little sounds in her throat, and his arousal throbbed, grew even harder, pressed painfully against the front of his breeches.

He had to have her—and soon.

He took a breath and tried to slow things down, broke away for a moment, leaned over and picked up the blanket, spread it out on the grass at her feet. But when he turned to reach for her, Vermillion was backing away.

She had pulled the bodice of her gown back into place and was holding the jacket up in front of her breasts. "I-I have to get back," she said, her aqua eyes huge and liquid, looking for all the world like the innocent she often appeared.

"This is what you want," he said, his annoyance building, tired of playing the game. "We both know it. There's no need to pretend any longer."

Vermillion nervously moistened her lips, her gaze still wary. "Perhaps when the time is right but… not yet. Not today." Turning, she fled toward her horse, reaching down to pick up her bridle along the way.

Two long strides and Caleb caught up with her. Frustrated and furious, he snatched the bridle out of her hand. "Give me the damned thing. If you're determined to leave, I'll be happy to do it for you. That's what you pay me for, isn't it?"

Vermillion said nothing as he bridled the horse and knelt to remove the hobbles. But she pulled her jacket back on and began to button the front.

"I'll tell you what I ought to do," he said, turning to face her, his eyes hard and dark. "I ought to strip you out of those clothes and haul you down on that blanket. I ought to give you exactly what you've been asking me for, practically since the moment I got here."

Her eyes widened. Then her chin shot up. "I didn't ask you for anything, Caleb Tanner. You're a clod and a boor, and I was a fool for thinking you were anything else!" She grabbed the reins out of his hands and started leading her horse over to a fallen log.

She never quite got there. Caleb caught her around the waist and swung her up on the gray, slamming her bottom down hard on the saddle.

Her aqua eyes blazed. "You are… you are… the most infuriating man I have ever met!"

A corner of his mouth curved up. "I'm going to have you, Vermillion, and we both know it. The only question is how long you want to play the game."

An angry growl slipped from her throat. Whirling the gray, she set her small heels into the animal's ribs, jolting the horse into action, and started racing away.

Caleb watched her ride over the bill, velvet skirts rippling in the wind, red hair flying, thinking what a magnificent picture she made.

Wanting her more than ever.

He was still hard and aching. He reminded himself it was only a matter of time until he found relief. As he had said, he meant to have her.

Caleb felt the pull of a smile as she disappeared over a distant hill. Perhaps Newmarket would prove more interesting than he had imagined.

With renewed determination, he swung up on the back of the bay. Newmarket would come. In the meantime, he had other, more pressing matters to attend. As soon as he got back to the house, he would pen a note and ride to the village. He needed to send word to Colonel Cox.

He needed to discover what had happened to Mary Goodhouse.






9


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The races at Newmarket were different from those at Epsom, where the racecourse was closer to London and attended in great numbers by the social elite.

The town of Newmarket was far more rural and though it was a major center for the sport, there were no grandstands and not nearly the fanfare that Epsom offered—though the populace of turfites, thimbleriggers, card sellers, and prostitutes was at least as large.

Men were the main spectators here, and a few women less concerned with creature comforts than the ladies in the city. In Newmarket, the races were viewed mostly from carriages parked along the perimeter of the course. They were lined up there already, some of the occupants wandering about, others spreading blankets on the grass beside their vehicles, where they laid out baskets of food and flagons of wine. It wouldn't be long before Aunt Gabriella and her party arrived to begin the day's festivities.

But Lee had come far earlier. Knowing Caleb would be there and considering what had transpired between them the last time they were together, it had taken all of her will to come to Newmarket. But Parklands' Thoroughbreds were her responsibility. Jimmy Murphy and the rest of the grooms would be expecting to see her and she didn't intend to disappoint them, certainly not because of Caleb Tanner.

She tried not to think of his hot kisses and arousing caresses in the meadow. If she did, she wouldn't be able to face him. In truth, instead of being embarrassed, she should be grateful. Caleb had provided her with her first real taste of passion.

Unfortunately, now that she'd had a glimpse of the world of pleasure she would be entering on her nineteenth birthday, she was more uncertain than ever. She had let Caleb kiss her, touch her as no man ever had, but the thought of another man taking those same liberties seemed completely repulsive.

She didn't understand it. None of the women of her acquaintance seemed to feel that way. They took their pleasure with whomever they wished and exclusivity wasn't a consideration.

Of course, Aunt Gabby was committed to Lord Claymont, but it hadn't always been so. In her wilder years, she had taken any number of lovers. Perhaps in some way Lee was different. Inwardly she worried it might be so. Even if it were, there was nothing she could do to change things or alter the course of her fate.

The stable loomed ahead, a large stone building surrounded by paddocks and stalls, humming with the hustle of grooms rushing to complete their tasks and the nicker and whinny of horses. Vermillion steeled herself for her inevitable encounter with Caleb and walked inside.

He was there in one of the stalls, brushing a big black gelding named Sentinel. He turned at her approach and her pulse surged with awareness. Dear Lord, the man could make her heart pound with merely a glance.

"Good morning," he said casually. "I see you've arrived safely."

She studied his face, trying to spot any trace of anger. She had worried that he would mock her in some way, but his expression was mild, even friendly, she noted with no little relief, and there was nothing in his manner that hinted at the intimacy they had shared.

"The journey passed quite pleasantly, thank you." She made a quick assessment of the black and a sorrel named Hannibal's Prize that would also be running. "It looks as if the horses also fared well."

Caleb slid the brush over Sentinel's glossy black coat. "According to Jack Johnson, the walker, they managed without a hitch."

They talked for a while of the race the animals would be running later that day, then she left to speak to each of the grooms. She praised Jack Johnson for taking such good care of the horses, then walked over to the jockey, Jimmy Murphy.

"What do you think, Jimmy? You and Noir seem to have been working well together. How do you assess his chances of winning against such a difficult field?"

Jimmy realized he still wore his flat felt cap and jerked it hurriedly off his head, exposing his rumpled bright red hair. "Noir's the best, ma'am. He's gonna win for sure and certain."

"What of Sentinel and Hannibal's Prize? Are they ready for this, do you think?"

"They don't have Noir's experience, o' course, but they're fast, ma'am. And they surely do like to win."

"Then let them," she said with a smile. "Sentinel runs best if he stays in the field until the last leg of the race. Hold him back until then." She flicked a glance at Caleb, who had walked up beside her. It felt a little harder to breathe with him standing so near.

"Just don't bury him," Caleb told Jimmy. "Keep him somewhere toward the front or outside of the pack. When you make the last turn, cut him loose. Sentinel will do the rest."

"And with Hannibal," Lee added, "don't go to the whip. He hates it. He'll draw back rather than move ahead. I imagine you've figured that out already."

"Yes, ma'am. Mr. Tanner done cautioned me on that."

"Good. As to the rest of it, listen to Mr. Tanner. He knows what he's doing." She didn't look at Caleb this time, but a blush crept into her cheeks. Caleb had known only too well what he was doing that afternoon in the meadow.

"Yes, ma'am," Jimmy said. "I surely will."

Jimmy left but Caleb remained where he was, just a few inches behind her. She could feel his solid presence and her pulse kicked up.

"He'll do a good job. Jimmy wants to please you." His voice softened into the same tone he used to gentle the horses. "I'd like to please you, too, Vermillion. I think we both know exactly the way I might do that."

Her cheeks burned. Her skin was tingling, her heart thumping. He wanted to please her and he knew exactly the way. Sweet God in heaven. She remembered the way he had feasted on her breasts, the fierce, searing pleasure, and suddenly felt hot all over.

"M-my aunt will be waiting," she said. "I have to go."

His mouth edged up. "Perhaps you'll need to come back a little later. This evening, perhaps… to talk about tomorrow's race?"

Oh, God. Her legs felt shaky, her mouth dry. "No, I… I don't think so. I have to go." She turned away from him and practically ran from the barn. Her heart was still hammering when she spotted Aunt Gabby's carriage. Wingate's vehicle sat behind it, and one belonging to Elizabeth Sorenson.

She took a deep breath and walked toward them, trying not to think of Caleb and hoping they wouldn't notice the heightened color in her cheeks. Lord, the man was a menace to the female population.

She forced a smile to her face and headed for the group ahead. Lord Claymont had not yet arrived, but he would get there soon. Women were mostly excluded from the masculine world of horseracing, the reason Parklands' Thoroughbreds raced under the earl's blue-and-gold colors, a ruse that fooled no one but satisfied the rigid lines of conduct established by the powerful Jockey Club.

She joined the group in Aunt Gabby's carriage, but her thoughts remained on Caleb and the heat in his eyes and what it did to her when he looked at her the way he had in the barn. Thank God, the races were getting ready to start, a match race, first, between two rival owners, then heat-racing, where the horses that won each heat then raced against each other. Several sweepstakes races were to follow, events that would include Sentinel and Hannibal's Prize. Noir wouldn't be racing until day after the morrow, when the Newmarket Gold Cup was scheduled to be run.