Defiant Angel (8 page)

Tiffany tucked an errant curl under her cap while gazing in the mirror. She went forward toward the mirror, feeling the tightness of Dalton's britches. Standing to relieve the discomfort, she pulled shirttails out from her pants so they hung covering her derriere, hoping it would hide the way the breeches fit her like a second skin. She shook her head, deciding to tie the tails at her waist instead. Flying over to the bed, she sat pulling on Dalton's high black riding boots. Standing and pacing, she decided to wear socks, for while Dalton's britches were tight, his boots were large and loose. Opening the drawers looking for her heavy woolen socks, she gave up the search when Alysse flew into the room.

"Tiffany, please, I beg you not to do this. Reconsider; there must be a better place and time to do this."

"There is no better time. Aunt Winnie is at the Roth-childs' for tea. Xanadu is at La Fountaine, which is only an hour away." She turned back to Alysse, having given up her search entirely, and pointed out to her quite emphatically, "And Xanadu may never be this close."

"But, Tiffany, you can't possibly go to the race. Why--" she wrung her hands "--think of your reputation if you're seen. It is not as if no one would recognize you!" Alysse followed Tiffany to the window. "You are, after all, still the rage, you know, and if you were ever seen at such an affair . . ."

Tiffany moved across the room, oblivious to Alysse's pleading.

"Are you listening, girl?" Alysse stepped in front of Tiffany, grasping her hands, getting her attention. "Only men and their paramours go to such things, not ladies."

A frown marred Tiffany's brow, which was quickly replaced by a smile. "Of course I won't be recognized, Alysse, for no one will see me. If they see anything at all, it will be a young lad." Waving her hand, she added, "Anyway, I intend to ride to the stables, not the track area."

Alysse screwed up her face at Tiffany's words, thinking Tiffany's disguise made her look nothing like a lad, quite the contrary. "And exactly what will you do there?"

"Why, see Xanadu, of course, what else?" Tiffany asked innocently.

Knowing Tiffany as well as she did, Alysse was not convinced. "Are you certain? That's all?"

Tiffany could not miss the suspicion in her voice. "Well, I can hardly ride him now, can I?" she asked in a sweet voice. The look on Alysse's face caused Tiffany to regret her deceit and she rushed on reassuringly. "Really, Alysse, you worry for naught. I certainly don't intend to
steal him!"
Tiffany turned, for she was certain Alysse would read the lie in her face when she said, "I just want to see him and give him these." She turned and extended her hand, which was filled with chocolate bonbons.

An incredulous look crossed Alysse's face and she shook her head, her curls bouncing prettily. "How foolish of
me!

Of course, why not risk discovery, reputation, one's whole life, to deliver bonbons to a beast that no longer belongs to you?" Alysse threw up her arms. "How stupid of me not to have realized."

"There is no way I can make you understand, Alysse. Suffice it to say, I intend to go, and go I shall."

The firm and determined tone Tiffany used convinced Alysse nothing she said would deter Tiffany. Instead she asked simply, "Please be back before Aunt Winnie returns with Mother. Promise me at least that."

Tiffany smiled and dashed over to Alysse, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. She ran to the door, opening it, looking down the hallway in both directions, and before exiting, turned back, whispering, "I promise."

Shalimar sailed over the last hedgerow, clearing the obstacle. In the process Tiffany lost the second boot, having lost the first a mile back. She shook her capped head thinking she should have put socks on. She dismissed the boots with a final thought--she owed Dalton a new pair.

She arrived an hour earlier and had the foresight not to gallop in at the track but came around to the paddocks. She patted Shalimar and whispered softly, "So far, so good, girl." Although impatient, she walked the mare the remaining distance to cool her. She heard the yelling and cheering of the crowd, thinking that a good sign; the races were still in progress and she would encounter none save the stable hands.

Dismounting, she tethered Shalimar to a nearby tree, patting the mare. She walked from the wooded area toward the open paddocks, stepping on a sharp stone. "Ouch." She grabbed her bare foot and turned the sole to check the damage. Satisfied there was none, she proceeded, thinking civilized life had made her feet tender as a baby's skin. The sound of voices close by caused her to duck behind a nearby water barrel, where she crouched down and peered out.

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"Easy there. Easy, boy . . . damn you! Son of Satan, yer are."

Tiffany could not yet see who the voices belonged to but heard another curse.

"Goddamnit, Jim, grab the bastard's bridle before he kills me."

"I've got it, Toby."

She saw the grooms struggling with Xanadu, who was rearing and then bucking to break from their hold.

As they moved closer to the paddock, Toby asked, "Do ye 'ave 'im, Jim?"

" 'At I do; now, open the gate before he breaks me arm like he done to the jockey." Toby opened the gate quickly, and Jim maliciously hit Xanadu on the rump, causing the stallion to leap forward. They quickly closed the gate and moved back as a bared-toothed Xanadu ran toward them threateningly. Jim picked up a stone, throwing it at Xanadu, and both grooms left the area.

Xanadu pranced down the length of fence parallel to Tiffany's hiding place, stopping, his nostrils flaring, picking up a familiar scent. His ear pricked forward and he cocked his head in question. He whinnied, and when he received no response, he began to gallop up and down the fence, changing his gaits, then stopping, snorting, and pawing the ground.

Tiffany smiled, knowing he was trying to coax her out of hiding. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She rose on shaky legs, trying to whistle, but her lips trembled so much, she was unable. She tried again and a shrill sound escaped her lips. Xanadu reared majestically, pawing the air in tribute to his mistress.

Clinton Barencourte had left his carriage to collect his winnings and thought to stop at the stables to see the horse that had won him a fortune. He had seen the difficulty the grooms had with the stallion and thought to help them when he was waylaid by a group of gentlemen. By the time he had finished trading pleasantries, the stallion was already in the paddock area. He was making his way back to the track but stopped, seeing the stallion prancing up and down the length of the fence. He entered the corridor of the stable, making his way to the end, where he stood admiring the showy performance of the horse. He turned his head at the sound of a whistle. A grin lifted the corners of his mouth as his eyes leisurely appraised the tall, curvy figure approaching the paddock. He leaned against the support beams, hidden by the shadows of the corridor, smiling wolfishly at Countess Courtland.

Tiffany nimbly climbed up to the top rung of the fence, balancing herself. She stretched her arms wide, inviting Xanadu into her embrace. Xanadu complied, trotting from the far corner, tail arched high, tossing his head, whinnying to her.

Tiffany whistled at a different pitch, and Xanadu changed from a trot to a smooth, flowing canter, coming to halt between her arms, nuzzling her with his nose, almost causing her to lose her balance and fall.

Tiffany wrapped her arms about his large neck, tears making wet paths down his velvet black coat. She had imagined in her dreams such a moment and thought reality had exceeded her dream. Xanadu whinnied against her, remaining perfectly still as they shared their private moment.

After this, they broke from each other. Still balancing on the rung, Tiffany reached inside her cap, withdrawing the wrapped bonbons, causing the cap to fall off, releasing her raven tresses, which fell down her back. She extended a bonbon-filled hand to Xanadu and popped the remaining one into her mouth.

Xanadu nudged her, causing her to sit on the rung. He nudged her again. "Oh, you big bully, stop that before you knock me off." She laughed, filling the air with its pleasant sound. Xanadu nudged her again and then bent his foreleg and lowered his head in invitation. Tiffany quickly looked around, and seeing no one, decided to oblige Xanadu. She leapt onto his back, barefooted and tackless.

Clinton had moved back when Tiffany had quickly scanned the area. He wondered what she was about. His answer came quickly enough when he saw her mount the stallion. He suppressed the urge to stop her in fear of the stallion hurting her but did not realize the stallion was acting like a lamb. He questioned her ability to ride such a spirited horse, then reasoned if trouble arose, he'd be out there in a flash. Anyway, he was extremely curious to see what Countess Courtland was up to, and was content to watch her as he had done for the last two years.

Tiffany thought she had died and gone to heaven. She luxuriated in the strength and warmth of the flanks her legs wrapped about. As Xanadu moved, she felt the familiar movement of his well-honed muscles. She squeezed her legs, pushing him into a high, prancing trot, and then shifted her weight to rein him in the direction she desired.

Tiffany was jubilant. He responded to her as if they had never been parted. She was dying to put him through their old routine and pushed him into a collected canter around the ring. She idly wondered if he remembered the flying change and patted him when he performed the feat.

She felt the restraint of his powerful muscles, knowing she had not even touched his full potential. As if reading her mind, Xanadu tossed his head impatiently.

"Why not!" she cried, throwing caution to the wind. Hell, she was restless, tired of fences herself! She squeezed her legs, signaling him. Xanadu reared. She gripped him tightly, and when his feet hit the ground, he shot off into a gallop. Tiffany grabbed his mane, shifting her weight forward, freeing the stallion's hindquarters for the power needed to clear the fence she expertly estimated to be four feet in height. Their faces were turned to the wind, their mingled manes flowing back, as Xanadu gathered his hindquarters beneath him and sailed majestically over the first fence of four he had to jump to reach freedom.

A wide grin spread across Clinton's face as he watched the countess and the stallion take the last paddock fence to freedom. He was impressed with her skill and knowledgeable use of her hands, legs, and weight. He strolled casually out into the bright sunshine watching them gallop through the field, jumping anything higher than the stallion's hooves.

Clinton spotted Shalimar tethered in the woods and walked over to the mare, noting the fine lines indicative of good breeding. "Well, the countess certainly knows good horseflesh," he said aloud while patting the mare's neck.

He heard the sound of hooves and stepped back in the shade to observe Tiffany riding. Clinton pulled a cheroot from his pocket, lit it, puffing leisurely on it. His gray eyes followed the mounted figure. His keen observation gave him deep insight to the much-sought-after beauty. Horse and rider moved as one in fluid motion. Tiffany's body flowed, surging upward-downward, meeting the driving movement of the stallion. Her rounded hips arched forward, rocking with the rhythm set by the stallion, while shapely thighs gripped the heaving flanks. Clinton blew a stream of smoke out, his eyes held fast to Tiffany, who entwined her fingers in the black mane and dropped her head, arching her back, causing her breasts to strain against the muslin cloth. Clinton's gray eyes zeroed in on her taut nipples. His gaze moved upward to her parted lips, which she moistened with the tip of her tongue. As she moved closer, he could see the fine sheen of perspiration and the abandoned look in her eyes.

He felt a tightening in his groin imagining her body beneath his as he rode. He could feel her body surge upward to meet his driving movement, her hips arching forward, accepting his thrusting rhythm. He felt his blood boil imagining the tightening of those magnificent legs about his flanks as he sheathed himself within her. He smiled wickedly, almost feeling her fingers entwined in his hair as he dove deep inside her, before he lowered his mouth to capture her cry.

Tiffany lay spent on Xanadu's neck, thinking she had never felt so wonderful. She straightened up, an ache in her back causing her to arch forward. Her legs had gone numb and she stretched them trying to bring the blood back. She raised her hands to lift the heavy mass of curls off her neck, allowing the breeze to cool it. The exertion of the ride had dampened her shirt, causing it to cling, revealing the soft swell of her breast and the dusty rose of a pert nipple.

Clinton smiled appreciatively at the striking figure posed so innocently seductive atop the horse. He moved out of the woods as they passed.

After corralling Xanadu, Tiffany leaned against the fence, arms crossed on the top railing, admiring Xanadu.

'' Horse-stealing, Countess?''

Tiffany spun at the sound of the deep, rich baritone voice. As she came around, her wide eyes rested on a man unknown to her who stood a few feet away. A devilish grin slit his handsome visage as he casually smoked a cheroot. A million questions rushed through her mind: How does he know me? I don't know him; why did he speak in English and not French? How will I get by him when he is blocking my way?

Clinton didn't miss the fear and confusion that crossed her exquisite features. Sensing a chink in her armor, he pressed on, "Are you not fluent in English, Princess?"

Tiffany, taking hold of her predicament and his implication of her illiteracy, retorted in flawless French, "I am quite conversant in the English language, sir!" She tossed her head and responded haughtily. "And I am not in the habit of speaking to strange men. Now, kindly stand aside so I might pass." She moved forward, realizing too late he had no intention of standing aside. As a matter of fact, by the grin on his face, it appeared he found the situation quite amusing. Her blue eyes glared at his amused gray ones. Tiffany bristled at his impertinence and cried, "Sir!"

"The name, Princess, is Clinton Barencourte." He made a mocking bow and added, "At your service."

She tilted her head back, looking into a pair of the smokiest gray eyes ever, and replied coolly in French, "Fine, Mr. Barencourte, now that we know each other, kindly stand aside." She made to pass him but found he still blocked her path. Fear began to surface, causing her to take note of him for the first time. He was tall, taller than most men, possessing a wide breadth of shoulders and chest. He had strong, classic features bronzed by the sun. It was his piercing gray eyes that shook the foundations of her soul.

"Do I meet with your approval, Princess?" Clinton asked, aware of her scrutiny.

Clinton allowed his eyes to casually roam over her feminine form, missing no detail, resting where her damp shirt clung revealingly to the pert rise of her young, full breasts. A wolfish grin split his handsome visage as he remarked, "You certainly meet mine."

Tiffany could not believe his audacity nor miss the way his gray eyes seemed to strip each item of clothing from her. Wrapping her arms to block his view, she met his stare with angry eyes.

Clinton threw back his head, laughing over her reaction.

"Your eyes are as misguided as your thoughts, Mr. Barencourte!" she said, tossing her head angrily to show her displeasure.

"Really, Princess, and how's that?" He pulled leisurely on his cigar, his eyes never leaving her.

"Contrary to your belief, I have no intention of stealing the horse . . . I . . . merely am interested in purchasing him and thought to try him out.''