His eyes darkened to slate, and Iris watched them with a strange mix of fascination and anger. Such a troublesome color, hazel—nothing like Lord Wrexley’s pale blue. A lady might look into a pair of hazel eyes, and see nothing of the man behind the shifting colors, from a clear green to russet brown, and, when he was angry, to a forest green so dark it was nearly black. Why, a gentleman could hide anything behind such changeable eyes.
Any secrets and any sins, and Lord Huntington had plenty of both.
“The promenade is an adequate measure of horsemanship for a lady, yes.”
“You underestimate the ladies, my lord. Ladies of an equestrienne turn prefer a hard ride in Richmond Park to a measured amble on the promenade, but then I suppose fashionable marquesses don’t trouble themselves much with suchunpredictableladies, do they?”
Lord Huntington’s jaw tightened, and Iris couldn’t quite contain her satisfied smile. Not very ladylike, that smile, but it was difficult to care.
Both Lady Honora and her cousin were quiet during this exchange, but now Lord Wrexley cleared his throat. “What kind of horse did you ride when you lived in Surrey, Miss Somerset? It might help me to choose your mount today if I know.”
“An enormous coal-black stallion with hooves nearly as big as my head.” Iris laughed, thinking of her first horse. He’d been a heathenish creature, quite the worst-tempered horse she’d ever encountered, but she’d loved him with a fierce affection. “I christened him Typhon, in honor of his relentless bad temper, and his tendency to send riders hurtling to the ground.”
“Typhon?” Lord Huntington frowned. “What, you named him after that deadly creature with the hundred dragon heads?”
“Yes, from the Greek mythology. He was stubborn and irascible, but I adored him nonetheless.”
“My goodness.” Lady Honora clutched at Lord Huntington’s arm, her eyes wide. “He sounds quite menacing. How did you end up with a horse like that?”
“My father.” Iris laughed at Honora’s horrified expression. “He was a former cavalry officer, you see, and mad about horses, rather like Captain West. He gave Typhon to me when I was eight years old. Flying across the Surrey countryside on horseback with my father are some of my fondest memories of him.”
Lord Wrexley leaned a hip against the stall door, his curious gaze fixed on her. “If you could ride a horse like that, then of course the mare won’t do for you. What happened to Typhon?”
Iris bit her lip against the familiar ache that pressed behind her eyes whenever she thought of Typhon. It was foolish to cry over him after all these years had passed, but there were some wounds even a lifetime couldn’t heal. For all his flaws, Typhon was the most perfect of animals to her, and she’d never since had a horse to equal him. “He escaped from the barn one night during a storm. He was running wild, and he fell and broke his leg. He had to be shot.”
Iris heard the quaver in her voice, and no one spoke for a long moment after she fell silent, but then the rhythmic tap of Lord Wrexley’s riding crop against his boot ceased. “I have something to show you, Miss Somerset.”
There was an odd, calculating look in his eyes as he held out his arm to her. He didn’t spare a glance for his cousin or Lord Huntington, but they followed as Lord Wrexley strode with Iris toward a dim corner of the barn.
Iris heard him before she saw him. A few irritable snorts, a warning nicker, and finally the slam of a massive body against the wooden walls of the stall.
“Stay back,” Lord Wrexley warned. “Captain West says he has a wicked temper.”
Iris hardly heard him. She took one cautious half step toward the stall, itching to reach her hand in to stroke that glossy dark coat, but she knew better than to get within biting distance of the horse’s snapping teeth. “Oh, you’re in a temper, are you?” she murmured. “But I’d wager you’re the sort who’s always in a temper. What’s your name?”
“Chaos. Proper name for him, isn’t it?” Lord Wrexley stood back from the stall, keeping a safe distance between himself and the horse. “Captain West keeps him in this corner of the stables for a reason.”
Chaos tossed his head as if he knew he’d been maligned, and a shaft of sunlight fell on his neck. He wasn’t black, as Iris had originally thought, but a dark, sleek gray, and even from the quick glimpse she got, she could see he was enormous. “What reason is that?”
Chaos jerked his head toward her and bared his teeth.
“He bites.” Lord Wrexley chuckled. “Kicks, too, among other nasty habits. Captain West said he’s the finest runner he’s ever seen, but it seems Chaos here is particular about who rides him. He told me Chaos nearly threw Lady Hadley once and would have trampled her under his hooves if he’d managed to unseat her.”
Lady Honora gasped. “My goodness! I wonder why Captain West keeps him at all.”
“He’s a remarkable animal, Honora, truly one of a kind, but he needs a firm hand.” Lord Wrexley spoke to his cousin, but he was staring at Iris, his pale blue eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Do you supposeyoucould manage him, Miss Somerset?”
“What? Certainly not!” Lady Honora gasped again, and her voice had gone shrill with fright. “What do you mean, suggesting such a thing, cousin?”
Lord Wrexley ignored her. “Miss Somerset? Could you manage him?”
Iris took another cautious step forward, her breath held. Chaos kicked and whinnied and butted his head against the sides of his stall, but he was watching her, assessing her with those liquid black eyes, and everything inside her vibrated in response. Her body went rigid from the effort it took not to touch him, but she held back, because he wasn’t ready to be touched by her.
Not yet. But he would be, and soon. She’d touch him, and she’d ride him.
“Miss Somerset?” There was a thread of impatience in Lord Wrexley’s voice.
“He’s not the kind of horse you manage, my lord, but if you want to know whether or not I could ride him…” Iris paused, and a small smile tugged at her mouth. “In the right circumstances, and given a chance to become more familiar with him, yes. I could ride him.”
