Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 by Joely Sue Burkhart Page A

that he was listening and understood what she was saying.
    “Basset’s nothing like the Dowager, though. She’s tough on me, but I know she’s only trying to make me better. Dear Mama wanted nothing but to forget my very existence.” She forced out a wry laugh and lifted her head. “Listen to me go on.”
    She studied him, head tilted slightly, her eyebrows arched in expectation. He knew very well what she wanted.
    Forgive me, my lady, but I can’t.
    As if he’d spoken aloud, she gave a small nod. “Very well. Then there’s just one question remaining, Arthur. I expect complete honesty at all times, but how you answer this question will be particularly crucial in whether I allow you to enter my ring ever again. Do you understand?”
    He nodded curtly, tightening his hands on her shoulders. He didn’t want to leave. What choice would he have, though, if she ordered him off Blackmyre lands? He had no recourse, no right to be in her house or ring, let alone her bed.
    “Did you speak to her?”
    When he denied her the most basic communication, she wouldn’t take it too kindly if he’d spoken to another mistress. Let alone her old mentor.
    “Because I’m sorry, Arthur, I can’t forgive that. If you responded to her, I’m sure she’ll take you on. She’s the best mistress I know, but she’s hard, very hard. I don’t know…”
    He squeezed his hands tighter on her shoulders until her words fell off into silence. Then he shook his head.
    “You don’t want to go to her? Or you didn’t speak to her?”
    He lowered his head and glared fiercely while he gave a single, adamant shake of his head.
    “Are you sure?” Her mouth quirked into the wicked smile of a young hooligan stealing pies from the kitchen. “You seemed quite…shaken after meeting her. We all used to joke that she had eyes in the back of her head, or at least spies of her own as thorough as the Queen’s Ravens because she always knew what we were about before we even began to get into mischief. I do believe—”
    Her constant talking—when he couldn’t return the banter—was driving him insane. He did the only thing he could do. He sealed his mouth over hers.
    Caught with her lips parted, she didn’t pull away or refuse him. In fact, she let out a low, rich sigh and opened her mouth wider, letting him sample the heat of her mouth.
    He’d never kissed a mistress before. Somehow he’d always thought it would be forbidden for a dominant female to let a man into her mouth. It was too personal, surely even more vulnerable than intercourse. Eye to eye, nose to nose, her very breath inhibited by his. She hadn’t ordered him to action, but she didn’t put a halt to such a display.
    Certainly the other mistresses who’d played with him had never consented to share the privacy of their mouths. They’d been eager to give him orders about how to pleasure them, but never had they allowed any crack in their iron wills, as if once a man was allowed even a small indulgence, he’d be worthless as a pony.
    Lady Blackmyre softened even more against him, her arms sliding around his shoulders, her fingers curling in his hair. Her mouth was sweet and soft. Not iron. Not cold. Not punishing. Her tongue played with his, stroking and twisting, driving him to haul her closer to the erection that hadn’t completely faded since he’d awakened in her house.
    She let him kiss her, without reining him back or snapping at him. Even better, she didn’t attempt to wrestle control from him.
    Shaken, he released her mouth, but didn’t pull back. He wasn’t ready to let her see the confusion that must be written in mile-deep grooves on his face. What kind of mistress let a pony steal a kiss? And enjoyed it?
    A mistress that I want very much indeed.
    “Apology accepted, Arthur.” She patted his cheek and stepped out of his embrace. Heart pounding, he watched her stride back toward her guests. “But I must admit that I’m looking forward to the day when you’ll