Chapter One

Virginia, July 1833

On this hot, windy day Clare Carter-Brown watched the sleek clipper until the white-tips of its sails were no longer visible. The sky was so blue, one could see from here to what seemed like eternity. Not one cloud floated in the sky. The vessel carried her older sister, Sophie Stewart, along with the rest of her family as they headed home to London.

She pulled in a deep breath of the tangy Atlantic Sea air savoring the moment along with her newfound independence. This was her home. Her sister, Sophie, and her husband were gone now, returning to their life in England with all their beloved children. She was by herself. Nonetheless, she didn’t feel alone. The affinity she had for this land went far beyond the normal. The feelings traveled deep into her heart and soul, buried there. From the moment she left Virginia seven years ago, Clare knew she would return someday. America was in her blood. The land of the free, people said.

Clare twirled, her skirts flaring out around her slim ankles showing more than was appropriate. She didn’t care. Let the world think what they wished. She was free, an independent woman, Sophie thought to herself with a knowing grin. She didn’t know what she would do with herself. She did though. Link helped her with the promise he would never tell Sophie until she prospered. Following her dream, that’s what she would do. He simply gave her the money she would need to get started. He helped her with other aspects of the business too.

Mayfair Racing and Stud Farm.

Her sister believed wholeheartedly she would return to England by the end of the summer. She wouldn’t. Link Stewart supposed she would stay at Leslie Hall, his family’s home. That wasn’t going to happen either. Her intention was to march right up to Mayfair Hall then stake her claim to her inheritance. After all, the plantation was hers. Well, that would be in three months when she turned twenty-one. Link wasn’t going to hold her to his wishes. She never promised him. When her uncle, William Brinkmeyer, passed on to greener pastures five years ago, Mayfair was turned over to her loving care. In the interim, however, the plantation hired a manager she would need to deal with.

She could barely stand the anticipation, the excitement of it all. Mayfair was hers. Beneath her ribs her heart hammered with eagerness to get on with her life. So excited, her palms sweated. Hastily, she pushed them along the fabric of her gown. While it was true she wouldn’t turn twenty-one for another three months, she felt independent. As her guardian at this moment, Link held all responsibility for the estate. Nonetheless, he did not remain in Virginia to oversee her actions.

No, Link wasn’t here. He was an ocean away, at least he would be soon. She did have his approval as well as monetary support until she started making a profit. Link Stewart, her brother-in-law backed her. He believed in her every bit as much as she believed in herself.

An agenda written in her head loomed at the top of her mind. There was so much to accomplish, so much planning. Clare walked away from the dock immersed in her thoughts, her mind clamoring with all the tasks in front of her. This area had not changed in the seven years since she was in Virginia. She walked past the alehouse where the men gathered to gossip. Hot toddies came to mind. Her brother-in-law used to spend time here so he heard all the rumors first hand. Most of them concerned her sister. Sophie had been known as the town harlot. She wasn’t though. When she married Link, she was a virgin. Enough of those antiquated thoughts. They were best left alone, in the dark recesses of the past. Drudging them up would serve merely to depress her. Only the small-minded people of the town believed the rumors generated by her uncle. Well, perhaps not. Even Link believed those tales at first. Not much time passed, however, before he had second thoughts about Sophie.

So lost in reflections about the past, she walked right into Michael Flannigan. Michael was the manager of Mayfair Hall. She did think him to be a handsome devil. Also understood he would not be easy to deal with. Her first order of business would be to free all the slaves. When she did so, she would have another strike against her where the townspeople were concerned. Not only would she be the harlot’s sister but the emancipator of slaves. That would almost be unheard of although several years ago the slaves at Leslie Hall were freed at her brother-in-law’s command.

What she didn’t comprehend yet was how Michael felt about slaves. She also didn’t know if he would stand in her way when she took over the management. She was after all, a woman. Some men didn’t like control wrested from their fingers by anyone let alone a female. From what she’d seen so far of Mr. Flannigan, he treated the plantation as his personal property. Clare felt certain she would have a fight on her hands.

“Hello,” she said as she looked up into incredibly green eyes that reminded her of the soft moss in the glade where she used to spend a wealth of her free time when she was in England.

She smiled hugely at him. His shoulders were broad; his long, dark red hair could make a woman wish to run her fingers through the length. It was rakish, piratical perhaps. She saw him at the helm of his ship, his hands on the wheel, a leather thong tying his hair back. His legs long, his breeches molded lovingly to the prominent muscles. His chin was blunt, his eyebrows the same color as his hair. The chest she stared at was broad. Once, she saw him without his shirt. The sight managed to steal her breath from her very lungs.

“You should pay attention to where you’re going,” he told her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders steadying her. His smile was bold as well as arrogant, infectious too. His lips were full, sensual. A kiss would be heavenly. He offered an arm, “Where are you headed to now?”

The way his hands felt when he touched her sent an abundance of heated shivers throughout. Her breath caught in the back of her throat while she couldn’t see to remove her gaze from his lean, hard features. She stepped away, unwilling to give over to the certain pleasure he made her feel. He kissed her once when they first arrived here. She liked the feel of his mouth pressed against hers. After that she decided kisses between them couldn’t happen. The sensations were way too much for her to consider, heated her, sent that same fire to places she’d never thought of before. Those same perceptions left her weak kneed as well as breathless. Breathless, along with weak kneed was not a state she should find herself in while attempting to take control of Mayfair.

She didn’t like the faintness he generated.

“We have a great deal of issues to discuss, Mr. Flannigan.”

She meant to keep the relationship between them business, nothing else.

“Mr. Flannigan?” Michael arched a dark red eyebrow that was indeed perfectly sculpted. With that single action, he questioned her on a level she didn’t understand. She employed him. He shouldn’t be questioning her. “When did my name change from Michael?”

“Yes.”

She meant to continue here as she planned. Giving into his charming ways was not going to happen. She was sure he could seduce her easily enough as she’d heard a few rumors concerning him involving the opposite sex. While he wasn’t a lady’s man, he wasn’t celibate either. Clare didn’t intend to become a conquest of his. She’d already given this man something she’d never given anyone else, a kiss.

“Michael,” he murmured close to her ear. “Call me Michael.”

His breath wafting across her sensitive flesh reaffirmed her need to keep this business-like. Distance from this enigmatic man was imperative to maintain her composure. He was a mystery she didn’t wish to uncover. She stepped away, sifting in a staggered breath of air. Once again, her knees felt weak as if they would buckle. The man was too potent for her, too hard and unyielding. She had no idea how to counter his advances.

“Mr. Flannigan,” she insisted as she suddenly realized he wasn’t going to easily concede to her wishes.

She heard the breath of air he heaved into his lungs while she also saw the frown lines creasing his tanned forehead, obviously bronzed from days on end in the sun. Clearly, he was displeased with her stubborn insistence on using his last name. Becoming too familiar with a man she employed would be unwise. Damnation, she had to keep telling herself those words. If she didn’t, she would give into him.

“Michael,” he told her again, sterner this time. “Mr. Flannigan is far too formal. Besides, calling me by my last name makes me out to be an old man.” Pausing for a moment before running a fingertip down the column of her neck. “After what we’ve shared? You must call me Michael. I’ll have nothing else.

“Here is Duster,” he said as they stopped in front of one of the horses that would make her stud farm a success. His mount, Gypsy, was tethered next to her stallion. Both stallions were from the best lineage, one that could be traced back to some of the finest horses ever. “I’ll follow you to Leslie Hall. Did you know your trunks were deposited in the master chamber in Mayfair Hall?” He paused to look at her as if trying to discern her thoughts. “Ah, you do know. What should I think about that? Perhaps you do want to be closer to me than I previously assumed.”

He slanted her a half-smile that made her stomach churn in a curious way.

Clare didn’t think for a second he was asking her if she meant to take up residence in his bedroom hence sharing the bed. However, the look on his face was something she couldn’t fathom. She wanted to see inside his thoughts. Wished she had more practice with men.

“You will move into the manager’s cottage behind the plantation. It was one of the issues we needed to talk about. I would prefer to wait for this discussion until we have an office where we can speak privately. Perhaps we can curtail the conversation until we arrive at Mayfair Hall.”

“No,” his reply was succinct as well as to the point.

“You don’t have a choice, Mr. Flannigan. I’m not conversing with you in front of all these people. Don’t mean to speak until there is privacy.” She found the calm serenity she wanted to proceed with was rapidly vanishing. The very look in his eyes challenged her, bringing anger to the forefront. She didn’t want to deal with this man in anger. If she was to be successful in her dealings with Michael Flanigan, she needed to remain calm, indifferent to the sensual way he looked at her.

He flashed even white teeth, his smile telling her she was wrong about that. Of course, she understood he could refuse her request. Well, what she asked for wasn’t a request; the words were more along the lines of a demand. Indeed, her words were meant as a command. If he didn’t like what she was going to tell him, he could quit.

She had the control.

He wasn’t in charge.

“We will see.”

His large hands on her waist he tossed her atop Duster as if she weighed nothing at all. She wasn’t tiny so why was he able to do that so easily? Why did she feel so helpless when she was with him? He meant to take charge. She wasn’t about to allow such a nefarious action. Mayfair Hall was hers, hers alone. Sharing was no plausible option.

Helpless was not a feeling she needed or wanted. Nor did she want to feel weak-kneed or have her stomach turning somersaults when he smiled at her. Didn’t want to feel heat tumble through her when his all-knowing gaze riveted on her mouth.

The next half hour they rode along the river in silence. She could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t start an argument. The few times she glanced his way he looked straight ahead, crease lines still marring his broad forehead. What he was thinking was imperative for her to comprehend. Enlightening her to his thoughts was not something that seemed important to him. He also didn’t appear pleased with anything she told him earlier. Well, of course the man wouldn’t be delighted, you ninny. She thought for a moment to call herself more names as she did feel a tiny bit of guilt at what she was doing.

Pushing thoughts of the upcoming confrontation out of her mind for the moment, she let her mind wander to more pleasant avenues of thought. With the sun shining brightly, the heat kissed her face. She wanted to remove the hat shadowing her white features. Thought better of it before she changed her mind.

Unable to stop herself, in the process defying fashion along with good sense, she untied the ribbons so the hat dangled on her back. If she gave into this impulse too many times, freckles would ramble across her nose. Maybe the man didn’t like freckles. She could only hope, as she needed some means to keep him at a distance. He slanted her a look, a fat grin on his handsome features. Heat rose to her cheeks again. Fire burned in places she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Damn and blast, she didn’t want to enjoy his blatant smile or even the twinkling green eyes of his that even now seemed to roam over her body. She tilted her chin before nudging Duster to a faster pace. Wind sifted through her hair until nearly all the pins fled the strands. Her hair streaked out behind her. She headed the horse along the banks of the river. He followed behind her, the sounds of Gypsy’s hooves loud.

They passed Leslie Hall then turned toward Mayfair Hall. Michael didn’t say a word nor did she. Explaining herself to her manager about where she meant to live was not part of the manager’s job description. She would have to educate him as to his new duties. His first chore would be to move his possessions from the master chamber.

She was displacing him from a place he called home for the last five years. In his situation, she would be angry too. Empathy for the man would not do at all. She was sure he would take advantage of her weak, female thoughts. She meant to carry on now as she would in the future.

He would understand he would have to move in three months if not today. So, in that case what was the difference? They reached the newly furbished stables that would house her pride and joys. Her horses. Duster was a descendant of Fearnought who was a big bright bay horse very nearly sixteen hands high. Duster was of his size. He would be the stud of the Mayfair Hall Racing and Stud Farm. Duster filled a major portion of her dream. Her farm would grow and prosper.

She and Link discussed this in length, made plans together. She utilized all his ideas then beamed with pride when he approved of hers. Neither wanted to own slaves. At Leslie Hall most of the slaves were now freed. Leslie Stewart, the Duke of Southcliff, Link’s older brother, didn’t wish to have any part of slavery. This was all well and good. Nevertheless, the residents of Virginia, well this was a slave state. Slavery was acceptable to most everyone. They would not appreciate the freeing of an entire plantation.

To help make this stud farm a success, Link conspired with his friends as well as his business associates to find the perfect stud for her new adventure. This wasn’t just an adventure; it was more her bid for independence along with a new life. As a woman no one expected her to flourish. She would.

When they reached the end of the road to Mayfair, Timmie the young black stable boy strode out to greet them. He grinned at her. One top tooth was missing. He lost it in a race when a competitor nudged him along with his horse into a ditch. The next race Timmie got even.

“Hello.”

She dismounted before Michael could come to help her. Feeling his hands on her waist was sure to cause unruly sensations she didn’t want to deal with before she spoke with him. Once again, she reminded herself this was business not pleasure.

“Brush Duster and Gypsy. Duster is here for the night. I’ll be out to see to the horses when I’m done with Mr. Flannigan.”

At her crisp words, she watched him bristle, a slight tick in the muscle at his jaw. Will he posture and get all out of joint? His displeasure coupled with her intentions would never change her plans.

He stepped up beside her, easily keeping pace as they walked through the huge front door. “Done with me?” he asked, repeating her words while his hand gripped her elbow turning her, forcing her to look at him.

To no avail, she tried to wrench her arm from his hold. He was too damn strong.

Michael no longer smiled. His face assumed an austere mask of what might be indifference. His gaze on her so unfriendly she nearly changed her mind. Nonetheless, his eyes darkened with his displeasure. She understood what this man felt was far from indifference.

Clare beckoned Old Suzzy. The woman was another one of the black slaves. She was tiny, barely reaching five feet tall. Her dark skin was wrinkled with age. She had the warmest big brown eyes Clare had ever seen. Several times the woman cleaned Sophie’s wounds when their uncle hit her. Old Suzzy knew more about her life here than any other living soul.

“Miss Clare.” She grinned showing a few missing teeth. Wrinkles crinkled merrily around her eyes. “Mighty glad to see you, Little Missy. We’ve been wondering if you would ever return. You here to stay?”

“Will you bring a pot of tea to the office, please? Maybe some of Delilah’s strawberry tarts.”

Clare would talk to Old Suzzy later. At this moment, she didn’t intend to lose her train of thought. She needed to confront Michael, no, Mr. Flannigan with strength, not hesitancy. She would not be talked out of her resolution.

Old Suzzy nodded before she took off down the long hallway to the kitchen. Clare took a moment to straighten her skirt. She walked into the office. She remembered William Brinkmeyer sitting behind the huge, oak desk. Her uncle would smile at her. Even then at thirteen she understood there was nothing good behind that smile. Uncle Brinkmeyer was an evil selfish man who cared nothing about anyone except himself. What she didn’t know at the time was what he was doing to Sophie or how he threatened her. With his machinations he nearly ruined her. If not for Link discovering the truth, she would have never recovered from the viscous gossip.

Clare remembered a lot of things she’d rather not recall about that time. She hitched in a deep breath of air realizing she’d given Michael time to walk around her then assume an in-charge position behind the huge desk.

He did not.

Instead, he leaned negligently against the doorframe, legs as well as his arms crossed. This time he seemed to school his features. A lazy somewhat insolent smile plastered on his too handsome face. Clare didn’t know what to make of his new position. He wasn’t acting as she anticipated. He was too composed. She expected furious anger to erupt.

She sucked air.

This man would not give an inch. Who sat behind the desk would not matter to him. Certain that he didn’t think she could manage the men who worked for her, she meant to convince him otherwise.

Old Suzzy brought in the tea along with the dessert. After Suzzy looked from her to Michael, she hastily scurried from the room. Michael pushed away from the wall then sauntered to the decanter of brandy on the sideboard. He poured himself a glass before he saluted her. So much was being said without words.

“What is this business you’re going to enlighten me with?” he asked before he downed the snifter in one gulp. Michael set the glass down. His hands behind his back, his gaze insolent, he waited.

Deciding she needed to sit before her knees buckled, she poured her tea, adding a bit of milk and sugar. Behind the desk she rested both hands on its smooth top. The wood barrier gave her confidence. She sat; sipped her tea thinking about what she needed to say first. Silence thundered in the room. It seemed she could hear everything yet nothing. Even with the tea skimming down her throat, her mouth was parched.

Before she started, she tugged a bit of courage into her lungs in the form of oxygen. “Life around here will not be the same now that I’ve returned. I mean to take charge, to run the plantation as I see fit. This is my legacy.”

She motioned with her hands.

“I gathered as much. How pray tell do you mean to change life?”

He poured more brandy. He didn’t choose to sit.

Clare thought to start with the less controversial of topics. “To begin with we will no longer grow tobacco.”

Intuitively, she watched his face. He was calm, showing no emotion at all.

His gaze never shifted. “The land would not take too much more of that crop. Tobacco sucks the life out of the dirt. Most planters rotate crops or allow the land to lay fallow. Your decision seems reasonable to me. I applaud your veritable knowledge of a working plantation. Did Link give you the idea?”

She drank in air at his audacity. “We won’t be doing either.” She placed a lemon slice in her tea then poured milk before adding a sugar cube. “I’ve other plans for the land.” She’d already done that. Her tea was now tepid and far too sweet.

It seemed she caught his attention. “What do you intend?”

He appeared intrigued. His green eyes glittered with a golden sheen around the outside edges. His substantial mouth lifting into the form a generous person might call a smile.

“I’m going to free the slaves. Don’t believe in slavery. Link gave me permission. Not that I need his agreement. Mayfair is my plantation.”

When she was nervous, she talked too fast. That was what she did right now. He would know, would hear the anxiousness in the tone of her voice. Would understand he could easily assume the upper hand if that was what he wished.

“Good.” After that statement which thoroughly surprised her, he leaned both hands on the desk she knew he usually sat behind during conversations of this nature. “What is going to happen to them? Without Mayfair they will starve. My God, woman, they are like children. Even though I approve wholeheartedly of your idea, you can’t just pronounce them free.”

She pulled herself up straight thinking he had no right at all to question her. “Link and I discussed this problem, not that the issue, right or wrong, has anything to do with you. I’ve set a course of action that will be followed to the letter. The plan I mentioned is exactly how the Stewarts freed the slaves at Leslie Hall. I believe that worked quite admirably.”

“What brilliant strategy did the two of you come up with?”

His bland tone didn’t surprise her. He was waiting for her to mess up before he jumped in with his opinions thereby assuming control. “Neither of you have lived in this part of the world. Nor have you any real knowledge of the slavery situation.”

He would learn soon enough she made all the decisions from this point forward. “We will rent land to each family. If the people wish, they can plant crops as well as sell them. The choice is theirs. Your job will be to collect the rent on the properties after they have begun to make a living. The farm land will provide a decent living for anyone wishing to stay and thereby take advantage of what is offered.”

“So far you make sense. Go on.”

The acknowledgement was sweet of him. She didn’t think he meant to be sweet. “We will build new homes for those who want to stay.”

“What about the ones who don’t? What will happen to them?”

He pushed away from the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose as he wandered around the room.

“I’m going to encourage them all to stay then I’ll hire a person to teach them to read and write. They will need those skills to survive as well as prosper.”

On the defensive now, she needed to turn the exchange around. Taking charge here was essential if she meant to run the plantation.

“Good luck with that. How do you expect to keep this place running without funds from the crops? Where is the coin going to come from to build new homes for all the people you’ve freed.”

“Those are all good questions. However, I want you to know if you continue to manage the properties, your job description will change. You will be doing most of the teaching.” She held up her hands, “Not the reading and writing.”

“Figured as much.” He sat down with another glass of brandy in hand, his long-muscled legs stretched out in front of him appearing totally relaxed. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?” she asked, surprised.

Keeping her gaze from roaming the length of him was nearly impossible. When he was around, she had the devil of a time concentrating. Clare touched her lips recalling his kiss from a few weeks previous, the warmth, how he traced her lip with his tongue before plunging deep inside. She recalled his taste, his scent. That was a month ago, a mistake. One she wouldn’t make again. There would be no more kisses between them…or anything else.

His grin was slow, lazy, his arrogance undeniable. It was almost as if he read her mind, knew her unruly thoughts. “My job description. Perhaps I’m to attend to the physical needs of the new owner since we are sharing a bedroom. I noticed how your pink tongue ran smoothly along your lips getting ready for the kiss you’ve been thinking about since we first met in the village.”

“You!” Heat bathed her face, flames leapt within. “How dare you imply something like that!” She lost control, anger simmering deep and so very hot she had the urge to toss her cup of tea his way.

“Me, yes, who else? A moment ago, you were thinking about the kiss we shared the other evening. You know, the evening we watched the sun go down in the west. We shared a bottle of wine as well. Oh, did it happen nearly a month ago? You have a fine memory, Clare. Shall we see if the kiss will still taste as sublime as the first time?”

He stepped forward as if he meant to do exactly that.

She pushed away from the desk. “I have no physical needs you will attend to.” Her breath stuck in her throat, her tongue on the roof of her mouth. In that one moment he took over the discussion. He made her recall in vivid detail that moment as well as the deep sensations he produced in her.

“You should understand, I won’t share my bed with you unless you are naked.” His gaze traveled the length of her before insolently settling on her heaving bosom. “You want me now. We can visit the master chamber. See if we are as compatible in bed as I believe we are. We haven’t had a chance for anything more than a few stolen kisses. That night I had to keep looking over my shoulder to see if Link would turn up to rescue you. Not that you needed rescuing from me. I would never harm you. Have only our best interests at heart.”

Clare understood the conversation turned to a topic she didn’t comprehend too well. He was outrageous in his words. He was all male and powerful. She would do well to remember that fact when dealing with him. She needed to dissuade him from this line of conversation before the words traveled in a direction she could never contend with. Now, Michael assumed mastery of the conversation.

To get back on track was her immediate goal. She cleared her throat, a tiny little sound. “You will collect the rent monies, make sure they have seed to plant as well as the tools the men will need. They will most likely have to be instructed on what will be best for the land. I’ve heard wheat along with corn are good crops for the soil that has been tasked to the limit. The families may also plant vegetable gardens for their personal use if they would like to do so.”

“You heard right. I’m sure we will think of other issues that might arise then deal with them together. Now, what are you going to do with the studs you brought in? What are your plans for the stable that has been reconstructed these last months since your brother-in-law has been in the states. I’m sure he didn’t leave before he thought this endeavor was ready to be left in the hands of a woman.”

She breathed a silent sigh of relief when he stopped pursuing this bedroom situation. Nonetheless, he maintained that arrogant air that only men would understand what was needed. He was wrong. She needed to dissuade him from that bit of male dominating thought.

“Mayfair Hall will no longer be a tobacco plantation. It will be a stud farm. A sign has been commissioned that will read, Mayfair Racing and Stud Farm. Duster has bloodlines going back to Fearnought. I’ve two pregnant mares both with lines that go back to Medley who was bred in England by Lord Grosvenor. Link has been busy, as he has lined up two mares that Duster will cover. We should make a great show of this. The men bringing the mares are each paying two hundred pounds, which is the going rate in England. I’m not certain how much that is in American currency.”

“So,” Michael tapped his long-bronzed fingers together before he joined them beneath his chin is a powerful steeple. “You’ve got everything figured out. Or…should I say Link has brought about this wonderful scenario for you. A woman cannot direct men to do her bidding. If she attempts such a feat, men won’t obey. You need to come to terms with your femininity, which is beautiful by the way.”

Enthusiastically, she nodded relieved he seemed to be taking this change in stride while she tried to forget the condescension in his tone along with his words about a woman’s ability to lead men. Clearly, Michael Flannigan didn’t believe women competent to run a stable such as this one.

“Link has been an immense help. However, the success will be up to me. My brother-in-law has confidence in my ability.”

“Except the sharing of my bed.” He leaned closer to her. “Link has nothing to do with that. I’m sure he would not be pleased if he discovered the fact. As you said, he is across the ocean with nothing to say about the matter. In this I will pursue my desires with no one to contest me.”

“I’ve that covered also.”

She felt prim and proper. After all, she was a spinster. She was on the shelf. While they discussed this new situation for Mayfair, she realized she would simply allow him to have the master chamber. The bedroom as it appeared now reminded her too much of Uncle William. She would not be able to sleep there.

“You do?” He sounded surprised yet at the same time a bit intrigued. His lips slowly formed into a generous grin.

Curtly, she nodded. “I will take the adjoining room. You may stay in the large room. I’ve no problem with that.”

His curses shocked her to the tips of her slippered feet.

“Mr. Flannigan!” Her heart heaved against her chest. “I’ve been very congenial. You’ve no right to swear at me.”

His scowl returned. He appeared dangerous and dark, his green eyes closer to the darkness of leaves on an oak rather than the soft green of moss she compared them to earlier. “Do you care so little about your reputation that you would bed down in the adjoining room?”

Blindsided, maybe more confused, Clare didn’t understand what to make of his words. She blinked several times trying without succeeding to figure out what exactly he spoke.

“What does our sleeping arrangements have to do with my reputation? If we are sharing or not sharing a bed, who would know? Who would even care about what we do in the privacy of Mayfair Hall?”

She didn’t want to feel quite so baffled. Didn’t wish for him to believe she didn’t understand what he meant.

She didn’t.

“Are you stupid or naïve or both?”

He rose from the chair. His pacing took him in circles around the dark blue and cream Aubusson carpet. He paused at the window looking over the land, his hands clasped behind his back. For a few seconds he rocked on his heels.

Clare made a mental note to change the draperies. The fabric was too dark. The room needed a brighter look. He turned, a scowl creasing his forehead. His hands were fisted.

She wanted to understand what was traveling through his man’s brain. Nothing he’d been telling her made sense. At first, he teased about taking her to his bed naked. The next thing she knew he was telling her if she slept in the adjoining bedroom, her reputation would never recover.

“I take exception to that. What is it that you want, Mr. Flannigan? What exactly are you trying to describe?”

His feet took him to a point directly in front of her. With a finger beneath her chin, he slowly lifted. His gaze bore into hers. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. “I should show you. God knows it’s probably the only way you’ll understand. You’re too damn innocent.”

Clare pushed away from him as well as the desk. “You ass…”

Her words trailed off when his large hands gripped her shoulders. It didn’t seem he was going to let her go.

He pulled her close. The scent of brandy caressed her as his breath whispered across her face. One month ago, he tasted of the sweet wine they drank, the white Bordeaux from the Stewart vineyard in France. She ran her tongue across her bottom lip, leaving a path of moisture. She did want another kiss, perhaps another one after that. Nonetheless, she didn’t want him to know that. Didn’t want to renege on her earlier plans to keep business separate from her personal life. At this point in time, she didn’t believe he meant to give her a choice.

Damnation, she wanted that kiss.

With all her might, she pushed away from Michael understanding if they were going to maintain a working relationship, they could not dally. Sharing kisses would not be conducive to business. A personal relationship between them would prove to be distracting. Clare wasn’t at all certain if dallying meant just kissing or if the word entailed more. Nonetheless, she didn’t want to take the chance she would melt in the heat of his arms again.

One time was enough. A month ago, she turned into a little puddle. This afternoon was not going to see a replay of that frivolous evening. Her push seemed to bring them closer. His mouth hovered inches above hers. His brandy scented breath caressed her lips. “You want me to kiss you, admit to the fact.” His voice was husky, a different sound from the norm.

She was shaking her head. Lifting one hand from her, he ran one hand through the length of her hair. He stared hard at her. A muscle along his jaw ticked warningly.

“No, no I don’t.”

“Tell me to keep my hands off you but don’t lie to me. Kiss me, Clare. Kiss me like you did before, deep and hard, with all of your tongue involved. I want to taste your sweetness, feel your sultry heat the fire you spawn, the flames bursting. After that maybe we can talk in a more adult way about our sleeping arrangements.”

“There is nothing to talk about. I don’t want…” Her hands on his chest pushed. He didn’t move.

“Oh, but I do believe there is a great deal of discussion to be had.”

His lips found hers. Unable to help herself, she met his tongue with her own, delved inside the warmth of him. Clare wanted to cry with the desperate hunger he induced. She needed to put this man out of her thoughts. He was too big a distraction to her plans. If she gave him the chance, he would ruin everything. In order to prove herself, she would have to be strong.

When he lifted his head to look at her, to move a few strands of damp hair from her face she found her voice, “Stop, Michael, please…don’t do this to me.”

~ * ~

Well, hell, he didn’t want to stop. There wasn’t one doubt in his mind she liked his kisses. No, he wanted to keep kissing her until she agreed to marry him, until he couldn’t breathe until he curled up his toes. Yesterday, after speaking with Link, he believed he had the three months until she turned twenty-one to convince her to his way of thinking. After that the undertaking would be more difficult for him to maintain the land he wanted, the land by birthright he should own.

Now she thought to take on her sister’s shoes by sleeping in the adjoining room. If he had his way, she would never become the next harlot of Virginia. The difficult part of all this was that he did want her naked in his bed, her soft curves pressed sweetly against him. He wanted to give her a woman’s pleasure. Needed to hear her howl at the moon when she climaxed, her silken white body beneath his. His emotions were in such turmoil he didn’t know what to think.

He wanted to be a gentleman where Clare was concerned. Single handedly, she was making the job damn difficult

Hell, he wasn’t a gentleman. Never had been. Never would be.

Link made it abundantly clear she was not to be present when Duster covered a mare. She was a virgin. Clare shouldn’t see something so carnal in nature. Short of tying her somewhere, he didn’t understand how he could prevent her from doing whatever the devil took her mind to do. From all she spoke of just now, she would make sure she played an integral part of this business, all of it, even the sexual parts. Quickly, he was learning she wasn’t the type of woman to hold anything back.

When Link explained this dream of hers to become independent, well, he promised to give her that illusion if possible. Michael understood if she ran out of funds, he was to write to her brother-in-law immediately for more money. Clare’s brother-in-law was going to use his substantial groats to keep her dream alive. Now, Link counted on him to be a silent partner in this ill-fated adventure of Clare’s. Without a man’s hands in the running of the business, her enterprise was doomed to failure.

The difficult part of all this was that he as well as Link prayed she succeeded. Neither had an iota of hope the adventure would, at least not without a man’s interference, prosper. The other men would never take orders from her. Blast it all, she needed him to have a superior role in this undertaking of hers, needed to position himself at the helm.

He kissed the lass, felt her so very sweet curves against him.

After she asked, he stopped.

Even while lust surged straight to his groin so potent he had few rational thoughts, he set her aside. He was surprised he didn’t toss her on that big desk and after that with her legs wrapped around his flanks teach her about a woman’s pleasure. His imagination ran rampant. If he was going to succeed and see his dreams materialize, he needed to curtail his carnal thoughts concerning Clare.

Michael didn’t want to stop and think about all these plans of hers. When he did, he realized Link supplied her with all she needed to make a success. Duster would bring top dollar as a stud. Two mares were lined up to test Duster’s prowess. If he continued to advertise, there would be more mares standing ready within the week. He could race Duster as well as Gypsy. Duster was fast. Link told him the stallion did best at the quarter mile. Gypsy was in for the long haul. The stallion possessed a heart that never quit. The horse was quickly gaining an impeccable reputation in the racing world. While he wanted to race Gypsy, the problem was that he was just too damn big for a jockey. Link also made certain he understood that under no circumstances was Clare to race. She would try to do so. She would even lie if only by omission. He would have to be a step or more ahead of her to succeed.

He agreed.

She would try. He acknowledged that for a fact.

He grinned, a huge grin. Another possible tussle with Clare might be fun. “When do you want to begin telling the slaves they are free?”

She stepped away from him, wishing for more distance he felt sure. He strode to the big desk then sat down. For a few seconds while he tried to school his emotions, he shuffled the papers he’d been working on before he rode into town to meet Clare then escort her home.

“Timmie and Old Suzzy should be told first. They will help us with the rest when the time comes. Link thought we should start building the new homes before we do anything else. The freed men can help with the construction.”

He agreed. “Over the last five years Mayfair has acquired no new slaves. Some have died. At this moment we have only twenty-five families. Twenty-five new homes will need to be built. What are you going to use for capital?”

Air shifted in then out of her lungs, her breasts moving provocatively beneath the bodice of the lovely blue gown she wore which each tiny breath. “Link wished to give me money for that. I told him no. I plan to use my dowry. The money is deposited in the bank in town. The funds are more than enough to cover the initial expenses then some. By the time I need more, we should have stud fees. Perhaps we can win a few races.” She paused thinking about the funds there. “I’m not at all certain that Link considers that money my dowry though.”

Michael leaned back, his hands resting on the desk while he played with the pen twirling the stem between his fingers. “Don’t suppose it matters. Link made the notion clear to me, whatever money you needed would be supplied. The question now is what type of homes do you wish to build.”

He watched the play of emotions across her delicate face as she thought about his question.

“Yes, well, they cannot be too fancy. They need to have a floor as well as two bedrooms and a kitchen, of course, a living area.”

“Much fancier than anything they live in now. Have you seen the hovels they call home? I suppose I should have made improvements. However, the money was not there nor the permission. I’ve spent the last five years bringing the plantation up to standard. We’ve just begun to make a profit. Your uncle ran the place into the ground.”

Michael watched her move around the room. The soft swish of her skirts gave him ideas he shouldn’t have. She was graceful. Her hips rounded while her breasts were small. He wondered what color the tips were. He guessed a soft enticing pink.

She turned to face him. “I understand. Before my sister and brother-in-law left, Link made arrangements for the construction of the homes. The building should begin tomorrow. I do expect you to oversee this.”

“What will you do with the overseer? The man who makes sure the slaves do their jobs?”

The man was evil. Once he discovered the man’s true nature, he meant to fire him. Had not done so yet. The arrival of the Stewarts put a stop to much of what he planned. “You need to get rid of the man. I was making plans. Since you are taking control of the reins, so to speak, I suppose you will wish to see him.”

“No, I don’t wish to see Raynard or speak to him. My interest is with the racing along with the stud farm. You will tell the man not to come back. Give him a reasonable severance. Since there will be no more slaves, we will have no use for his services or his violence. I wish I could ask you to write some type of letter that would acknowledge his credentials. I can’t.”

“No, I would gag on the words. If you commanded me to do so, that would be my first act of disobedience. In most things I can be loyal. In that I cannot.”

He watched her for a reaction to his words. Commanding men, for her, would not be possible. She was such a tiny, delicate slip of a woman. No man would take orders from her.

“Don’t expect obedience necessarily. I do, however hope you will continue to give me an honest opinion. I know horses. I don’t know anything about the workings of a plantation.”

“Very well, advice I’ve plenty of. Shall we start with the freeing of Old Suzzy then Timmie so we can see how that will go?”

He was eager to begin this new chapter for Mayfair Hall. In time, all would come together as planned including the seduction of Miss Clare Carter-Brown. She could deny the fact until hell froze over. Nevertheless, she would be his by autumn, before she turned twenty-one if possible.

“Yes, that would be a good idea. After that will you show me around the plantation, especially the slave’s homes?”

“I will call for Old Suzzy.”

He stood then rang the bell that would bring the slave to the office, the soon to be servant. Michael understood the old woman would not be pleased simply because she wouldn’t understand. This was the only life she knew. The woman had been born here. She would believe she’d done something wrong. His wording would have to be impeccable.

“She will be here in just a moment.” He stood behind the desk. Clare appeared resigned to the fact that now he held the power. “Would you like me to tell her or would you appreciate the privilege?”

“Perhaps you should. It’s been seven years since I’ve been at Mayfair Hall. Old Suzzy has taken orders from you while I was gone. If I tell her she is now a free woman, she will not believe her ears nor will she understand the implications to her new life.”

Her voice was so calm and quiet the sound quite discomfited him.

To Michael, Clare seemed too damn serene when there should be a modicum of anxiety building. What she was about to do would have all the slaves on tenterhooks until they figured out what was now happening to them. It would also rally the town’s people along with the other plantation owners against her. “If that’s what you would like.”

He tapped the pen he’d been toying with on top of the desk. Wished to whistle while he watched Clare’s face turn pale with what he assumed would be anxiety. Well, hell, her skin was white to begin with. Now her skin appeared to be a death mask.

Old Suzzy walked into the room. When she looked between them, her face paled, if that was at all possible, the earlier smile vanishing. She clasped her hands in front of her. “Massa,” she whispered her eyes drawing together. “Di’ I do somethin’ wrong?”

Michael sent Clare a look she might not appreciate. While he expected this, Clare did not. “Perhaps you would like to sit.”

She dropped another shade closer to white. Old Suzzy sat, her fingers gripping the poor chair so tight the pressure turned her knuckles even whiter than her face. “Massa?”

“Rest easy, Old Suzzy. You’ve done nothing wrong. We want to give you a bit of good news,” Clare said softly.

Her voice seemed to ease some of the suffocating tension swirling around in the tiny space.

Well, it seemed she couldn’t keep her nose out of this situation. Clare touched the old woman on the shoulder if that tiny gesture could reassure her. The lady stiffened with the contact.

Might as well get this over with. “We, Clare and I…” he pointed to her.

She stiffened slightly tilting her tiny chin into the air. He cleared his throat.

“Neither one of us likes slavery. Another person should not own people. We plan on changing the plantation from farming to racing. In this case, we will have no need of slaves to keep the place running.”

Old Suzzy promptly put her hand to her forehead. Her old eyes going vague and hazy, she slid from the chair to pool on the floor, her body still.

“Oh my God!” Clare blurted before she rushed to her.

She felt the woman’s forehead. “She fainted? Is that a good or bad sign? Tears are running down her cheeks.”

“A bad sign.” Shaking his head at his stupidity, Michael strode swiftly to the kitchen to retrieve a basin of water along with a soft cloth. By the time he returned, Old Suzzy was sitting in a more comfortable chair moaning emitting gut wrenching sobs. Clare shot him a glance that pretty much told him what she thought. He’d gone about telling her about her freedom all wrong. The woman must have assumed he meant to sell her to another plantation.

Well hell! He jabbed his hands through his thick, dark red hair. Hair so dark it was nearly chestnut in color.

He crouched down in front of her, taking her elderly leathered hands in his. “We aren’t going to sell you. Clare and I want to give you your freedom. We will pay you for working here, for serving us just as you’ve been doing for years and yes, years. You deserve more for your loyalty than being sold to another person.”

Yes, she did merit more from them. He would contrive some way to give her something she would cherish as much as her freedom.

Blank, foggy, deep brown eyes stared at him. Apparently, she didn’t believe those words. Either that or she didn’t truly understand what his words meant. He would have to elaborate more.

“Don’t want to work for anyone else.” After what seemed an eternity, she was finally able to speak. “Want to stay here.”

“You aren’t going anywhere, Suzzy, unless you want to. This is your home for as long as you wish it to be so.”

“I don’t understand. I’m a free woman, Suh?”

Surrounded by his hands her bony fingers were shaking. She was thin and frail. If she had to leave, she would die.

“Does that please you? Your duties will be the same. The only difference is that you will now be paid to perform them,” Clare said coming around to stand in front of her, her smile huge. “You can have a new home with the other people who choose to stay or you can remain in your room on the third floor. Where you want to live is your choice.”

It still appeared she didn’t comprehend all they told her. “You no going to kick me out? I’ve choices?”

“No and yes,” Clare said softly tears spiking her lashes. “You’re important to me. I remember when you used to help Sophie when Uncle William hit her.”

Old Suzzy grinned back. “I want to keep my room. What will I do with the money you pay me? Never been paid before.”

“No, don’t suppose you have.” Michael grinned, relieved now that she seemed to grasp her new situation. “You can do with the money you are paid whatever you wish. If you like, the first time you’re paid I’ll drive you into town. You might like a new dress or a bonnet.”

She was nodding her head as if she thought over her new situation in addition was well pleased. “My children and my grandchildren will be freed too?” Her smile grew huge then suddenly she frowned. “What if they want to leave? You can’t give ‘em dat choice. ‘Day can’t leave me.”

“Free men and women can go where they please. I couldn’t stop them. You would have another choice to make,” Clare said thoughtfully. “I hope they choose to remain with us.”

“May I go tell them?” she asked seemingly eager to spread the news. She stood, still a bit shaky around the knees, quickly sitting down.

“No,” Michael picked up her hands again. “That is something I must do. This will come as a huge shock to some. Just as you didn’t believe the good fortune, there will be others who don’t understand. Can I trust you to keep the secret for a few days?”

She nodded.

“Good. I promise you won’t have to wait long. Now, you’re done for the evening. Clare and I are going to take a stroll to the stables. Want to talk to Timmie next. Perhaps I will contrive a better way to give him the message.”

Yes, he hoped he could figure this out. Timmie would be embarrassed if he fainted.

A few seconds later Old Suzzy vanished up the steps to her room. Clare looked at him. He grinned ignoring the fact he bumbled the first telling of the news that would certainly shock the surrounding planters.

He held up his hands, laughing, “I know I did an atrocious job. Doubt if you could have done better. This freeing business is not going to be easy to explain. However, I’m more than eager to begin.”

“No, I don’t suppose the telling will be at all easy,” Clare agreed with him, amusement clearly seen on her generous mouth. “I could not have done better.”

He strode from behind the desk, holding his hand out to her, “Should we go see Timmie. If you think you can do better, please be my guest.”

“Perhaps you’ve learned from your mistake.” She laughed softly tilting her chin to look into his eyes. “If given the chance, I’m certain I would bungle the job worse.”

“That is what I thought.”

Her silver-gray eyes sparkled with amusement. As he watched they turned bluer.

Good lord, her hand felt so small, her fingers wound between his larger ones. The feeling was right. God, how he wanted her. When he looked at her the need to pull her into his arms for a kiss seared him. They needed to discuss her return to Leslie Hall before he did something he might come to regret. He didn’t think he could stay away from her when she was one door away from him.

It was late afternoon. Heat still buffeted the soft grass around Mayfair Hall. Timmie would be tending the horses. They stepped inside. The air was cool, dark, shaded from the afternoon sun. Clare found the pail holding apple slices and carrots. Without paying heed to him, she approached Duster first. She rubbed his nose then whispered something to him. With greed, he took the food offerings before he nudged her. If he didn’t know better, the horse grinned. She stopped at Gypsy next. He deliberated what she told him. Ah, but he had to find Timmie. He wondered what he would say to the lad that wouldn’t frighten him to eternity.

Timmie was mucking out Jingle Bell’s stall. He pondered on who could have given the little mare that atrocious name. The perpetrator must have been one of Link’s many children since the mares came with the Stewarts. One evening, a glass of brandy in his hand, a glass of wine in Sophie’s, she told him all about Link’s children. How he adopted and loved all of them. The man had a heart of gold. The children were ones who had no home. Link provided love as well as shelter and food, all the necessities. The other mare that came with Clare was Maid Marion. In his mind it was a much better name.

“You about finished, Timmie?”

Michael rested one arm on the stall. He went over in his mind what he did wrong with Old Suzzy in his explanation. There had to be a better way. He should have explained her life wasn’t going to change. Well, of course, everything she knew as well as expected would change.

Timmie nodded. “Just about ready to head for home. My stomach is rumbling hard. Practically smell dinner. He closed his eyes, my ma’s a mighty fine cook. What do you need?”

Michael paused thinking and thinking, trying to form words that wouldn’t terrify the lad. Well, the lad was nearing seventeen. He supposed Timmie was very nearly a man now.

“First, I don’t want you to panic when I start speaking. You will always have a place at Mayfair. This will always be your home if you wish it to be. Clare will always need you to tend to her magnificent horses. Your duties will remain the same.”

“Panic?” His eyes widened with apprehension. “Don’t know what you are getting at, Suh.”

“Promise me you won’t lie down and start wailing or I won’t give you the good news. Don’t want to see you pounding your fists on the floor. I promise you the news will make you howl with delight.”

Timmie nodded slowly, his breath seeming to be held tightly inside his chest.

Michael thought that to be a very good sign. “Would you like to be a free man, Timmie? Clare and I can do that for you. If you want to stay and work with the mares as well as the studs, I will pay you decent wages. If you want to race Duster and Gypsy, you can do so. In that case a portion of the winnings will be yours.”

When the man didn’t dissolve into hysteria, Michael was pleased with himself.

Though the young man’s eyes seemed to be crossing while his smile grew fat. Perhaps he was getting the hang of the telling. For tomorrow he would work on his delivery. It would be the last time. He would have to make certain all understood their choices.

When Timmie sat on a stool, tears streaming from his eyes, Michael wasn’t at all certain he did it right this time either. Mayhap he patted himself on the back a bit too soon.

“Why are you crying, Timmie? I would think you would be happy, perhaps dancing a jig or two. Do you want to remain a slave? A man should never be another person’s property.”

He thought maybe his words were too harsh. Michael couldn’t imagine anyone not…well hell, the youngun’ had to be happy.

“Never been happier, Suh.” He sniffed before wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his sleeve.

“Good, good then,” Michael patted Timmie on the shoulder, relief swamping him although now he didn’t know what else to say. “Perhaps you could tender this happiness with something other than tears. Perhaps shoot me a big smile? Dance a jig?”

“Can I tell my ma and pa?” Timmie did grin. He smiled so wide his white teeth flashed; the missing tooth quite evident. “You goin’ to free dem too? Every one of us?”

“No, Timmie not yet, not today. We do plan on freeing all the slaves. However, first we must build everyone a new home. Tomorrow, Timmie, we will have a meeting with everyone who lives on Mayfair lands. We will find out then how many people are staying so we will understand how many houses we will have to create for all our new tenants. No one will go into the fields. I’ll be there before dawn to make sure of that. We will celebrate.”

“I’ll see to it dat we have lots of rum punch,” Timmie said with lighthearted laughter. “If dat’s okay with you.”

Ah, so they were able to get to the rum punch. He’d have to think about someone confiscating the rum from the house. The thought of anyone sneaking inside to filch it stole his breath. Raynard would never allow the slaves rum. Yes, he’d have to think about that some more. Now that they were free, they could have all the rum they could afford to buy.

“I’ll see that my cook supplies the rum punch. We won’t drink too much though. Everyone will get a cup, no more.” If they celebrated their new freedom too hard, he’d have a lot of drunk men to contend with.

The scream he heard next ripped him apart. It was Clare. She was screaming again and again. His big body shivered with terror as the sensation raced through to his heart. What the devil was happening? She was supposed to be close by listening and evaluating his performance. His breath caught while he tried to understand. Nothing made sense. Timmie and Michael rushed from the stables toward the loud yelling.

She sounded as if she were dying. His heart lurched to his throat. His booted feet pounded the hard earth. He was terrified. The shrieks didn’t stop. He ran and ran, Timmie behind him, the lad’s boots pounding along with his against the hard dirt. When did she leave the stables? Why did she leave him to contend with this by himself? He thought she would be there for him to give advice as she did with Old Suzzy.

What he saw made his blood curdle. His stomach rolled in endless waves of agony. A young woman, one of the black slaves, was strung up, her hands above her head. Her clothing was torn, welts from Raynard’s whip lacerated her tiny body. Clare was on her knees in front of the girl, her arms crossed to shield her face. She must have tried to stop him from beating the girl to death. Raynard sent the whip against Clare, hitting her while she tried desperately to grab the leather from his hands. As she turned from him to protect herself, he saw that Raynard hit her back twice, the fabric of her gown torn by the stinging weapon. Blood pooled on her shirt. He must have hit her again in the front after she turned. She clutched her shirt with her fingers to hold the material together.

“Stop! Stop it now!” Michael roared as he raced faster toward the man.

He should have fired the man months ago. What the devil was going on here? Timmie ran behind him. Michael’s rage was beyond anything he’d ever felt before. How dare this man hit an innocent woman?

When he reached Raynard, he hauled back his fist hitting him square on the jaw. The man crumpled. His large body sprawled on the ground. He hoped he broke his jaw. Michael turned to Timmie. “Run, fetch Mammy Jo, tell her what happened here. She’ll know what to do. Find someone who can carry the girl back to her home. I’ll have Old Suzzy go to her with some healing cream as soon as possible.”

This tiny black girl couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. Why was Raynard punishing her? What could she have possibly done to deserve a beating? The overseer strung her up by her hands then laid into her with his whip. She was bared to her waist, her tiny breasts exposed for everyone to see.

Michael turned kneeling in front of Clare. He pushed sodden hair away from her face. She looked up, her eyes filled with pain as well as tears that fell on her lashes. “Cut her down, please. Cover her with something.” Clare’s voice trembled.

She got the words out before she moaned softly obviously giving in to her pain.

His hands fumbling with the ropes, he released the black girl. She fell to the ground, weak from the loss of blood. Timmie slipped off the shirt he wore then covered her exposed body with it. Michael covered Clare with his jacket. “I’ll find out what happened here. Can you tell me?” he asked wishing he knew her name.

“I refused him,” was all the girl said as she huddled, her arms crossed in front of her while she clung to the shirt.

Yes, he heard the rumors that Raynard eased himself with the slaves. For some reason, he hadn’t believed the gossip. He was stupid. Of course, the man would believe they were his to do with as he pleased. They were property after all. In time, she would be all right. The wounds would heal. He didn’t know if her mind would recover. She’d been maliciously abused. No one, not even a slave deserved treatment such as this. After tomorrow there would be no slaves on Mayfair.

Well, hell…

Michael hauled Raynard to his feet, his fist ready to slug the man again. This man deserved the punishment and more.

The man blinked at him several time. He looked confused. Appeared to not understand his fury. “What are you so fired angry about? She’s just a little black whore. They are all the same, all harlots willing to give a man their body for something in return. Meant to be used by whites. When I’m done with her, she’ll spread her legs for me.”

Gritting his teeth together in his rage, he tried to calm himself, said the words as slowly as possible. “Get off Mayfair land now. Pack your things and leave immediately. Send someone here who can tell me where you will be staying in the village. I will see that you are paid through the month. If you know what is good for you, don’t ever let me see you again.”

Michael didn’t ever remember being so angry he shook. The man had the audacity to wield his whip against Clare.

Clare held out her hand to him. He pulled her to her feet. She moaned softly. Staring hard at Clare, she said, “You will explain yourself after I’ve seen to the lacerations. He could have killed you. Why didn’t you call for me or run back to get help? You knew I was close by. For that matter, why did you leave the stable?”

“Mr. Flannigan, I’m here.”

The woman calling out was Mammy Jo. She stopped running when she saw the girl huddled on the ground, clutching Timmie’s shirt. “Juney? Oh my. I brought Big Tom. He’s going to carry Juney home. Don’t you worry about Juney here. I’ll tend to her. She’ll be fine. Do you need help with your little lady?”

She fussed over the girl even when Juney was in Big Tom’s arms burying her head in the enormous man’s shoulder.

“No, I’ll take her back to the house then tend to her myself.” After that he would lecture her on her folly.

~ * ~

Biff Gideon and Busby Turnpin sat in the Deer Head Ale house sipping on the latest draught of ale created by the owner. Biff thought the brew was delicious. He ordered another pint. The owner experimented with different draughts monthly. Some creations were good, some not so tasty. This was one of his best. Two large pretzels sat on a platter along with what looked to be delicious crab cakes. There were bowls of hot melted cheese to dip the pretzels. Biff thought he’d died then gone to heaven, everything tasted so delicious. Heaven wouldn’t take him. He knew that. Still, he could dream while he filled his stomach. He did so love to eat.

“Heard Link Stewart and his harlot bride left her sister in Virginia,” Busby pointed out. “You remember the girl, Sophie? She used to take lovers to that cottage on their land. Brinkmeyer, her uncle never knew how to stop her. She wore harlot gowns, painted her face so she looked the hussy. Never understood why Stewart married her. He could have just taken her then left her when he grew bored. Doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah, I remember. She painted her face just like the women who work at Miss Bessy’s place outside of town. Her dresses showed so much that if one looked close you could see most of her all the way to her pretty little navel.”

“Saw Clare just this afternoon. Her face wasn’t painted. She wasn’t wearing a dress that showed off her womanly charms. Ah, too bad. She’s a pretty little thing. Not much bigger than a minute. Kind a like my women to have a bit more to hold on to if you get my drift.” Busby pointed out while he chewed on a crab cake. “Don’t think the younger sister is anything like Sophie. She looks sweet to me.”

“You don’t think she’s like her sister?” Biff asked as drool pooled behind his lips.

He didn’t have to think very hard about Clare being naked and beneath him, all that soft white flesh in his hands. While his imagination zoomed in on the thought, his groin throbbed heating with raw desire. He was going to have to make a trip to Miss Bessy’s place this afternoon. He tossed back his ale then pulled off a chunk of the pretzel before dipping the end in the melted cheese while he tried to calm his unruly body. Thoughts of Clare clouded his brain. Desperately he wanted her. He would have her.

“You mean a whore?” Busby tossed back his head then hooted with unrestrained laughter. “Nah, she’s a pretty little thing. While Brinkmeyer was alive he kept her all gussied up in little girl clothes. She wasn’t anything like her sister then although she could be now. Things like that tend to run in families. We should find out.”

“Clare Carter-Brown was a little girl at the time. Did you see her in town the other day? She’s a grown woman now. What I saw was a little flirt asking for a man to have his way with her. Why that manager of hers picked her up by the waist before helping her mount that stallion she was riding. He had this light of possessiveness shining in his eyes. Men don’t think that way about a woman unless he’s taken her. Mark my words that sweet little girl is no longer a virgin. I’d bet on that fact.”

Biff was thinking that he’d like to see what she was willing to give to him that she was giving Flannigan. That little house where Sophie took her lovers was still standing.

She would be so soft and white pure as the driven snow. Her pretty white tits with pink tips would be big enough to fill his hands. Pure lust surged to his man parts. He groaned with the pleasure of it all.

“You thinking you’d like to be the stallion she was sitting on top of?” Busby chortled. “I know I would like nothing better than a good ride with her. We could share. What do you think of that?

“Wouldn’t you like to pretend you’re a stallion?”

Once more Biff thought about her creamy breasts tipped in soft pink. Yeah, he’d keep her for himself. It didn’t even matter to him if she was well used. Flannigan probably had her already. He would share with Busby since his friend was clearly interested. “Don’t mind sharing my women.”

“Think we should ride on out there to see for ourselves if she’s willing and warm? We should flip a coin to see who gets her first. What do you say?”

“Sounds like a mighty fine idea to me.”