Thoroughly Seduced by Chantry Dawes
Prologue
Outside of London
December, 1813
Miss Birdie Darley urged her horse on as she stared at the other riders galloping away on their horses in front of her. They galloped on through the cold mists over the colorless heath.
She spit the cold mud out of her mouth and held the reins in one hand while she wiped the mud from her eyes.
She bent lower over her horse’s shoulders, rising off its back as its massive hooves raced over the churned-up earth.
All she could see were the back hooves and the haunches of the horses racing away with the lead.
“Thunder an’ turf!” she called out. “Run, Mo, run! We’ll not let this bunch of boasting, bamboozling boys beat us!”
She was surrounded tightly by the other racers. They penned her in, not letting her surge ahead like they knew she could.
Suddenly, one of them slashed their crop at her thigh encased in boy’s breeches.
A stinging pain raced from her knee to her hip. She hissed out a breath. It became a white cloud in the chilly air.
She looked over at the rider with narrowed eyes.
“Swallow your spleen! That was a slum skiver scunner of a thing to do!” she called out. When she was angry, she liked to use her beloved Great-Aunt Eggy’s old Scottish words.
She dug her booted heels into Mo’s sides and surged past the rider who had struck her, almost into the haunches of the horse in front of her.
More mud flew at her, spattering the arms of her woolen coat, her breeches and boots, and the cap covering all her hair. It was on her face, even on her lashes, and dripping from her eyebrows, making it hard to see.
Two more riders galloped up beside her and flanked her.
Too close!
They were crushing her legs against Mo’s sides.
“Run, Mo!” she begged her horse.
She felt her big horse’s hind end push even harder as Mo surged past those two racers as well.
The chaos of the race was deafening as the riders called out to their horses and to one another.
The sound of the many hooves pounding on the ground filled Birdie’s ears and made her heart rush with excitement.
She listened for Mo’s breaths through the chaos, and watched as his ears flicked back to her, listening for her voice. The big horse was eager. Birdie knew that they just needed an opening to get to the front, and then Mo would race ahead of all of them and they would win!
There were more horses ahead of her, though. She just needed to get out of the crush of riders!
She looked left and right, looking for a hole to guide Mo through.
The man riding to her left urged his horse dangerously closer. He knew what she wanted to do and used his whip to try to strike at Mo’s head.
Birdie screamed at him. “Don’t you dare hit my horse! Lud, you are cruel, callous, and cold-blooded!” She slashed at him with her own crop, knocking his longer crop out of his hand.
He yelped in pain and clutched at his hand.
“Run, Mo!” she called out as the man and his horse fell back.
Birdie guided Mo to the left and through the now open space.
They hurtled forward as even more mud pelted them. She lowered her shoulders and her head. She was trying to miss the worst of it as the thunder of hooves and the harsh breathing of the horses surrounded her.
She gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes, trying to see through her horse’s ears. The flying mud coming off the hooves in front of Mo did not seem to faze him. Mo liked to win as much as Birdie did. Birdie knew that Mo would do anything for her, just as she would for him. He ran on, his giant hooves eating up the ground.
A horse in front of her suddenly lifted his head. His rider, a young boy, called out and screamed as his horse went down. The horse slid sideways on a patch of wet mud onto his haunches as his rider flew off and rolled over and over on the ground. The boy rose and knelt there a moment, stunned.
Birdie whirled around as she raced past. “Are you hurt?” she called out.
She watched with relief as both the horse and rider rose from the ground. The boy waved her on. “Beat ’em all, Birdie!” he shouted.
Birdie dug her heels in and called out encouraging words to Mo.
The horse lowered its head as its shoulders stretched forward and its hind end pushed. Birdie moved effortlessly with him. The two had been a pair since Mo was a young colt.
Looking ahead of her, she saw the first of the hedge row jumps come into view.
Birdie gritted her teeth. The conditions were not the best for jumping. They had had some thawing this past week. The ground was perilous. It was muddy and slippery in some places, frozen and hard in others.
Only the best would make it now.
Mo sailed effortlessly over the first row of hedges. Birdie lifted, looking ahead to the ground below.
Her breath hissed out of her. The mud was beginning to freeze and she noticed that there were small patches of snow here and there. From the gray sky, fat snowflakes began to fall.
As Mo landed, she held the reins tighter, bringing his head up to help him rebalance, and off they raced.
There were only a few horses left in front of her now.
On they raced as she passed them. Mo jumped anything she aimed him at with ease and eagerness until, finally, there was only one rider in front of her as the snow began to fall.
The boys never wanted her to win the coins that they all had to toss into a hat to enter a race. The men were more ruthless. The rider ahead of her was the worst of them.
The winner took all, and Birdie liked to win.
She did not care that the men did not like that she wore breeches or a boy’s cap, or that she rode astride. Or that she was a better rider with a better horse than them. And won.
She caught up to the last rider.
The two horses galloped over the ground side by side. The other rider looked over at her, his face grim. He gave her a chilling, threatening smile as he lifted his crop and struck at her face. “Girl!” he spat out viciously as his whip hit her.
Birdie covered her face just as he was about to swing again, but instead, the rider reached down and yanked upwards on the leather strap of her girth, unbuckling it from Mo’s back.
Birdie felt the saddle sliding sideways. She quickly kicked out of her stirrups and leaned forward onto Mo’s neck as the saddle slid off and fell to the ground behind them.
The rider sneered back at her as he pressed his horse on faster.
Birdie sat back down, holding Mo’s sides with her legs as she continued to race on, bareback.
The two horses took the next jump side by side, but Mo’s thrust was stronger and he passed the other horse in the air, landing well ahead of him.
Birdie cheered and pushed him on, faster, and then faster as Mo’s huge strides ate up the ground. Within moments, she had crossed the finish line to win.
Later, after Birdie had put a wool rug on Mo’s back, the snow began falling in earnest. She was leading Mo through the crowd of racers when she passed the boy who had fallen.
“Are you able to get home? Tare an’ hounds but that was quite the fall you and your horse took!”
The boy blushed. “I am fine, as is my horse, Miss Birdie. I thank you, and congratulations on your win,” he said, doffing his cap to her. “Hold tight to your horse, now. Some have gone missing!”
“What do you mean some have gone missing?” she asked before he could walk away.
He pointed to a group of men and young boys. They were racers that had dropped out and left their horses with a groom so they could go back and watch the finish of the race. They were all shouting and agitated.
“Their horses are gone,” the boy said. “Stolen!”
Birdie stared at the angry crowd. There on the outskirts was the man she had beaten, the one who had unbuckled her girth.
She was lucky to be alive, no thanks to him.
He was also watching the crowd. His horse stood beside him, heaving with exhaustion, its flanks covered in whip marks.
Her mother’s words came to her. “’Tis the truth that a man that is neither kind nor gentle to an animal is not a man you should desire for a husband, or even an acquaintance for that matter.”
“Lud, that man is a mockit, mingin, manky, mauchit scunner,” she said to the boy.
“That is Davis, and I think he is a cheat,” the boy replied. “I think he gets away with it because his father is rumored to be some great general that fights Napoleon.” He shrugged as if that did not matter to him. “I’m glad that you beat him and won the money.”
“I am going to go have a word with that bowfin, boggin, bampot man.”
The boy looked at her quizzically. “I don’t know what all those odd words mean that you keep saying, but I would not bother with him.” He shrugged and looked over at the man. “He may be a fine man, like his father. I cannot say, and my ma would say that I should not have spoken ill of him.”
“’Tis foolish to give merit to a man that does not place others over himself. To me, that includes animals. All animals. Pish, just look at his poor horse!”
The boy shrugged. “As I said, I wouldn’t tangle with that one.” He looked up at the darkening sky. “I must get myself and my horse home, for the snow is coming down harder. Besides, I don’t want my horse to get stolen like those others! Some say they are being smuggled to Napoleon.” He shook his head at that, and then grinned at her, looking her over. “You are covered with mud and snowflakes, Miss Birdie. No one would take you for a girl now!”
The boy doffed his cap and walked away with a wave.
Birdie bit her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes as she stared through the falling snow at the man the boy had said was named Davis. She had raced him many times and beaten him always. Each time, however, he had tried something, and each time it had been worse. He was indeed a cheat.
She started leading Mo toward Davis. She knew that he was not that much older than herself, and he certainly did not look intimidating. Much less, she could not get over that his poor horse looked done in and he was not tending to him. She noticed he was speaking to a much older man whose back was to her.
Snippets of the older man’s words came to her.
“—the shallow inlet of the channel. ’Tis perfect for the ramp.”
Birdie frowned and paused in her steps as she tried to hear more, but the man abruptly stopped speaking. She began walking toward them again, determined to have a quick sharp word with Davis and then go see about those horses that were stolen. She needed to get Mo home before the snowstorm got worse.
The man named Davis turned toward her. She could see that he recognized her, for his face turned ominous. He smiled threateningly and took a step toward her. The older man he had been speaking to grabbed his arm and mumbled something, but Davis shook his hand off his arm and kept coming toward her.
Birdie did not falter in her steps, but continued determinedly toward him when suddenly, a massive dark horse cut her off. She peered up through the falling snow to see the outline of a rider in a great cloak whose collar was turned up high on his face. He also wore a top hat pulled down low. She could barely see him through the curtain of white falling snow.
“Move along, boy. You have no business here.” He waved her off.
Birdie frowned and shivered. She looked back to see that snow had begun to accumulate on Mo’s wool rug.
“Get your horse home, boy. There is nothing here to interest you. Go!”
Birdie took a step back at the warning in his voice. With a glance back at the big horse and the man, she turned towards home.