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Maria's
greys were pounding behind him, ears and tails flat, nostrils
dilated and sweat creaming their hides. Now they were shoulder to
shoulder with the blacks. The spinning wheels grated as they
touched for a jarring second, and then broke free as they took the
home stretch, galloping together.
    Suddenly his
whip cracked and Maria felt a burning sensations as it struck her
shoulder. A fractional blow that could have been intended for his
team, but he was too skilful for that and she knew it was meant for
her. Surprise mingled with fury that he would have dared and yet,
deep down, she thrilled at the kiss of the lash. His blacks reached
the finishing post just in front of her greys. They slewed to a
halt and the crowd shouted and cheered.
    The groom was
there to take the horses and Maria leapt down nimbly, though her
shoulder still stung and she intended to take her opponent to task.
She took off her hat, shook out her hair and peeled off her gloves
in rapid succession, too annoyed to pay much attention to the group
of beaux who quickly surrounded her, all smiling and
congratulatory. Arabella was with them.
    'Darling, you
did very well,' she enthused.
    Maria refused
to be mollified. 'He beat me!' she snapped, humiliated by her
defeat. 'Not only that, he caught me with his whip and I'm sure it
was deliberate.'
    'Ah, maybe.
Come and meet him.'
    'Must I? I'm
hot and sweaty and in need of a change of clothing.' Maria had
never been more reluctant, yet her curiosity about him was
boundless.
    Arabella
slipped an arm through hers, saying as they walked towards the
group gathered round the winner, 'I'm sure he won't object to
this.'
    They reached
him and Maria found herself coming under the scrutiny of ice-blue
eyes set in the most handsome face she had ever seen. Every resolve
to complain about his use of the whip melted away. Longing filled
her as he reached out his hand, took hers and, bowing, placed a
kiss on the back of it. His lips seemed to scorch her skin.
    'You did
well,' he said, in a deep voice the cadences of which seemed to
ripple along her nerves and connect with her sex. 'A worthy
contender in every way.'
    Arabella
stepped forward, smiling and saying, 'Maria, meet your guardian,
Viscount Damien Strafford.'
     

Chapter 3
     
    Just for a
moment Maria lost her grip on reality. The stranger who had just
bested her before a crowd and had had the nerve to take his whip to
her, was none other than her legal guardian.
    She had
expected him to be at least as old as her father, but this was a
man in his prime, not yet thirty perhaps, virile and handsome, with
fierce eyes and an arrogant manner. A far cry from anything she had
visualised, even in her wildest dreams.
    It was a
second before she remembered to dip into a curtsy, daring to glance
up and stammer, 'I had no idea...'
    'That was how
I wished it to be. We organised it very well, your aunt and I.
Don't you agree?' His tone was light and he retained possession of
her hand for a fraction longer than was necessary. In his eyes she
read volumes - appraisal - interest - a challenge.
    She rose to
her full height, spine stiff, chin tilted at a stubborn angle. 'I
do not agree, sir. It was a cruel trick to play. Could you not have
introduced yourself to me first?'
    His black
brows swooped down in a frown and his eyes were like Arctic ice.
'You presume too much. You are in my hands until you are of a
responsible age, and will do as I say, even in such paltry matters
as this.'
    'You're not my
father!' she stormed, filled with indignation. 'You can't tell me
what to do.'
    'Indeed and I
can, young lady. You are my ward and as such must regard me as
having the authority of a parent.'
    'That's not
fair!' she ranted, glaring at him and then at Arabella.
    'Very little
in life is fair, as you will discover as you go on,' he observed
cynically.
    'You deuced
lucky dog, Damien!' one of his raffish companions exclaimed,
digging him in the ribs. 'Damme, I wish I had a ward half