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

Mistress. I certainly don’t want a man who can only stomach the thought of touching me in a desperate moment of weakness better quickly forgotten.”
    “Of course not,” she murmured, smoothing her hand through his hair. “You deserve more than that, Cole. I swore I’d take care of anything you might need, and I shall.”
    “I don’t understand why you set me free in the first place.” He kept his head buried against her, muffling his words, but each one sank like a barbed arrow straight to her heart. “I don’t want to be free, Mistress.”
    “You need more than I can give you.” And I can’t bear to make you watch me die a slow, agonizing death.
    “I need you more than another man, Mistress. Please. You’re my sun and my sustenance, the very air I breathe. Tell me to drop dead at your feet and I shall but don’t send me away from you, please. Keep Arthur, I don’t mind. Just keep me too.”
    What could she say that might allow him some assurance? The last thing she wanted was for this dear boy to waste away at her bedside while she coughed up her lungs and slowly expired. I can’t bear to let him think I don’t love him as much as I do.
    “We shall see, all right?” She cupped his cheek and pressed her forehead to his, letting him see the tears in her eyes. “I love you dearly, Cole. It’s hurt me more than I ever imagined to give you your freedom. But I can’t explain the entire situation to you at this time. Please, trust me to do everything I can to see to your wellbeing and happiness as long as I’m able.”
    His eyes narrowed and she feared she’d said too much. No one knew she was ill besides the Queen. That’s the way she preferred it. She wouldn’t have even told Majel, except no one refused Her Majesty without a death wish. I have nothing to fear in that regard, for my death has already been signed, sealed and delivered.
    “The Duchess of Blackmyre is able to do a great many things. If you can break a wild stallion to your hand, then you can surely keep this mischievous pony in your stable too.”
    Relieved that he didn’t push for answers she wasn’t ready to give, she smiled and tugged gently on his hair. “Speaking of mischievous ponies, what did you find out about the sweet Mr. Wellesley who introduced himself to me at Vauxhall’s the other night?”
    “It seems that he has an unusual penchant for sneaking away at dawn for an old-fashioned horseback ride in Hyde Park.” Cole grinned, and a very adorable dimple flashed in his cheek. “Alone.”
    Violet sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile of her own. Arthur looked too much like the young man she’d met that night to not be related, and the old hag Wellington would certainly be the type to kick Arthur out of his own House and abandon him to the mercy of slavers in order to prevent a scandal. I just need confirmation that Mr. Wellesley has an older brother or cousin named Arthur. “How unfortunate for him. I dearly hope some wicked lady doesn’t compromise the dear boy.”
    “Shall I ready your mount at the crack of dawn tomorrow, Your Grace?”
    “Absolutely. Let’s also see if Dottie’s free for a little pre-dawn romp. I believe she still has a highwayman’s costume that we might find useful.”
     
     
    Swathed in a black hooded cape, Dottie chased the wild-eyed doe straight into Blackmyre’s clutches. She pretended surprise at encountering his galloping flight and immediately drew her weapon. The latest and deadliest version of technology that Britannia had to offer, the deceptively slim lazor could slice a man in half with a flick of her wrist. “Halt in the name of the Queen!”
    Dottie drew her gray to a sliding halt, fired a playful shot into the air from her ancient gunpowder pistol, and quickly high-tailed it back to bed. Hopefully to a warm and willing partner.
    “Are you unharmed, sir?” Violet sheathed the blade and turned to the white-faced young man. “Wellesley, isn’t it? I remember you