To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield (15 page)

Harlow was minus jacket and waistcoat. His fine linen shirt was undone at the neck and she could see a glimpse of his tanned and muscular chest. He looked as wild and virile as his stallion. His hair flew about his face emphasizing the primalness of man versus beast. Pure masculinity. Pure danger.

And he was danger personified in more ways than one. She was in danger of not caring about the race. All she could remember was what it had felt like when he’d made love to her, and how she longed for him to do it again.

Panic rose swiftly—followed by bone-chilling fear, and blood-red fury.
 

She drew
Ace of Spades
to a halt a safe distance from Harlow’s mystery stallion, not prepared to risk her horse to a kick or bite. She could see the whites of its eyes. Ace would have to run the race of his life to beat this creature.

“Who is this?” she asked coldly.

“Don’t come too close,” Dangerfield said. “
Hero
is likely to challenge another stallion.” The stallion reared as he spoke. “I’ve had my trainer training him for the Two-Thousand Guineas race at Newmarket. He’s been down at my estate in Devon. I was trying to keep him a secret.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Really? You haven’t suddenly purchased a horse just to beat me? I’m not sure that would be fair.”

“Ask Henry,” he replied, obviously affronted at her suggesting he would cheat.

She looked over to where Henry sat upon his horse. He nodded. “Harlow’s owned
Hero
since he was a colt.”

The sting of misplaced pride soured her mouth, making swallowing difficult. She’d assumed she’d be racing against
Champers
. This giant, black beast was something altogether different.

Harlow sent her a look that would freeze a warm bath. “Let’s get the race over with. Then we can get on with our lives.”
 

“I should have known you’d pull something like this.” Anger scored through her words like vicious claws.

He swung the stallion back around to face her, his angry gaze making his eyes almost as dark as his horse’s glossy coat. “I have done nothing underhand. I can’t help it if you dared me without specifying which horse I was to race. Stop behaving like a spoilt brat. You wanted this race, not me, and by God, you’ll have it. Then we shall end this stupidity and do what we should have been done the night you barged into my house. Marry.”

His harsh words, spoken in front of his friends, hurt. He was like a stranger. Any hint of feelings for her hidden under a blanket of formality. Well, if that’s what he wanted…
 

She swung her horse away and trotted to the starting line.

At the line, Dangerfield could barely hold
Hero
still. The stallion was at least two hands taller than
Ace of Spades
. He’d have a longer stride. However,
Hero
carried more weight. Caitlin’s gaze swept over Dangerfield’s massive frame. They would be very evenly matched. As, she admitted, were she and Harlow—damn him. Both stubborn, full of pride, and determined to be the victor. She could hardly blame him for being exactly like her. A queer shiver swept over her tensed muscles.
 

Marcus stood at the line. “On my count of one you will race.” He paused, and then proceeded to count down. “Three, two,
one
...”

As the word “one” left Marcus’s mouth, she urged Ace forward. He leapt to her touch, his head out-stretched, eager to run.

And run he did. Caitlin felt as though she rode a storm, the scenery a blur about her. She prayed Ace would handle the soft ground. She’d not really tested him in the wet. She gave him free rein, but out of the corner of her eye she could see
Hero
keeping pace beside her. Only time would tell which horse would tire first.

They were only moments from rounding Barr Beacon, a small cluster of waist-high stones. The horse closest to the stones when he took the turn would have the advantage. Caitlin intended it to be Ace. At what she judged to be the perfect moment she gathered the reins for the turn, and rose up slightly in her stirrups to help her stallion get more speed.
 

Then it happened. On one breath they were approaching the turn on a lean. On the next breath she felt a jerk, like something breaking, and she was flying, slipping sideways, her feet still in her stirrups, the reins tearing from her hands.

She heard herself scream, saw the ground coming at her with dizzying speed, felt an explosion of pai—

Powerless to do anything, Dangerfield could only watch as the nightmare played out in front of him. Watch her slide sideways, her saddle with her. Hear her scream. See her hit the ground with a sickening thump.
 

He’d begun to rein
Hero
in the instant he saw Caitlin was in trouble—not an easy task when the stallion was in full flight. But terror for her gave him the strength he needed to bring the horse to a rearing stop no more than six paces from where his heart lay entangled in her saddle.
 

He leapt from
Hero
’s back and ran to where she lay, her face white, and with blood seeping from a wound on her temple. Was her chest moving? He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding when he saw it lift, and then fall only to lift again.
 

Choking with guilt he dropped to his knees and gently eased her upright into the cradle of his arms. He’d done this to her—his damned pride and so-called honor—and it should never have happened. He should have forced Jeremy to meet with her. Forced them to sort it out. But he hadn’t. He’d been having too much fun battling his wits against hers. And now she was paying the price.

Henry and Marcus thundered up and reined in beside him. Henry dismounted, crossed to where Dangerfield sat, and put a careful hand on Caitlin’s neck. “She’s still alive, thank God. And her pulse is steady. Let’s get her home.”

“I’ll go for Doctor Spencer and meet you at Telford.” Marcus didn’t wait for confirmation; he turned his horse and galloped off.

Dangerfield hardly heard him. “God, Henry. If she dies—” Anguish gripped his insides like a claw-trap.
 

“She’s not going to die.” Henry took Caitlin’s chin in one hand and carefully turned her head. “Look, she’s had a nasty knock on her temple, but she’s a fighter. She took you on.”

But even fighters lose. “She feels so tiny, so fragile. I’ve made such a mess of this.”

Henry nodded. “You have. But now you’re going to put it right.” He moved away from Dangerfield and began to untangle Caitlin’s legs from the stirrups and saddle. “We’ll get her patched up, and when she’s feeling better, you’ll sit her down with Jeremy and sort this situation out. Then you’ll announce your engagement.”

Dangerfield cradled her tighter against his chest and loosened his hold with an oath when Caitlin gave a groan. “Just help me get her back to Telford. I’ll have to ride your horse. I won’t be able to control
Hero
while holding her. Can you ride him back instead?”

Henry didn’t answer immediately. He was frowning down at the saddle. “This doesn’t make sense. The girth’s been cut.”

An odd sensation speared deep in Dangerfield’s gut. “What?”

“The girth’s been cut.” Henry shook his head as though he was dislodging an annoying fly. “Look, let’s worry about this later. Let’s just get her home. Give her to me. I’ll hand her up once you’ve mounted.”

“Someone cut her girth?” Dangerfield felt each word stab him to the heart as he thought of the ramifications of such sabotage. “Are you sure?”
 

“You can look for yourself later. I’ll bring the saddle with me.” Henry took Caitlin from his arms and waited while Dangerfield stood up and then mounted the Earl’s docile gelding. “Someone has frayed the girth with a knife so it would break during the race. This isn’t a case of her not tightening the saddle properly. Her saddle has been deliberately sabotaged. Who would do such a—?
Jeremy
.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed and disgust dripped from every syllable. “It was Jeremy, wasn’t it? I know that’s who you suspect. Christ. He could have killed her.”

“I know that,” Harlow snapped as he settled himself in the saddle and reached down for Caitlin. “Don’t blame the boy. I dangled his dream in front of him. I delivered him Mansfield Manor only to put it in jeopardy by wagering it again.”

Henry lifted Caitlin into Harlow’s waiting arms. “That doesn’t excuse this and you know it. She could have been killed.”

“A fact I shall make Jeremy well aware of. But I carry the majority of blame. I should have never agreed to the wager but,”—and he bent to place a tender kiss on Caitlin’s forehead—“I couldn’t resist her. I wanted her and as she despised me, the wager was the only way I could think of to spend time with her.” He stroked the hair back from her beautiful face with an unsteady hand and whispered, “I just never expected to fall in love with her.”

“I know.” Henry’s smile was both understanding and grim. “Go. Don’t wait for me. It may take me a while to tame
Hero
, and then I’ll send someone out to find
Ace of Spades
and bring him to Telford. Don’t worry about anything else for now. Just get her home.”

Dangerfield’s hands were still unsteady as, alone in his library at Telford, he poured his second glass of brandy.
 

The doctor had examined Caitlin and confirmed that she had been unbelievably lucky. Nothing was broken. The head wound, and copious bruises were her only injuries. Although she was still unconscious, she murmured occasionally—a good sign, according to the doctor.
 

Lydia was sitting with her.
 

Dangerfield had just finished dealing with Jeremy.
 

The boy had confessed and was awash with guilt. His tears of remorse fell freely. He pleaded for Dangerfield to believe that he hadn’t meant to hurt Caitlin. Dangerfield
did
believe it. All the same, they’d had a man-to-man talk about honor, punishment, and responsibility for one’s actions, and the boy had left the study an hour later a wiser and deeply ashamed young man.
 

However, in spite of it all, Dangerfield was proud of him. Without any coaxing or need for threats Jeremy freely gave up his right to Caitlin’s house, and told Harlow to forfeit the race. He said he didn’t deserve Mansfield Manor after what he’d done. Harlow tended to agree.

He knew Jeremy was sincerely and genuinely remorseful. He just prayed Caitlin lived to forgive his brother. Her brother. A lifetime of guilt on top of Jeremy’s already tenuous position in Society would be a heavy burden to carry. But Jeremy, like his elder brother, had to face up to his mistakes.

He tossed back the brandy and prepared to face his greatest mistake. Caitlin Southall. He should have carried her off to Gretna Green that day at the pond. Surely, if he had abducted and married her she would not be lying unconscious upstairs. She couldn’t have hated him forever. He would have won her over, eventually.
 

He trod slowly up the grand staircase toward Caitlin’s room with an ache in his chest. He planned to stay by her side until she woke. Then he’d get down on his knees, offer her both Mansfield Manor, and his heart. He hoped they would be enough for her to forgive him.

He froze outside her door when he heard voices inside the room. When he entered and saw Caitlin sitting up in bed and talking, relief greater than anything he’d ever experienced shot through his veins.
 

He strode to her bedside and, with a growl, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

She didn’t respond as he had hoped. Instead, she pushed against his chest and, when he drew back, her hands moved from his chest to his face. “I’m assuming you’re Harlow?”

A sob beside him made him glance away to where his mother sat. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
 

“Who else would I—?” And the truth dawned, awakening horror and desperation. Turning back to Caitlin he looked into her exotic, pale-green eyes. They were empty. Blank. “Caitlin? Caitlin, I—””

“It’s all right, Harlow. Your mother has explained everything to me. How ironic. I now have my beloved house but”—a sob escaped from her lips and she clutched his shirt tightly as though she’d never let go—“now I can’t see it.”
 

And she broke down in his arms, in a flood of tears.

Chapter Eleven

It had been two days since the accident that had taken her sight, and Caitlin was determined to get out of bed this morning. She might be blind but she wasn’t sick.

Harlow fussed over her as if she were on her deathbed. She knew guilt was eating him, but this—her blindness—was not his fault.

She could understand his dilemma. He’d made Jeremy a promise and been sworn to secrecy. What else could he have done? He had to honor his word to his brother. To
her
brother. A smile settled on her lips. She had a brother! She was not alone any more.

The door to her bedchamber opened and a beloved voice said, “It’s nice to see a smile on those pretty lips.”