Marrying the Marquis (13 page)

“Sorry, darlin’, ye’ll sleep in yer own bed.”

“I’ll sleep here,” Rooney told her. “I’ve a cot in the last stall.”

“Puddles will guard you.”

“I want no one near this filly,” Ross instructed the jockey. “Ye give her the daily workout.”

Blaze crouched in front of her dog and stared into its eyes. When she stood, Puddles walked into the empty stall opposite the filly’s and curled up on a bale of hay.

Rooney grinned. “I’ll move my cot into the dog’s stall.”

“We’ll meet for practice the day after tomorrow,” Ross told him. “I’ve a feelin’ Blaze will distance communicate by then.”

Ross and Blaze left the stable and started down the path. Instead of returning to the house, they strolled across the lawns in the direction of the gazebo.

“Whoever stabbed Charlie wanted to hurt Peg,” Blaze said, unable to keep the worry out of her voice.

“Dinna fret aboot the filly.” Ross put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. “If necessary, I’ll sleep in the stable for the whole racin’ season.”

They climbed the gazebo’s steps and sat on the bench, the same place they’d sat only a week earlier. When she didn’t inch away from him, Ross mentally rubbed his hands together at the progress he’d made.

“Explain how ye came by this gift of yers,” Ross said. “Why is this animal refuge so important to ye?”

“I was born cursed, not gifted,” Blaze said, her soft voice tinged with bitterness. “I can make money by asking the horses which will win a race, but the downside overshadows my life.”

Ross stared at her. “What d’ye mean?”

“I feel their suffering and hear their cries for help,” Blaze answered, unable to keep the pain out of her voice. “Nanny Smudge took us on a picnic near a pond once. I heard distant cries for help and looked around. Two older boys were tossing a sack into the water. By the time Nanny Smudge pulled the sack from the water, the kitten inside had drowned.”

Saddened by her story. Ross read the anguish in her expression and understood her dilemma. She had no choice in the matter. She needed to rescue animals or live with their agony.

“Whatever ye win in the racin’ season,” he said, “I’ll match the funds and help ye build the refuge.”

“Most people never consider God’s creatures,” Blaze said. “Why do you want to help?”

“I’m partial to red hair, freckles, and noble causes.”

Ross leaned closer and tasted her lips in a chaste kiss. She wanted him, but innocence blinded her to that fact. By God, he wanted her.

For the first time in his life, Ross felt the urge to propose marriage but held his tongue. Inverary had warned him this daughter planned never to marry. If he offered for her, she would take flight like the jeweled butterfly she wore in her hair.

By fair means or foul
, Ross reminded himself. The only way to get her to the altar was through his bed. He expected her to rant and rave, but that would change to purrs and sighs soon enough.

“I want ye in my bed,” he told her, “and I intend to have ye.”

His words sent Blaze surging to her feet. “I beg your pardon?”

“I want ye,” he repeated, “and ye want me.”

The marquis was a swine.

“How dare you speak to me like that,” Blaze said, her hands balling into fists. “Just because my mother—”

“My desire has nothin’ to do with yer mother,” Ross interrupted, and rose from the bench to tower over her. “Raise those tiny fists to me, darlin’, and ye’ll be sorry.”

“You deserve a good thrashing.”

Ross gave her a lazy, thoroughly infuriating smile. “That doesna change the fact I’ll see ye in my bed.”

“I’ll see you there when cocks lay eggs.” Blaze whirled away, intending to leave.

“Let me explain the facts of life.” Ross grabbed her arm to keep her from bolting. “I willna help ye win the Triple Crown if ye dinna visit my bed.”

“You’re blackmailing me?” Blaze snatched her arm out of his grasp and lifted her nose into the air. “The team no longer needs your help.”

“Meet me here tomorrow night,” Ross said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I dinna want anyone recognizin’ ye so wear a hooded cloak.”

“Dress warmly, my lord. You will be waiting a long time.”

“If ye arena here, I’m reportin’ ye to the Jockey Club,” he threatened her. “The team will lose their jobs, and Peg will be stripped of today’s win.”

Wham!
Blaze slapped him hard. So hard his head jerked to one side. So hard the palm of her hand stung.

Blaze flew down the gazebo’s steps and stormed across the lawn toward the house. She knew the marquis was following her. She could feel his gaze on her back.

When she quickened her pace, Blaze heard his husky chuckle. She opened the door, and he leveled his parting shot at her.

“I’ll see ye tomorrow night, darlin’.”

Boom
. Blaze slammed the door shut behind her.

Softer than a woman’s inner thighs
.

Alexander Blake, the Marquis of Basildon, relaxed in the soft leather chair and stretched his long legs out. He lifted the crystal tumbler to his lips and sipped the whisky, savoring the amber liquid, letting his warm tongue release its bold, full-bodied flavor. Highland whisky, no doubt.

He smiled at the man seated across the enormous oak desk and then took a drag on his cigar, the best money could buy. Life was good for his future father-in-law, the illustrious Duke of Inverary. Simple pleasures like Highland whisky and expensive cigars made life enjoyable.

“Don’t mention our cigar smoking to my wife,” Magnus Campbell said.

Suppressing the urge to burst into disrespectful laughter, Alexander gave the duke a lopsided grin. “My lips are forever locked.”

“Roxie insists tobacco stinks,” Inverary told him, “and she only allows smoking in the dining room after the ladies withdraw. And the billiard room, of course.”

“Baron Shores should arrive soon,” Alexander said, checking the time on his pocket watch. “I sent the summons from Amadeus Black.”

“The constable is not present.”

“Crazy Eddie doesn’t know that,” Alexander said. “I’ll question the stablehands tomorrow because I promised Raven a trip into Newmarket today.”

“The intruder proves Charlie’s murder was deliberate,” the Duke of Inverary said.

“Raven sensed the crime was murder-for-hire,” Alexander reminded him. “Someone is desperate to win the Triple Crown.”

The duke sipped his whisky and then took a drag on his cigar. “I didn’t believe Pegasus could win,” he said. “Rooney reeked worse than dung. I daresay, the stench will grow fouler if he wins the First Spring.”

“Tell him to wash,” Alexander suggested.

“Jockeys are superstitious fellows,” Inverary told him, “and Rooney will not chance breaking the streak.”

“Your racing season could prove pungent.”

A knock on the door drew their attention. Tinker stepped inside, announcing, “Baron Shores has arrived.” When the duke nodded, the majordomo gestured to someone in the hallway.

Baron Edward “Crazy Eddie” Shores walked into the office. Though expensively dressed, the baron did not commune with London’s elite. At least, not in the best drawing rooms. He walked the fine line between providing vices for gentlemen and true criminal activity.

“Tightly, Tinker,” called the duke, and the door clicked shut.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace.” The baron looked at Alexander, adding, “I didn’t do it, and I don’t know anything.”

“Relax, Eddie.” The Duke of Inverary beckoned him forward, gesturing him to sit in the chair beside Alexander’s. He poured a measure of whisky into a crystal tumbler and passed it to the baron.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” The baron raised his glass in salute and sampled the whisky. “Superior quality.”

The Duke of Inverary smiled. “Highland whisky, of course.”

“Someone murdered His Grace’s jockey a few weeks ago,” Alexander said, “and last night an intruder tried to break into the winning horse’s stable.”

Baron Shores raised his right hand. “I swear I know nothing.”

“I believe you,” the duke said, passing him a cigar, “but we need information such as the names of men flaunting money around town or any other gossip. I will, of course, pay for your services.”

Alexander regretted the Newmarket locale. If they had been in London, the constable’s runners would have provided twenty-four hour surveillance of MacArthur and Stanley. Circumstances forced him to use the baron and his connections.

“I can do that favor for you,” the baron was saying, pocketing the cigar. “Do you suspect anyone?”

“The villain is planting evidence against two gentlemen of impeccable reputation,” Alexander answered. “We need you to watch MacArthur and hire a friend to watch the Earl of Boston.”

“You suspect MacArthur?” the baron echoed in apparent surprise.

“We do
not
suspect MacArthur,” the Duke of Inverary insisted, “but we need proof that Stanley and he are marked to take the fall.”

“If I murdered a jockey,” the baron said, “I’d plant false evidence, too.”

The Duke of Inverary stood, signifying the end of the interview. “You can report to Alexander or me if you learn anything.”

“You have a deal, Your Grace.” Baron Shores shook his hand and then looked at Alexander. “If you need me, I am staying at the Rowley Lodge. Give Constable Black my regards.”

“The constable will regret missing our meeting,” Alexander replied.

Once the baron had gone, Alexander looked at the duke. “If Eddie knows nothing, then the usual criminal elements are not involved. That makes the investigation more difficult but not unsolvable.”

“Thank you, Alex.”

“You are welcome, Your Grace.” Alexander shook the older man’s hand and turned to leave. “Duty demands I escort my sweet betrothed to town.”

While Alexander Blake and her father were meeting, Blaze marched down the corridor toward the drawing room in search of her stepmother. She hadn’t slept well the previous night, her thoughts fixing on the marquis.

Ross MacArthur assumed a bastard was an easy mark. Like mother, like daughter. He would never consider blackmailing the saintly stepsister nor any other properly-born lady.

She would never surrender to him. If he squealed to the Jockey Club, she would even the score. Somehow.

The thought of losing her chance to win the Triple Crown stepped from the shadows of her mind and slowed her pace. Under normal circumstances, she would have told her father about the marquis. She hadn’t done that, though.

Pegasus would forfeit yesterday’s win, which meant returning the prize money and, perhaps, paying a fine equal to the amount she’d won on the wager. Both Bender and Rooney would lose their jobs. Her animal refuge would never be built, and the animals’ sufferings would continue.

And then her father’s image surfaced in her mind’s eye. She could not face his expression of shocked disappointment at her flaunting society by jockeying Pegasus.

Perhaps she should reconsider her options. The marquis was a handsome man, and visiting his bed would not be a hardship. Afterwards, she could pretend it never happened.

Blaze walked into the drawing room. The duchess sat near the window and concentrated on needlework. Puddles lay at her feet, his eyes fixed on a plate of cookies beside her. Raven sat in the chair opposite her stepmother.

Crossing the room, Blaze dropped onto an upholstered chair. “Good afternoon,” she greeted them.

“You are still ecstatic about yesterday’s triumph,” the duchess remarked. “I have never seen you in a good mood for two consecutive days.”

“You exaggerate,” Blaze said. “What are you sewing?”

“Darling, embroidery is not sewing,” her stepmother corrected, and then gave the mastiff a cookie. “Your father adores the Campbell crest on his handkerchiefs.”

Blaze smiled. “You are embroidering a boar’s head on Papa’s handkerchiefs?”

“I will never understand the reason the Campbells chose a boar,” the duchess said. “A rose would have been prettier.”

“Roses are English and the Campbells are Scots,” Raven said, and then looked at Blaze. “Alex is taking me into Newmarket. Would you care to join us?”

“No, thank you.” Blaze had too much thinking to do before eight o’clock. She looked at her stepmother. “Do you dislike Celeste MacArthur?”

“I cannot say I dislike the woman,” the duchess answered, “but I cannot find anything about her to like.”

Blaze and Raven exchanged smiles. The duchess was always circumspect in her words. Her dimpled smile appeared whenever she insulted someone.

“I need your advice on an important matter,” Blaze said, earning a pleased smile from her stepmother.

The duchess offered the mastiff another cookie. “How can I help you, dear?”

“I want to know about”—her complexion reddened—“about sexual intimacy.”

The Duchess of Inverary snapped her gaze from her needlework to her stepdaughter. For the first time since Blaze had met her stepmother, Roxanne Campbell lost her placid expression.

“Darling, there’s no need to know certain facts until you marry,” the duchess said, recovering her poise.

Blaze glanced at Raven, who was smiling. “I swear I need to know.”

The Duchess of Inverary arched an auburn brow at her. “Have you decided to marry?”

“No.”

“What is urgent about that knowledge?”

Blaze felt her frustration rising. This wasn’t as easy as she had thought. “Are you going to share your knowledge or not?”

The duchess’s dimpled smile appeared. “I will tell you everything when you give me a good reason.”

If she lied, the duchess would become suspicious. If she told the outrageous truth, the duchess would believe she was joking.

“I am considering a sexual liaison,” Blaze said, her cheeks pinkening. “You know, a love affair.”

“Who is the unlucky gentleman?” the duchess asked, eliciting her sister’s giggles.

“The Marquis of Awe has invited me into his bed,” Blaze answered.

“How interesting.” Her stepmother lifted her gaze from her embroidery to look at her. “My advice is trust the marquis to tutor you.”

Was the unscrupulous blackmailer a well-known expert in sexual matters? “I may change my mind and choose Prince Lykos,” Blaze said, hoping for an answer.

“My advice remains the same,” the duchess said. “Trust the prince.”

“Would you offer the same advice about Dirk Stanley?”

“In that event, darling, I would say you had incredibly poor taste in gentlemen.”

Raven laughed. Blaze giggled, knowing when she’d been beaten, and then a thought occurred to her.

“If you consider the earl unworthy,” she asked, “why did you offer him as a potential suitor?”

“There is no accounting for taste in this world,” the duchess answered, “and your father would have supported you. Financially, I mean.”

Blaze exchanged glances with her sister. “Do you mean the earl lacks funds?”

“Dirk Stanley lives on a modest income from his father’s estate,” her stepmother answered, “and his thoroughbreds do well, generally speaking. His mother spent most of the earl’s inheritance putting herself out.”

“What do you mean by putting herself out?” Raven asked her.

“A lady cannot put herself in the way of a wealthy duke unless she dresses a certain way and receives invitations to certain gatherings,” the duchess explained. “Most titled widows enjoy esteemed families who find them another husband, but Celeste MacArthur was not born into the upper class.”

Blaze nodded at her sister. “Ross told me Celeste was a vicar’s daughter.”

“How did you meet Papa?” Raven asked.

“I’d known Magnus for years,” she answered. “In our younger days, your father was one of my suitors.”

“Why didn’t you marry him then?” Blaze asked.

“I married another gentleman.” The duchess set her embroidery aside. “Magnus and I met again after I’d buried my second husband.”

“You buried
two
husbands?” Raven echoed in surprise.

“Did they die from chronic nagging?” Blaze asked, making her sister giggle.

Her stepmother gave her an unamused look. “Do not be flippant.”

Tinker walked into the drawing room, ending their conversation. “Prince Lykos Kazanov requests a word with Miss Blaze.”

“The prince is welcome,” the duchess said, sounding like a queen. “Send him up.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Tinker stepped into the hallway and gestured to someone.

Prince Lykos walked into the drawing room and headed straight for her stepmother. “Forgive my unexpected but brief visit,” he said, bowing over the duchess’s hand, “for my brother is waiting in the coach.”

Lykos turned around to greet the sisters and gave Blaze a devastating smile. “I wish to invite you to sup with me at the Jockey Club Ball. That is, if you are not otherwise engaged.”

His invitation surprised her. Why shouldn’t she accept? The marquis hadn’t invited her to supper, only his bed.

“I would enjoy supping with you,” Blaze said, a blush rising on her cheeks.

“Then I look forward to the ball,” Lykos said. With a nod to the duchess, the prince quit the drawing room.

“Accepting the prince’s invitation was a wise move and certain to irritate MacArthur,” the duchess remarked. “Trust me, girls. Men want what is difficult to obtain.”

A short time later, Tinker walked into the drawing room again. “The Earl of Boston wishes to speak with Miss Blaze.”

“Send the earl in,” the duchess said.

Again, Tinker stepped into the hall and gestured. The Earl of Boston walked into the room and bowed over the duchess’s hand like a courtier kissing the queen’s ring.

“Miss Blaze, I wondered if you would sup with me at the Jockey Club Ball,” the earl said.

“I am sorry, but I am engaged for supper.” Blaze assumed a disappointed expression, though she had no intention of sharing a meal with the bone sucker. Ever.

Dirk frowned. “Are you supping with my stepbrother?”

“Prince Lykos extended the invitation.”

Oddly, the earl’s expression brightened. Did Dirk see himself in competition with Ross?

“Will you save me a dance?”

“Of course, I will save you a dance.” Blaze smiled at him. “Would you care for tea?”

“Thank you, no. I promised my sister a trip to Newmarket’s sweet shop.”

The earl turned away, intending to leave, but Raven stopped him. “My lord, I would enjoy supping with you.”

He dropped his mouth open in surprise. And, for the second time that day, the duchess lost her placid expression.

“What will Lord Blake say?”

“Alexander won’t mind,” Raven said, waving her hand.

“I will enjoy supping together,” the earl said, and then quit the chamber.

The Duchess of Inverary stared hard at Raven, but her sister refused to look at her. The duchess’s gaze narrowed, and she opened her mouth to speak.

“Raven.” Alexander Blake walked into the drawing room, preventing the duchess’s questions. “Are you ready?”

Blaze stood when her sister did. “I’ve changed my mind about joining you.” Her sister would visit the sweet shop, and she wanted to see the stepsister offered to the marquis in marriage.