Marrying the Marquis (9 page)

“James MacArthur is my best friend,” the duke said, “and I would appreciate your eliminating his son as a suspect. Not only will I purchase Juno but will send her to the breeding barn with Zeus.”

“I’ll do it,” Blaze agreed, “but Her Grace will object because she favors Prince Lykos.”

Her father smiled. “I can handle my own wife.”

“Blast it, Blaze. What d’ye think yer doin’?”

Blaze slipped off Pegasus, catching a glimpse of Rooney’s and Bender’s smiles in the early morning light. She would not allow her status to be diminished in front of the others.

Ready for battle, Blaze advanced on the marquis. She wished he weren’t so big. She felt like a kitten challenging a lion.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Blaze challenged him, her hands on her hips.

“Ye looked over yer shoulder,” Ross snapped, glaring at her. “Any blockhead can remember to crouch low over the horse.”

Blaze heard the muffled chuckles from the watching men. Blood rushed to her face. “Do not speak to me like that,” she ordered, her finger jabbing his rock-solid chest.

The marquis stood his ground. “I’ll speak to ye however I please.”

“Who’s in charge here?”

“I’m in charge,” he told her.

“I own Pegasus which means—”

“Yer the jockey,” Ross interrupted her, “and I’m the boss. If ye dinna want to win enough to follow my instructions, I’ll sleep late in the mornin’s.”

Blaze dropped her gaze to the fog swirling around her ankles. The marquis had backed her into a corner.

She wanted to win. She needed to win. She could not win without him.

Blaze gave him a curt nod. “Tell me what I did wrong.”

“I apologize for yellin’ at ye,” Ross said in a quiet tone, “but ye forgot to crouch low over yer horse.”

“I wanted to see how far back Rooney and Bender were,” Blaze said.

“Look with yer eyes, lass, not with yer head.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, my lord, I do not have eyes on the back of my head.”

Ross smiled at her sarcasm. “I did notice the location of yer bonny blue eyes, but there’s a way to see behind ye without turnin’ and breakin’ pace.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Rooney, show her how to look back,” Ross ordered. “Jeez, man, ye stink to high heaven.”

The jockey grinned. “Nobody will come near me with the Stinking Billy in my pockets.”

Ross gave Rooney a leg up on Pegasus and explained as the jockey demonstrated. “Yer crouchin’ low over the horse for maximum speed. Yer head is down, yer eyes are lookin’ straight ahead, and yer arms are up holdin’ the reins. Are ye with me, lass?”

Blaze nodded. She already knew these things.

“If ye need to look back, drop yer head lower and peek under yer arm,” Ross explained. “Dinna raise yer head until ye pass the finish line.” He turned to the jockey. “Show her on the track.”

Crouching low over the horse, Rooney and Pegasus raced down track. He dropped his head and peeked under his right arm.

“Is that clear?” Ross asked her.

“Clearer than crystal.”

“The expression is clearer than glass,” he corrected her.

“Her Grace does not allow common glasses on her table,” Blaze said, making him smile. “I left drinking from common glasses behind in Soho.”

“Soho?”

“We lived in Soho until Papa acknowledged us,” Blaze told him. “You did know that my parents never married?”

“I amna a complete blockhead.”

Blaze gave him her sweetest smile. “Not a
complete
blockhead, no.”

“Very funny. I’ll give ye a leg up on Peg.” Ross helped her mount and then ordered, “Show me the proper way to look behind ye.”

“I’ll demonstrate on track,” she said, “after Peg passes through the hole.”

Ross gestured the others to the start line. Her lips were moving in silent communication with her filly before reaching the line.

Blaze Flambeau was bonny and brave. No other lady of his acquaintance had the courage to race a thoroughbred. He admired her challenging his autocratic attitude and her good grace to stand down when she was wrong.

“Are you daydreaming, MacArthur?” Bender called.

“I was plannin’ strategy. One, two, three,
go
.” Ross watched Rooney and Bender gallop down track. “Go, lass.”

Blaze and Pegasus gave chase, her lips still moving in silent chant. The filly flew through the hole between the horses. Several furlongs ahead of the two riders, Blaze dropped her head to peek under her right arm.

“Excellent,” Ross said when she returned. “Do ye want to try yer distance communication?”

“I’m practicing from the house,” Blaze answered. “I’ll know Peg’s ready when she answers my call.”

“Dinna forget, lass, this scheme can only work at Newmarket,” Ross warned her. “Epsom and Doncaster dinna have the same conditions.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“I want to settle the plans for race day,” Ross said, beckoning the trainer and the jockey. “Bender, ye escort Pegasus to the paddock and stay with the filly.”

Ross turned to the jockey. “Rooney, ye weigh in with the saddle as usual. Afterwards, meet me on the far side of the training grounds. Ye’ll switch places there.”

Finally, Ross looked at Blaze. “Ye’ll take Rooney’s place in the paddock just before mountin’ time. When the bell sounds, Bender will give ye a leg up and escort ye onto the track. From that moment, ye and Peg are on yer own. Will yer courage hold?”

Blaze felt a chill of excitement. “I fear nothing.”

“If ye win,” Ross said, “keep ridin’ into the copse of trees where Rooney and ye can make the switch. I’ll get ye back to the winner’s circle with no one the wiser.”

Ross looked at the trainer and the jockey. “Any questions or concerns?”

“She’ll need to drink my shot of whisky,” Rooney said. “The boy brings me a shot to steady my nerves before mounting.”

Ross looked at the trainer. “Bender, any concerns?”

“I have many concerns,” the trainer said, “but you’re the cause of all my worries.”

“Bobby, ye need to enjoy the intrigue,” Ross said, smiling, and gestured them off. “Blaze, I want ye to ride with me to the Rowley Mile so I can explain the track strategy.”

Blaze yawned. “Can we go this afternoon?”

Ross shook his head. “No one will be millin’ aboot at this hour.”

Blaze glanced over her shoulder. Bender was already leading his horse toward the path to the stables. Rooney and Pegasus followed the trainer.

“Do you want me to walk?”

“We’ll share my horse.” Ross mounted first. “Put yer foot in the stirrup and climb up behind me.”

“I’ll topple off.”

“Trust me, lass.” Ross held his hand out. “I willna let ye fall.”

Blaze placed her left foot in the stirrup. Grabbing his hand, she hoisted herself up and swung her right leg over the saddle.

“Wrap yer arms around me,” he told her.

Blaze did as instructed, wrapping her arms around his chest, and blushed when she realized her breasts and belly were pressing against his back. Sitting this close was indecent and arousing.

She caught his mountain heather scent, mingling with oiled leather and musky horse. The heat of his body warmed her, and she could not resist the urge to lean her cheek against his back.

“Dinna fall asleep.”

“I won’t.” Sleep had never been farther from her mind.

Leaving the Inverary practice track, they rode down Snailwell Road to Fordham Road. A private lane off Fordham would bring them to Newmarket Heath and the Rowley Mile.

The whole area was deserted, and Blaze suffered the uncanny feeling they were the only two people in the world. She knew, though, every stable and yard was a beehive of drowsy activity at that hour.

Daily chores were well underway. Boys were mucking out stalls, riders were saddling the horses for morning exercise, and stablehands were preparing breakfast for the horses.

Blaze decided this was an auspicious moment to begin spying. Engaging the marquis in casual conversation was the best way to discover information.

Guilt spread through her at the idea of spying. She knew the marquis could not have murdered Charlie. The bone sucker did it.

As agreed, she would ask questions. Reporting what she learned was an entirely different matter.

“Constable Black and Alexander Blake conferred with my father about the murder,” Blaze said, hoping she sounded casual.

“Is that so?”

Blaze wished she could see his expression. On the other hand, she could feel his body respond. That arousing thought tinted her cheeks pink.

“Did you know Charlie?”

“Newmarket is a small town, lass.”

No help there. Was he evading an answer or simply uninterested?

Blaze felt no tension in his body. She would try another angle. “What did you think about your horse placing second to my father’s?”

“I thought my horse placed second.”

“I meant, what did you feel?”

“Feel?” Ross echoed. “What d’ye mean?”

“Were you disappointed? Angry? Bitter?”

“I didna have any feelin’s.”

His lack of response frustrated her. Was he hiding something? Or was lack of emotion typical of men?

Blaze tried again. “Everyone feels something.”

“If yer determined to play at thoroughbred racin’, ye must keep a cool head.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes ye win,” Ross told her. “Sometimes ye lose, and sometimes ye scratch yer horse.”

“I don’t understand
scratch
,” Blaze admitted.

“It’s good to hear ye dinna know everythin‘,” Ross teased her. “Scratch means ye drop yer horse out of the race for one reason or another.”

They reached the Rowley Mile. The track was deserted, but Blaze knew that the scene would be alive with excited activity in less than a week.

“Pay attention,” Ross said. “The spectator stands are on yer right.”

Blaze rolled her eyes. “I have attended the races many times.”

“Comin’ on yer left are the judges’ boxes,” Ross said, ignoring her comment. “The last judge will wave the colors of whichever rider wins for the spectators who canna see.”

Ross halted his horse when they neared the last part of the mile. “Ye need to quicken yer pace at this point before crossin’ the Devil’s Ditch. Ye can see the race ends uphill.”

“Once Peg gets through the holes,” Blaze said, “no one will catch her.”

Ross nudged the horse down the Devil’s Ditch and through the Running Gap. With Blaze clinging to him, they climbed the uphill side and rode across the clearing beyond the finish line.

“Bunbury Farm is on yer left,” Ross said, “and Burwell is on yer right beyond that copse of trees. If ye win, ride down the path over there. Rooney and I will be waitin’ just out of sight.”

“I understand.”

Ross glanced over his shoulder at her for the first time. “I admire yer determination and spunk.”

“That’s high praise coming from a Highlander.”

He smiled at her.

She returned his smile.

“What will ye do with the coin ye win?”

“I’m saving to buy land for an animal refuge.”

“God in heaven canna refuse such a worthy cause,” Ross said. “Why dinna ye ask His Grace for the funds?”

“No practical businessman like my father would invest in a profitless project,” Blaze answered, and then sighed. “God save the world from practical people.”

“Do ye count me among the practical?”

“Have you considered selling me Juno?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Ross winked at her. “I havena made a decision.”

Blaze studied her reflection in the cheval mirror. She wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but her appearance would not induce vomiting or incite screams of terror.

Hopefully, her Nanny Smudge had been correct. A pleasing personality was better than beauty, which always faded in time.

Unfortunately, she had never been known for her sweet disposition. She had more in common with a cantankerous camel than a lap dog.

Blaze turned this way and that, studying herself from all possible angles. She wore a violet daygown with matching slippers and white stockings embroidered with butterflies.

After dressing like a jockey every morning, Blaze wanted to look pretty for the marquis. That realization created a melting sensation in the bottom of her belly. Whatever the reason, she wanted him to think her more appealing than the stepsister who’d been offered to him in marriage.

Blaze had brushed her fiery hair back, allowing it to cascade almost to her waist. The marquis liked her hair loose. Something was missing, though.

Crossing the chamber, Blaze yanked the highboy’s drawer open and reached inside for the jeweled, butterfly hair clasp that had once belonged to her mother. In fact, her mother was wearing the butterfly ornament when she’d posed for the portrait hanging in her father’s drawing room.

Blaze lifted a length of blue ribbon off the bedside table and looked at the mastiff. Puddles raised his head, his eyes fixed on the ribbon, and then scurried behind the privacy screen.

“Come, Puddles.”

Nothing.

“You must dress for our guests.”

Nothing again.

“Do you want a cinnamon cookie?”

With his tail between his legs, Puddles appeared from behind the privacy screen and sat in front of her. Blaze attached the blue ribbon to his collar and tied it in a bow.

Cookie?

“Eat cookies later.”

With a few minutes to spare, Blaze sat on the chaise to practice distance communication. She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to even. In her mind’s eye, she pictured herself standing in front of her horse’s stall.

Love Peg
.

No answer.

Love Peg
.

No answer.

Love Peg
.

“Are you ready?”

Blaze glanced over her shoulder. Raven stood in the open doorway.

“Are you and Alex taking tea?” Blaze rose from the chaise.

“I am taking tea,” her sister answered, “while Alex and the constable interview the tavern’s customers the night of the murder.”

“Where are Bliss, Sophia, and Serena?”

“The cowards have taken themselves into the village,” Raven answered. “I suspect they will return after the bachelors have gone.”

“The marquis knows nothing about the murder,” Blaze told her. “Watch the bone sucker. I feel he may be involved.”

Raven raised her left hand to wiggle her fingers in front of her sister’s face. “My star ruby will warn me of danger.”

“Come, Puddles.” Blaze walked out of the bedchamber, asking, “How does the ruby do that? Do you hear the word
danger
in your mind?”