Secrets of a Scandalous Bride (13 page)

She was to be removed from her circle of friends. Indeed, her best friend was to go to the other end of the country. And just as Rowland had said, she would be stored in Pymm’s immense house, impregnated and put to pasture when the general tired of her novelty. If she had any luck, she could make him tire of her quickly.

Luc sighed again so heavily Elizabeth swiveled her head to look at him. “Your Grace?”

He spoke so softly she had to duck closer to catch all the words. “I know I’m going to live to regret this.” He shook his head. “The Earl of Wallace is in the royal stables. He passed to me the unreasonable request that you personally bring a drop of tea to a sick man there when we remove from table.”

She could barely breathe in her tight corset. “Mr. Manning?” she whispered.

“I haven’t the faintest.” He cleared his throat.
“Don’t be a fool, Elizabeth. It would be better if someone else tended to this. You know Pymm won’t like cooling his heels, waiting for you in the ballroom.”

For the one and only time in her life, Elizabeth prayed she would not have the chance to dance tonight. Except for her toes, which danced a reel under the table. It was perhaps five minutes—an eternity and a day—before the Prince Regent drew back from the table, effectively ending the royal supper and allowing her escape.

E
lizabeth dashed across the walkways, the light of the full moon helping her negotiate her footing. Who was ill? She was certain it was Rowland. Her fingers were numb and in her haste she dropped the napkin on the tray she was carrying. Breathless, she stooped to retrieve it from the pea-gravel path.

The royal mews were awash in lantern light. An army of stable hands, coachmen, hostlers, and young boys ran in every direction, tending to the hordes of horses stabled in splendor there. She found the Earl of Wallace in the rear of the stables, surrounded by a half dozen men Elizabeth recognized from Manning’s.

“Ah, Elizabeth,” he said, eyeing her with a smile, “you’ve brought the tea?”

“What is she doing here?” Rowland ground out.

Oh…
he
was not ill.

“Asked her to bring something for Lefroy,” Michael replied, nonplussed. “Is there a problem?”

Her gaze dropped to the grizzled man lying in a bed of straw, in the middle of the covey of men. “Mr. Lefroy,” she whispered. “What has happened to you?”

The small man looked far older than she remem
bered. “Oh, it’s you, lovey. Dids you bring old Lefroy somfing? Don’t know if I can manage anyfing rights now,” he said weakly. He tried to raise his head and groaned.

“What’s wrong with him?” She looked at the haggard, dark expression on Rowland Manning’s face.

“Don’t know,” he muttered.

“He’s been casting up his accounts for the last three hours,” Michael added.

“Dinner didn’t sit well,” Lefroy groaned.

She put her hand to Lefroy’s forehead. “No fever. Hmmm. Has anyone gone for an apothecary? Perhaps you would care for some tea, Mr. Lefroy?”

The man appeared almost green, a fine sheen of sweat on his face. He nodded and she helped him drink a little.

“There’s no possible way he’ll be able to ride tomorrow, Rowland,” Michael murmured behind her.

She stared at Mr. Lefroy. “Ride?”

“The Gold Cup,” Mr. Lefroy whispered.

“I highly doubt you’ll be able to do anything of the sort, Mr. Lefroy,” she said softly, then turned to Rowland. “Surely someone else can be found.”

His face hardened.

She turned to look at the others next to him. A young boy she’d seen in the stables sidled up to her. “Vespers don’t loike men, only women. ’Cept for Mr. Lefroy and the master. Temperamental-loike. Tosses other men off.”

“So you could ride her,” she suggested, finally meeting Rowland’s remote gaze.

He laughed harshly.

“What?” she asked.

Michael helped her to her feet. “He’s too big a brute. The other horses will be carrying much less weight. The mare doesn’t stand a chance of winning with that sort of handicap.”

She looked around her. “You’re wrong.”

“I beg your pardon?” Michael said.

“Mr. Manning might be greater than all of you in stature but he is considerably leaner than most of you, haven’t you noticed?”

A cacophony of questions ensued, each person weighing their opinion. She cut through it all. “Does anyone have a better idea? Or do you want to cry off?”

“Rowland’s three stone heavier than any other rider, Elizabeth,” Michael said. “That’s a considerable disadvantage.”

“Well, I could ride her, since she doesn’t mind ladies,” she offered softly.

“Absolutely not
,” Rowland said, menace rising from every word.

“She be an excellent rider, sir,” Mr. Lefroy murmured. “I’ve seen her meself.”

“So you rode my horses without even a by-your-leave?” he muttered, annoyed. “I should have guessed you didn’t have enough to do.”

“It’s an idea,” Michael said, a smile breaking onto his face. “Sarah once suggested that Elizabeth is a crack rider. I’m not surprised, after riding across most of Portugal and Spain,” Michael insisted, in such a casual tone Elizabeth knew something was off.

She looked at the sea of expectant faces, save one. “Is there any rule against a female rider?”

A few hesitant murmurs assured her there was not.
Rowland’s arctic blast overshadowed all. “I’d pull Vespers before I’d allow her on the mare’s back.”

“And why is that?” Michael crossed his arms over his chest. “Elizabeth’s your best shot at the prize.”

She watched the black thunderclouds roll across Rowland’s face. “I’ll ride Vespers, for Christ sakes,” he bit out.

“I suppose you’re right,” Michael replied, glancing at his fingernails. “It might be dangerous.”

Rowland cursed and said something caustic about brothers, death wishes, and bloody females.

Elizabeth watched the two men; a seed of an idea already rooted in the landscape of her mind. Really, what did she have to lose? He had said she should have a little larceny in her heart for righteousness to win, hadn’t he? She refused to admit that he had obviously expected her to try and steal her family’s letters from Pymm. While the others conferred about the change for the race tomorrow, she stooped to whisper a few sentences to Lefroy privately.

He glanced at her and then at his master and shook his head.

“Please?” she whispered.

“He’d wring me neck for certain, lovey.”

She stared at him.

Mr. Lefroy shook his head weakly. “Come back an hour before dawn and we’ll parlay.”

She straightened only to hear Rowland answering a question from his half brother.

“Someone tampered with his food,” Rowland murmured, then pointed a finger at Mr. Lefroy. “Your pay is docked. I told you not to eat the night before, old man.”

“Are you certain?” Elizabeth asked.

“No.” He dragged a hand through his dark hair.

Michael rested an arm on the top board of a stall. “I hear Pymm bet a small fortune against Vespers.”

If she was going to do this, she had best leave so she’d have time to prepare. “Well, I see I’m not really needed here any longer—so I shall bid you all good evening. I should return to the castle.”

“The best idea I’ve heard yet,” Rowland coolly replied. “And you would be wise not to tell anyone where you’ve been. Your bloody fiancé is probably shouting down the place looking for you.”

Rowland disbanded the rest of the stable hands, tasking each with a myriad of details prior to the most important race on the calendar. Even his damned brother was put to good use. He thought the better of it when he was forced to endure his chatter.

“So, what are you going to do about Elizabeth Ashburton?” Michael murmured as he studied Vespers’s hoof resting against the scarred leather apron that stretched between his knees.

If Rowland could not find Michael’s words amusing, he could at least find humor in his half brother wearing evening finery beneath a blacksmith’s apron. He leaned against the wood wall of the shadowed stall and restrained himself from standing over Michael to examine his work. “Careful, she’s still got that stone bruise on the frog.”

“It’s healed. Answer my question.”

“What bloody question?” Rowland scanned the large mare’s form for the hundredth time in the last few hours. He had bred her himself and overseen
every stage of her development. She had more heart and intelligence than any other horse in England as far as he was concerned.

“You know which question. How are you going to help Miss Ashburton?”

“And why in hell would I want to do that? I’ve got enough to concern me. And that female has more problems than a thief caught in a window sash.”

His brother glanced at him, a nail between his teeth. He plucked the nail from his mouth, carefully positioned it on the hoof, and tapped it into place. “You know, we can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

“Far be it from me to deny you your pleasure.” Rowland tried to casually peer closer. “Reposition the nail next to it, too.”

“No, that one’s good. I only redid the first to humor you. Everything is fine, as a matter of fact. At least she’s in tip-top shape for the race tomorrow.” Michael released the horse’s hoof and checked the pastern. “The same cannot be said of you.”

Rowland made an exasperated sound.

“You look like you’re about to topple over, old man.” Michael collected his old blacksmithing tools. “How are you going to pull it off tomorrow?”

“Check the other fore hoof.”

“‘…please’?” Michael requested, a slow grin climbing.

“For someone who has blunt riding on the race too, you’re mighty unconcerned.”

“I don’t have a ha’penny on the Gold Cup.”

Rowland raised a brow. “Well, why in hell are you out here helping me then? Thought there was a
bloody ball to attend, or do you miss your old life as a smithy?”

Michael chuckled and ran his hand along the mare’s rump as he crossed to the other side and examined her hoof. “I realize the notion is completely foreign to you, Brother, but there is this thing called fellowship. It’s the fabric of life. You should try it one of these days.”

Rowland snorted. “I should have guessed happiness would turn you into a sentimental fool.”

Michael shrugged off the words. “You should try it with Elizabeth Ashburton before it’s too late.”

“You know, Michael, if your lectures are the price for tearing you away from Prinny’s entertainments, perhaps you should go back now before you ruin this poignant exhibition of brotherly love,” he said, jaded cynicism dripping from his words.

“The others might not see what’s going on here, but you and I do,” Michael said, determined not to be put off. “She shouldn’t marry Pymm.”

“Really?” Rowland ground out.

His brother released the mare’s hoof and stood slowly. “This might very well be your last chance.”

“At what?” Rowland gritted out. Christ, he didn’t have time for this.

“To reclaim your dignity and rejoin humanity,” Michael murmured.

“You are a step away from wearing skirts, Michael. Must be from living among females and their overwrought emotions.”

“And you are a step away from complete ruin on every front.” Michael waved his arm. “Lefroy told me the sorry state of your financial affairs. And I don’t
need anyone to tell me about the state of your soul. I endured it firsthand, like everyone else under your employ.”

“Hang Lefroy,” Rowland seethed. “And why do you give a bloody fig about what happens?”

“I didn’t until I put all the pieces together.”

“Well, you can leave it well enough alone. If I can’t force my gossiping stable master from his cozy sickbed then I shall ride Vespers to victory and your conscience will be relieved. And if I fail, I shall find an alternate plan.”

“Really?” Michael raised a doubting brow. “And what of next month’s creditors?”

“I shall find a way. I always do. That’s the difference between you and me, Michael. You depended on your wife to save your neck. I’ve never depended on anyone else in my life.”

Michael’s eyes bore into his. “It’s because you have never trusted another living soul—except your mother and your brother Howard.”

And Mary
…Rowland’s hands fisted.

“And then you learned your brother wasn’t worthy of your trust, and so now you stand alone—when you don’t have to.”

“Trust is for weak fools. Look, if you have something more to say, say it. I don’t have time to stand here whining about the past.”

Michael folded his arms over his chest. “All right, Brother. For a long time I thought you the most vicious, hard-hearted bastard that plagued the earth.”

Rowland smiled.

“But then I saw you with Elizabeth at your enterprise and then again at the duke’s wedding, when you
saved her from exposure. And just now you refused her offer to ride Vespers even when she’s your best hope to win. Now, I’m forced to admit you might not be the man I thought you were.”

Michael’s unwavering gaze was like some sort of inhuman probe. Rowland would not look away first. They stared at each other, only the sound of the mare’s low whicker breaking the silence.

Rowland lowered his eyes.

“Why are you letting Pymm have her, man?” Michael whispered.

He refused to answer.

His brother made an annoyed sound.

Fury grew to epic proportions in his veins. “What? You think she’ll find a happy future with someone formed from the muck of the Thames? Someone very likely to end up back there, the way things are going, damnation. You want her to share in the illegitimacy of my mother’s Irish name, and sleep every night with a bastard who has seen and done nearly every atrocity invented by the bloody humanity you’re so fond of, Brother? Is that what you would have for Miss Elizabeth Ashburton, the innocent daughter of a gentleman?” He felt the warm muzzle of his mare searching his palm. “Leave it, Michael. You know nothing of the matter.”

“Let me guess. You think she’d be happier living in pampered splendor and so you deny yourself? You have changed.” He shook his head. “The one time your selfishness should make an appearance, and instead you insist on being noble.”

“Noble,” he sneered. “I don’t know the meaning of the word, Michael.” He refused to add to the misery
by revealing the real reason Elizabeth would be forced into marriage. Pymm’s murderous blackmail was not a secret that was his to tell. And none of that made a bit of bloody difference.

Michael sighed. “I have one last piece of unsolicited advice for you.”

“More?” he replied, incredulous. “God, no. Stop while I let you still stand.”

Michael ignored him. “I suggest you picture Pymm on his wedding night as he debauches Elizabeth Ashburton’s innocence. She’ll be forced to lie under a man she thinks killed her father—whether he did or not.”

A tiny sliver of ice cracked loose from Rowland’s frozen heart. “Get the hell out of my sight,” he growled. He was a whisper away from grabbing his bullwhip and thrashing that knowing look off of Michael’s face. Damned idiot.

At least the damned idiot knew when he’d exhausted his welcome.

Rowland spent the rest of the evening plotting out the ride tomorrow. It would be the greatest long shot. Still. When Vespers was on her game…He looked up to find his youngest stable hand bearing a small tray.

What in hell?

“From Miss Ashburton, Master. She said to tell you that it was prepared by her own hand. She also said…”