The Training of a Marquess (4 page)

Next to him, a wide-eyed Harry giggled. “Is this all yours now, Father?”

Chase feared he might giggle himself. “I suppose it is. What say you we find Mischief and Victory?”

“Oh yes, please.”

An older man approached, pulling on his forelock. “May I help you, my lord?”

“Yes, young master Harry and I are looking for our horses.”

An uncomfortable expression crossed the man’s face. “The black one won’t stay in his stall. He keeps turning up here and there.”

Chase grinned. His horse hadn’t been named Mischief without reason. “A terrible habit of his, to be sure. Do not fret, my good man, he won’t run off. He’s a curious one and likes to poke his nose into things that do not concern him.”

“As long as you don’t mind, my lord.”

When they reached Mischief’s stall, it was—unsurprisingly—empty. Chase found his errant mount in Victory’s stall, contently munching Victory’s hay.

“Mischief, you idiot,” Chase said. “What are you doing in here?” His horse trotted merrily back to his own stall.

“An interesting stallion you have there, Lord Derebourne.”

Her voice, coming from behind him, was unexpected and disconcerting. He turned and sketched a bow. “Yes, my lady, he is that, if nothing else.”

She walked to Mischief’s stall, her black skirts swirling around her legs, and he thought of the rose-colored gown she wore in the portrait. When they arrived in London, he’d make sure she ordered at least one rose-colored gown.

He frowned. What the devil did he care about the color of her gown?

Mischief stuck his head out—all innocence, as if to say,
I’ve been here where I belong, all along
. Lady Derebourne held out her hand offering her palm for Mischief to lick. She stepped closer. Horse and woman touched noses, inhaling each other’s scent.

Chase narrowed his eyes. The lady knew horses.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” she cooed. Mischief snuffled her neck, causing her to chuckle.

Chase suddenly envied his horse. Watching her eyes slide closed as Mischief nuzzled that pale, smooth skin caused his blood to heat. He could imagine his lips on that very same soft, sweet spot.

Bloody hell. “Harry, Bensey, come along. It’s almost time for dinner.”

Bensey stood on his tiptoes and whispered into Chase’s ear.

“Bensey would like to know if you have a conservatory, Lady Derebourne.”

She smiled at Bensey. “We do. Would you like to see it?”

Bensey nodded.

“All right. Meet me tomorrow for breakfast. After we eat, I’ll show it to you.”

Bensey once more stood on his toes and whispered to Chase.

Chase relayed the message. “He would like to know what time you expect him.”

Again addressing Bensey, she said, “What time would suit you?”

Chase realized he hadn’t presented the boys to her. “I have been remiss in not introducing my sons, Lady Derebourne. The one so interested in your conservatory is Bensey and the horse mad one is Harry.” He liked that she acknowledged each boy personally.

“What would be a good time for you, Bensey?” she asked again.

“Oh no, my lady, you don’t wish to leave it to him,” Chase said. “He will have you agreeing to meet him long before the sun even considers rising. Would nine suffice?”

She directed her answer at Bensey. “Perfectly.”

His son gave her his sweet smile, and her eyes softened.
Be warned, Lady Derebourne, you will be his slave if you are not careful
.

A young man hurried over. “Lady Derebourne, I have the report—”

“Not now, Gordon. I’ll sit down with you later.”

Chase’s curiosity kicked in. “If you have things you need to do, my lady, please feel free.”

“No, it’s nothing important. If you have a moment, my lord, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course. Harry, why don’t you take Bensey and say good night to Mischief and Victory.”

They scampered off and he turned to Lady Derebourne. “You have my attention.”

Her gaze skimmed across his face and settled on a spot over his shoulder. She seemed nervous, chewing on her bottom lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. And a very nice mouth it was. He jerked his eyes up to find her watching him. Her cheeks flushed pink, bringing color to her face. For some reason, it pleased him that he could unsettle her.

“What is it you wish to say, my lady?”

“Yes, well…I want to apologize for this afternoon,” she told his chest. “I was rude and you were right. I don’t know you and should not have said the things I did.”

He had never been one to want to cause a lady discomfort. “Apology accepted. Perhaps we should take a few days to allow me to settle in before we continue any serious discussions.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“I think I wish you would stop lording me. I suppose Chase is too familiar, but Derebourne should do for now. You can return my gesture of goodwill and give me leave to address you as Lady Claire.”

“I wasn’t born a lady, so it doesn’t seem appropriate.”

“Unless you’re agreeable to just Claire, I think we can dispense with the rules while at Hillcrest.”

She studied him as if he were up to some kind of trick.

“I only wish to ease the tension between us, my lady. It is difficult to hold resentment toward another when you think of that person as a friend.”

“Are we friends, my lord?”

“Not yet, but we could make an attempt.”

She gave a curt nod. “Very well. Derebourne and Lady Claire it is.”

The regret she hadn’t agreed to just Claire was disturbing. He needed to put some distance between him and those blue eyes. He called the boys.

“Your sons are lovely. How old are they?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea, probably around nine.” He collected the twins and herded them into the house.

****

Claire had started to think she had misjudged him until she asked the ages of the twins. What kind of father didn’t know the ages of his children? He probably saw very little of them, likely leaving them in the care of their tutor. Why couldn’t men be as easy to read as horses?

Disappointed, she went to find Gordon. It was time to go to work. She spent two hours with him going over the breeding charts and the background reports he had prepared on two potential buyers. One she had no problem with, but the second concerned her. On the surface, the viscount seemed acceptable, but there were rumors of races where he had pushed his mount to near collapse.

“Write Lord Daventry and arrange a visit, but I’m uneasy about the viscount. See if you can learn more about him before we respond to his request,” she told Gordon.

It hadn’t taken her long to understand that the men who came looking for a horse were not comfortable doing business with a woman. Several outright refused. So, she had hired Gordon to act as her business manager and voice in all transactions. Through Gordon, she had cultivated several contacts, men who had purchased horses from them to whom they could ask for insight on potential buyers.

Perhaps it wasn’t good business sense to not sell her horses to just anyone, but they were her babies and she had to know they were going to a good home.

Walking out of the office, she came face to face with Mischief. “Silly horse, what are you doing out of your stall?”

Her stable master came up beside her. “His lordship said he lets himself out and likes to nose around. I’ll take him back, but don’t think it will do much good.”

Claire scratched Mischief’s nose. “So you like company, do you? Leave him be, Clyde. He can visit with me for a while.”

She began preparations for feeding time and as she worked, Mischief followed her around. “So, Mischief, tell me what your master is truly like. He puzzles me and I don’t like puzzles.” She smiled at Mischief, who had his nose in a water trough, blowing bubbles. Claire didn’t know what she thought about his lordship, but she very much liked his horse.

“Not talking then? You could at least give me a hint as to his true nature.” Mischief lifted his head, water dripping from his muzzle.

“Obviously, you are loyal to your lord and your refusal to speak ill of him is admirable. I’ll reserve judgment, my friend, and give him time to show himself one way or the other.”

Mischief shook his head as if agreeing with her good sense.

****

Claire entered the breakfast room to find Bensey standing beside a chair, his eyes trained on her. “Hello, Bensey. Have you been waiting long?”

The boy darted a glance to a far corner where Lord Derebourne leaned against the wall—a golden angel, impeccably dressed in fine English clothing. Or perhaps he was a devil in the disguise of an English lord.

“Always assure a lady, Bensey, that she has not inconvenienced you.” When confusion crossed the boy’s face, he added, “The proper answer, son, is ‘No, my lady, I only just arrived’.” He grinned and added, “Even though you knocked on my door this morning before the cocks crowed and asked if it was time yet.”

Bensey eyed to the floor. “No, my lady, I only just arrived.”

“Splendid. Let’s you and I have some breakfast, and then off to the conservatory we will go.”

She purposely left out the angel holding up the wall, hoping he would take the hint and go away. He didn’t, pushing himself up and sauntering toward her. Her breathing changed it cadence.

Bells in hell, what was wrong with her?

Turning away from the man who currently overwhelmed her senses, she asked, “Why are you interested in my conservatory, Bensey. Do you like plants and flowers?”

His eyes lit with a fervor she recognized. It was the same as the passion she felt for her horses. “I like plants and flowers very much.”

“Then I think you will like my conservatory.”

The devil lord settled beside her as if invited to this party. She almost giggled. Angel or devil? Make up your mind, she chided herself. She attempted to keep her attention on the boy. “What plants and flowers do you like best, Bensey?”

Lord Derebourne groaned. “Now you’ve gone and done it,” he muttered.

She learned what he meant when Bensey talked her through breakfast. He told her of his favorite plants—their Latin names flowing off his tongue like smooth running water. He told her of their origins, their life span and whether they attracted butterflies, bees or birds. He was animated and exuberant and charmed her down to her toes. There was such an otherworldly innocence to him that she wanted to touch him to see if he felt real.

When he finally took a breath, she said, “I’m impressed with your knowledge. If you’re finished, let’s go see what you think of my indoor garden.”

In the blink of an eye, he was up and around the table. She joined him and when they exited the room, he stopped to pick up a satchel from the hall table. She gave it a curious look.

“His art supplies,” a deep male voice said from close behind her—too close. She could feel the heat from his body. Flustered, she quickened her pace.

“Do you like to draw?” she asked Bensey.

He bestowed a blissful smile on her and nodded. “Would you like to see my drawings?”

“I would like that very much.”

He came to a sudden halt and unlatched his satchel.

“Not here, Bensey,” Lord Derebourne said, coming up beside the boy and placing his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You can show her when we reach the conservatory.” He grinned. “You have shown an interest in his plants and his art. He is now your devoted servant.”

A dimple appeared on his right cheek, and something fluttered in her belly. Disturbed by the unsettling feeling, she turned her attention to the boy. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you? Come along, we’re almost there.”

When they arrived, she stepped aside and watched Bensey’s face. Hillcrest Abbey’s conservatory had been the pride of Thomas. Not that he cared about the plants. He liked showing it off and impressing guests.

There were two full-time gardeners assigned to the conservatory. There was a section of exotic plants from Africa, an area filled with fruit trees from around the world, lush ferns, flowering plants that she could not name and had no idea where they came from, and even a section featuring desert plants.

Bensey’s expression did not disappoint. His satchel fell from his grasp as he wandered off into the dense foliage.

“Bensey,” Lord Derebourne called, “weren’t you going to show Lady Derebourne your art?”

“You may show her, Father,” he said and kept going.

“Well, if he ever goes missing,” Chase said, “we’ll know where to look for him.”

She kept her gaze on the path Bensey had disappeared down. “He’s an amazing boy.”

“He is that. If you’re amazed now, wait until you see his drawings.”

Bending down, he picked up the satchel and pulled out a sketchpad. When he stepped next to her, Claire smelled bergamot and fine milled soap—a combination of scents she didn’t know before now she liked. His arm touched hers when he opened the sketchpad causing her belly to do that funny thing again.

He slowly turned the pages, his arm brushing hers each time. It was only the material of his coat touching the sleeve of her gown, so why was the skin on her arm tingling? She forced herself to lean away so that he no longer touched her when he turned a page. She mustn’t forget he was her adversary, come to take her horses and her home.

He was not her friend.

Claire focused on the drawings, each page an exquisitely rendered flower or plant. “My God.”

“Exactly. Hard to believe a boy drew all this, but I assure you he did.”

“Does he only draw flowers and plants?”

“With one exception, yes.”

He flipped to the back to show her Mischief standing tall and proud as if he knew he was being put on paper. The marquess turned the page to a picture of the horse with his nose buried in a rosebush, and she could almost smell the scent of the red roses. The last drawing was of Mischief’s face as he stared crossed-eyed at a fat bumblebee buzzing over his nose.

“Incredible. I wonder if I can get him to draw some of my horses.”

His lordship’s eyes lit with curiosity when she laid claim to the horses. She needed to be more careful around him. He had a way of making her forget to guard her secret. Until she decided her approach, she didn’t want him to know she was the one responsible for the stable’s success.