How to Marry a Rake (16 page)

Chapter Fourteen

T
he race meeting opened the next morning. A stiff wind blew as the first race went off, and Mae and her mother were there to cheer the beautiful thoroughbreds on as they thundered towards the finish line.

Excitement coloured the air, along with a great many more fluttering ribbons and feathers than usual. Nearly every lady in Newmarket had come out this morning. They were not all perched in carriages or atop vehicles, either. Instead they were down among the men, debating the merits of the favourites, putting their pin money down with the legs and generally having a grand time. A few bold souls, including Lady Ryeton, even mounted up and raced to the finish along with the contenders, just as the young and unruly bucks of the
ton
did.

Mae’s father was having a grand time as well—especially after Barty’s Shill won her race, narrowly defeating Lord Toswick’s Butterfly. She won him a solid amount of money and generated much talk of the possible private match between the two horses.

And Mae—Mae was allowing herself to feel cautiously optimistic, because … well, just because. Her body was still tingling from everything Stephen had done to her last evening. But her heart was tingling with the cautious rebirth of hope—hope for her and Stephen, hope that her instincts had been telling her the truth all along.

She brushed a stray leaf from her skirts in an effort to distract herself. She knew she looked well today, for Josette had commented knowingly on the sparkle in her eyes as she brushed the straw from Mae’s riding habit. Just the recollection of it brought a flush of heat to her cheeks. Even Mr Matthew Grange commented on her high colouring as he invited her to climb up and join him for a few moments in his cabriolet.

‘You must be careful, Miss Halford, or you will outshine the day,’ he said gaily. His admiring glance moved from her heated cheeks and passed over her sage carriage dress. ‘I can see that you are enjoying yourself this morning?’

‘Tremendously, sir. I hope you are as well?’

‘I am,’ he returned with a smile. ‘I can’t tell you how happy I am to be back amongst people again.’

He didn’t have to tell her, it had been obvious since she’d first seen him arrive at Lord Toswick’s ball. And she rather thought his continued good cheer and unflappability had eased his way this week. His determined refusal to be ashamed of his differences or cast down by others’ prejudices had paid off.

She wished her own hopes would turn out so well. If only she could collect her thoughts, review her options, and decide just what it was that she was hoping
for.

‘Convalescence is a lonely business.’ He grinned to take the pathos from his words.

‘And entering society—or re-entering it—can be a difficult business. Yet here you are today with a crowd of friends and a host of admirers.’ She put her hand over his scarred one. ‘I hope you know that I count myself first among them.’

He patted her hand. ‘Then we shall form a mutual admiration society,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘You are an unusual young lady, Miss Halford. Those of us with differences must stick together.’ He looked out over the line of horses and jockeys making their way to the start. ‘I’ve always enjoyed racing. I hope to start up my own stables again soon.’ He shot her a mischievous glance. ‘But I admit that today I am finding it most enjoyable to watch the results of the ladies’ experiment.’

Mae glanced about at the people happily milling along the rail. ‘There does appear to be an air of female satisfaction hanging over the course today, doesn’t there?’

‘And an accompanying air of male interest, I would say.’ His gaze drifted over her shoulder. ‘Ah, here comes your friend Lady Corbet.’

Mae turned as he called a greeting. Addy had Miss Lucy Metheny in tow.

‘Lady Corbet,’ Mr Grange said with a nod. ‘I’ve just finished telling Miss Halford how fine she looks, now I must comment on how very pleased with yourself you appear to be right now.’

‘And why not?’ Addy trilled. ‘I doubled my pin money for the quarter when Mr Halford’s filly won.’

Miss Lucy grinned up at them. ‘And I’ve just heard the most titillating piece of gossip.’

‘I’m all ears,’ Mr Grange said.

‘Go on, dear,’ Addy urged her. ‘Mr Grange won’t mind a bit of tittle-tattle. Something like this must be of interest to any racing man, concerning Lord Ryeton as it does.’

‘Lord Ryeton?’ Mae asked sharply.

‘Lady Ryeton, actually,’ Miss Lucy said. She shot a quick glance in Mr Grange’s direction. ‘It’s being said that Lady Ryeton left London for a reason.’ She lowered her voice. ‘She was dunned out!’

‘By creditors,’ Addy put in unnecessarily.

‘I take leave to doubt this particular titbit.’ With a subtle gesture Mr Grange pointed off to the right, where Lady Ryeton herself sat mounted on a splendid, restive stallion near the finish line. She was dressed in the most elegant habit Mae had ever seen, all done up in black and silver in a military style. As they watched she laughed at something one of her companions said, her eyes alight and her face carefree. ‘She hasn’t a worry in the world, or so one would think by her manner today.’

Or so we are all supposed to think, Mae thought darkly.

‘You might be right, Mr Grange.’ Miss Lucy looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps we should not repeat it again.’

‘Well, it’s not as if we were likely to tell anyone else, in any case,’ Addy said. ‘Unless we find it is true.’

Mae laughed.

‘Good heavens, is that the race at Beacon course they are calling?’ Addy asked. ‘I promised Corbet I would
meet him before it began.’ She clutched Miss Lucy with one hand and waved a farewell with the other. ‘Good day to you, Mr Grange! Mae, I shall see you at Lady Ryeton’s.’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Mae.

Matthew Grange watched the pair of them make their way through the crowd a moment before turning back to run a contemplative eye over Mae. ‘I meant what I said earlier, Miss Halford. You are glowing quite radiantly today. Perhaps on a related note, my good friend Lord Stephen Manning is prowling about with a look of abject frustration on his face.’ The wind tousled his hair and the sun highlighted the tender pink skin of his scars, but he had a smile on his face and mischief lived in his eyes. ‘Judging by the way Stephen was watching you the other night, I might be inclined to think that these two might be related. Or is it presumptuous of me to mention it?’ he asked with a grin.

‘Not at all presumptuous—especially if I might be allowed to comment on Miss Lucy’s new fascination with the past war with France.’ She twinkled up at him. ‘I did notice that she was particularly interested in the 13th Light Dragoons. Would it be presumptuous of me to recall that that was your company, sir?’

He held up his hands.
‘Touché,
Miss Halford. Although Miss Lucy is young and flighty still, and I am too soon broke free from my sickbed to contemplate anything except my new freedoms. Perhaps it might be safer all around if we both kept our observations private.’

‘Safer,’ she agreed, ‘but not nearly as much fun!’

They shared a comfortable laugh just as Stephen
approached the cabriolet. Mae noted that he was indeed wearing a ferocious scowl, as well as a coat of sable superfine that set off his short blond hair beautifully.

‘Good morning, Stephen!’ she said, intensely aware of the brightness in her expression, but unable to suppress it. She glanced at Mr Grange and then extended her hand downward. ‘Will you help me down?’ she asked politely. ‘I see my mother is coming to fetch me.’

Her heart caught in her throat at the heated touch of his hand, but then her mother arrived, and for several moments there was no opportunity for anything other than pleasantries. Soon, though, a tumult began at the starting line and swept through the crowd toward them. Several false starts led to loud objections and cries of foul play. Everyone’s attention was soon occupied with the unfolding drama, and Stephen took the opportunity to lean in close to Mae.

‘This is our last chance,’ he said low. ‘We must find word of Pratchett today.’

Breathing deeply, she nodded. He smelled like sunshine and soap and just the faintest undertone of horse. She edged towards him and breathed in once more.

‘You are going to Lady Ryeton’s gathering today, are you not?’

She nodded again, keeping a wary eye on her mother.

‘Good. Please, do your best to keep your eyes and ears open. And if you hear anything, even the smallest whisper, of a leg named Chester Cray, get word to me right away.’

He didn’t insult her by telling her how to manage
any of it. His trust warmed her nearly as much as the quick caress he ran across her palm as he bent over her hand.

She squeezed his hand and he straightened to meet her gaze. Mae was struck by the weight of frustration on his face.

‘This may be the one scheme we don’t manage to pull off, Mae.’ His tone was already heavy with desolation.

She scoffed. ‘Ryeton is
not
going to be the one to best us.’

His expression lightened a bit.

‘We’ll get there, Stephen, if we don’t give up. Today is our day.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Did you hear the rumours circulating about Lady Ryeton?’

Eyes widening, he shook his head. She gave him a hurried explanation. The uproar at the start had been sorted out and her mother was listening as Mr Grange explained how false starts adversely affected the horses.

Stephen blinked. He looked adorably vacant for a moment. Mae wondered if she looked as distant as he did now, when all the gears in her mind started turning.

‘Cray might be the key to clearing all of this up,’ he said after a moment. ‘I can’t find him about here. I’m going to head back into town to try to search him out.’ His eyes softened as his gaze met hers, and then he was taking his leave of the others.

She watched him stride away through the crowds, his hair golden in the sun and his shoulders half again as broad as any man’s present.

And she grinned.

Yes, today was quite the best race day she’d had in years.

This had to be the worst race day Stephen had experienced in years.

He stalked away from Mae, only slightly mollified that he wasn’t leaving her alone with Matthew Grange. He hadn’t liked the look of the comfortable coze the pair of them had been sharing when first he’d found them. Shards of their companionable laughter had pierced him like steel. Here he was, still burning with unslaked lust and she sat sharing smiles and a narrow bench with one of his best friends. It was her right, of course. He’d been the one to urge her to continue her mission. Nothing they had done together had been irrevocable. Yet the sight of them had been the crowning touch on a morning filled with frustration and failure.

It wasn’t all bad, of course. The fillies had generated a good bit of talk and thanks to Mr Halford and Lord Toswick; at least a mild interest in Fincote Park had begun as the setting for a private match between them.

But time was running short. He would shortly lose his chance to find Pratchett and put himself and Fincote Park square in the centre of the racing world’s attention.

His brain was abuzz with possibilities. He had been dismissive of what Mae had said last night about Lord Ryeton’s possible financial difficulties, but this new gossip regarding his countess forced him to think again.

He stared at the earl as he passed him by. The man sat cooped up in his carriage with a few of his cronies, ignoring his wife, gazing morosely out of the window and refusing to talk to anyone.

For the first time, Stephen considered that he might fail. But he could not give up, even if the only lead he had was a leg who hadn’t even bothered to show up for the races.

Chester Cray was still not to be found, although he had heard whispers this morning that Cray was indeed in town, and perhaps ill.

Urgency grew in Stephen’s breast. He was going to find that horse. One way or another, Ryeton was going to help launch Fincote Park.

He left the excitement of the races behind and returned to Newmarket proper. The streets lay quieter, the taprooms emptier than he’d seen it since he’d arrived. Good. It should make it all the easier to track down the hidden leg. He sighed. It was a damned sorry state, but the lack of distraction would make it that much harder to keep his mind off Mae Halford.

He’d told her about his mother. He still wasn’t over the shock of it. It was a little uncomfortable today, walking about like normal, but knowing that she knew. Mae saw more of him, in fact—the real, flawed Stephen and not the burnished image he projected—than anyone else ever had. And with her perception and quick mind, she was likely to start putting pieces together and seeing even more. Uncomfortable? It was a ridiculously scary thing to give someone a peek at all the private, ugly bits of you. And yet, somehow, Mae’s easy acceptance almost made him yearn for more.

Almost.

But he couldn’t regret sharing it. Especially not if it kept her from doing anything rash. He snorted. As if there was anything more rash than nearly bedding him.

Good God, but how he’d wanted her. Wanted her still. Somehow, over the past few days, aching for Mae Halford had become a constant. The usual state of things. But he couldn’t regret his restraint last night either. Things were too unsettled between them. And in any case, there were other ways to bind her to him.