How to Marry a Rake (22 page)

He needed to stay alert, but what he wanted was to sit her down and start enumerating all the ways in which his feelings for her had changed in the last week. He longed to tell her how much he enjoyed her quick wit, and admired her indefatigable spirit. How he’d caught himself a hundred times over the last days, filing away odd thoughts and funny incidents and serious observations until he could share them with her. How he adored her quirky need to streamline everything around her as much as her ready laughter and her tempting curves.

And if that didn’t work, then he thought he’d rather enjoy laying her down and binding her to him with soft murmurings and softer caresses. Playing with her and intriguing her and making her achingly curious for what came next. With tenderness and laughter and fierce, hard passion he wanted to make her forget she’d ever held any aspiration other than to be his.

She was staring at him. Oh, Lord, but he recognised that steady, unrelenting expression.

‘No, Stephen,’ her voice pitched low, she replied to his request. ‘I rather think that it is your turn to talk.’

He bowed his head. That was his Mae. She was not going to come easily, or without cost. She was never
going to accept the flashy, shallow view he fobbed off on the rest of the world.

‘I agree completely that we had to forge ahead tonight and stop Ryeton from perpetrating a fraud upon the entire world of racing. Heaven knows, I would not have missed this for the world.’ He caught the flash of her grin in the dim light. ‘But you’ve lost your chance at a match between Pratchett and Ornithopter.’

He groaned. ‘Don’t remind me.’

‘Are you hoping to gain something further from this?’

He shrugged. ‘The notoriety that would have come from returning Pratchett will double with the exposure of Ryeton’s duplicity. I can hope to use it to help Fincote.’

‘All of this …’ and her gesture took in more than just the incredible adventure they found themselves in at the moment ‘… it’s all been for Fincote Park.’

‘I owe—’

‘Yes, Stephen,’ she interrupted him. ‘Of course you owe your best to the people who look to you. But there is more to it, isn’t there? My father said that he and Toswick agreed to race their fillies at your track. So there’s an opening match for you.’

‘It’s not enough …’ He turned from her, his voice trailing away. God, he’d known it was going to come to this. It didn’t matter that they were in the middle of a horse theft, or that every event and emotion that they had set in motion was careening out of control. He was going to have to strip his soul bare before her.

‘Why isn’t it enough?’ she demanded in a harsh whisper. ‘Why is it so important that Fincote’s launch
be grand and spectacular? What is it that you are not telling me, Stephen?’

‘I …’ He was going to do it. Every instinct screamed for him to evade, escape, push back or take flight, but he was going to force the words past the fist of fear squeezing his throat. ‘I’m not sure if I can explain,’ he began.

He was interrupted when a loud rapping sounded on the other side of the stall.

Chapter Nineteen

I
t all happened so quickly after Josette summoned them. Stephen was up and gone from the stall like he’d been shot out. Mae followed, and found him standing bemused over Peck’s form, prostrate across the stable floor.

‘I didn’t even get to hit him,’ Stephen protested.

‘I could not wait,’ Josette said calmly. ‘He was drunk, and he started to get restless when I was telling him about my last great
affaire.
So I accidentally dropped my mug. He stumbled, trying to fetch it for me, and I thought it best to hit him over the head with the decanter.’

Stephen pursed his lips. In a sudden explosive movement he reached out, swung Josette about and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

Just as a great flare of jealousy surged inside Mae, he set her maid down and treated her to the same bit of handling.

‘It’s all downhill from here, ladies,’ he said in a ferocious whisper.

And it was. Mae ran to fetch Matthew and the cart while Stephen bound and gagged Peck. They left him sleeping off his brandy in the stall.

The opium had begun to work on Pratchett. He stood fixed when Stephen slipped into his stall, and his head had begun to droop. He did snap at Stephen when he placed the bridle on him, but his movements were slow and half-hearted.

Stephen touched the viscous coating gathered at the horse’s nose. He sniffed his gloved fingers and rubbed them together. Looking about the stall, he strode suddenly to the front corner and snatched up a bowl from the floor. It was coated inside with the same thick stuff. ‘Flour and water, if I don’t miss my guess.’

He bent down to touch a white foreleg. His glove came away smeared. Grimly, he met Mae’s eye, but he didn’t speak again.

Pratchett didn’t protest when he was hitched on a leading rein to the back of the farm cart, but when they had gathered everything and everyone and Matthew picked up the reins to set out, the thoroughbred planted his feet and refused to move. No amount of tugging, encouragement or bribery worked.

They all gazed at each other in despair.

‘The cat!’ The thought struck Mae suddenly.

‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Stephen with relief. ‘Will she come to you?’

‘I think so.’

‘Then use this.’ He handed her a large basket with a latch.

‘You really do think of everything,’ Josette said with admiration.

Mae collected the cat from her nest in the straw. Moving to where Pratchett could see her, she placed the cat in, latched it closed and set the basket in the cart right before the horse’s nose. When they started off again, Pratchett followed docilely along.

It was a quiet journey back to Newmarket. Stephen and Matthew were in high spirits. Josette was as unflappable as ever. Mae, on the hand, felt nearly as subdued as the stallion, despite the evening’s successes. She’d missed her opportunity. Stephen was hiding something, something to do with Fincote, true, but it was more than that. Just a little more time, and she thought she could have coaxed him into sharing.

They entered Newmarket proper without incident and plodded right down High Street with their ill-gotten stallion. They made their way slightly north and when they reached Titchley’s border, Matthew paused to let the rest of them scramble out.

‘I’ll see Pratchett and his friend settled tonight.’ He jerked his head toward the back of the cart. ‘But I will be back to take part in the fireworks in the morning!’ With a cheeky grin, he called to his horse to walk on.

Stephen looked tired, but happy as he escorted Mae and Josette along the lane they had traversed earlier. ‘Let’s get you ladies home,’ he said. ‘You two can lie abed, but I’ve got several more stops to make, if we are to confront Ryeton in the morning.’

Mae’s feet were dragging. She could not get those unspoken words out of her mind. He’d escaped and his relief was obvious. She glanced over at him. ‘Stephen,
will you be happy, do you think? After tomorrow’s revelations?’ In her mind she could see the attention he was bound to attract, the success he was going to bring to his people and to his enterprise.

They trudged along a moment in silence. Stephen never took his gaze from her. She wondered if he saw her, or if he was imagining the same sorts of scenes she was.

‘Yes,’ he answered at last. ‘I intend to be happy.’

The air practically crawled with all of the things that were being left unsaid between them. The silence continued, leaving her upset and unsatisfied. Then they were at her back gate and Stephen was bending over her hand, and over Josette’s as well.

‘I cannot express my thanks, ladies.’

Mae didn’t wish to hear him try, because she feared that was all that he would ever have the courage to express. Already her mind was awhirl with possibilities, conjuring ways that she could draw him out, but firmly she put a stop to it.

How she hated to leave her fate in anyone else’s, even Stephen’s, hands. But it had to be done. If there was to be a victory here, then he was going to have to make the choice and mount his own campaign.

The tension was tight about her shoulders again as she turned away and left him.

The faintest light had just appeared on the horizon the next morning, when Lord Ryeton crunched along the walkway to his stables. He must have been expecting a flurry of activity in the last box in his stable row, but what he found was Lord Stephen Manning, waiting
along with Lord Toswick, a grinning Matthew Grange and Sir Charles Bunbury, Steward and unofficial president of the Jockey Club.

The earl promptly broke down into tears at the sight.

His countess, on the other hand, promptly broke out of the house and fled the country. With his head groom.

Several hours later, the trumpets summoned one and all, and the racing began. A line of beautiful horses and brightly coloured jockeys came together at the Rowley Mile. The tape fell and the 2,000 Guineas went off without a hitch,
sans
Pratchett, of course. Ornithopter easily beat the others to the finish post, finishing far ahead of the field and looking as if he could have run another race besides.

The crowds cheered him wildly. The unknown, unattractive horse was a sensation. No one could speak of anything else.

Until the news of Ryeton’s disgrace, Pratchett’s rescue and Lord Stephen Manning’s part in all of it broke. Even in Newmarket there had never been seen anything like the fury of cheering, jeering and gossip that resulted.

Stephen’s arm grew sore from being pumped in congratulations. His back grew tender from the many slaps of congratulations. His name, and Fincote Park’s, featured in conversations all over town, and in the notes of newspapermen from across the kingdom. Racing men were approaching him, congratulating him, asking questions about Fincote and enquiring about scheduling
private matches at his course. It was nearly everything he’d ever wanted. But unfortunately not everything he wanted now.

He could barely enjoy his triumph, so anxious was he to see Mae. His victory felt hollow, somehow, with her not there to share in it. His chance came in the late afternoon, after the racing was done. Lord Toswick threw an impromptu gathering to celebrate the day’s incredible successes. All of his houseguests were present, of course, and much of Newmarket’s population, besides. The rooms and passageways of Titchley were filled with racing fans recounting the day’s events, toasting Stephen’s insight, Matthew’s bravery and Ryeton’s downfall.

Stephen only wanted to find Mae. They had to settle things between them. He’d been on the verge of opening himself to her. But she’d closed herself off on the ride back into Newmarket, become distant and withdrawn.

Now he finally caught a glimpse of her in the yellow salon—Good God, had it really only been days ago when he’d kissed her against that wall? She looked sober, almost listless—a marked contrast to the carefree people celebrating all around her.

Stephen’s anxiety grew as the evening wore on. All of his pleasure in the day and anticipation for the future began to fade. Mae, his vibrant and energetic Mae, slunk through the party, quiet and subdued. She was obviously avoiding him. Stephen’s heart sank. It struck him suddenly, that this is how she must have felt, all those years ago, as she had followed him with hope in her heart and he had slid continuously away. What had happened to their new companionship? Where were
the heat and the joy that had lately sprung up between them? When had they reverted to the mirror opposite of their old relationship?

His nerves were balancing on a knife’s edge by the time Barty Halford drew him aside into a corner. It was a touch quieter here, but Stephen was not yet ready to speak to the man. He needed to resolve things with his daughter before he was forced to figure in Halford’s perspective.

‘Damn, but I’m proud of you, my boy.’ Halford glanced at him, then turned his gaze once more to the seething, celebratory throng. ‘You’ve done the sport proud, and done all of us a favour, exposing Ryeton’s deceit like that.’

‘Matthew said that the earl is being confined to the magistrate’s house.’

Halford sighed. ‘That won’t last, I’m afraid. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong, as of yet.’ He chuckled. ‘I don’t suppose the magistrate will be able to charge him with painting socks on his prized stallion.’ Sobering, he took a deep draw on his own cigar. ‘But he’s finished in racing. No gentleman will ever stand a horse against him again. And word’s out now about his financial losses.’ His head shook in disapproval. ‘It was the gambling that did him in. There’s nothing left, except the title, it seems. Not even his wife. Seems she discovered how bad things were and tried to help him cover it. She’ll not likely return.’ He blew another cloud of smoke. ‘No, Ryeton won’t be having an easy time of it.’

Something in the air told Stephen that the same might be said of him.

‘Well, you are getting more than a few accolades for your bit in this débâcle. Your friend Grange, too. That’s all well and good. And well deserved, I’m sure.’ Halford raised a brow. ‘But something tells me that it wasn’t your hand alone stirring this pot of scandalbroth.’

Stephen didn’t comment, but apparently he didn’t have to.

‘I know that Mae was in this with you, thick as thieves. But I have to thank you for keeping her name out of the limelight. All this attention will only help your cause, but it isn’t the sort she needs right now.’

If only Stephen knew
what
she needed right now! Damn her for becoming suddenly enigmatic.

‘My girl does appear to be happy since our return to England’s fair shores, and as I’ve said before, I know I’ve you to thank for much of that. You’ve been a good influence on her these past days, Lord Stephen, and for that I thank you.’

‘And as I’ve said before, it is my pleasure, sir.’

Halford smiled, but the expression noticeably did not make it to his eyes. ‘Now that Ornithopter is a sensation I’ll be happy to thank you by racing him at your Fincote Park.’ He shrugged. ‘I would have liked to race him against Pratchett.’ He sighed. ‘That would have been something to see.’

Stephen winced. Seeing Pratchett run now would have been something that anybody remotely connected to racing would have paid to see. But as expected, the Stewards had declared that the horse was not to race again—at least until recent events were thoroughly investigated.

‘The Stewards have that horse in hand, now. They’ll
keep him in custody until the situation with Ryeton is settled, but the earl’s stables will be sold off, likely, to pay his debts. Might get to race against that horse afterwards, but it won’t be the same.’

Another glance in Stephen’s direction. ‘Still and all, you did the right thing. We’ll find another horse to lose to mine.’ Halford chuckled. ‘And though it is a bit too soon to think of it now, once all of this commotion dies down, I’ll be pleased and proud to stand as your sponsor as a full member in the Jockey Club.’

It was ridiculous, really. The man was handing him a platter full of his fondest dreams. All the best things that could result from this infernal situation—except the most important one. A week ago he would have been ecstatic. Five days ago he would have given anything to hear those exact words. But Barty Halford had not risen to his exalted financial status by granting wishes and getting nothing in return. Stephen feared the price was going to be very high indeed.

The older man eyed him knowingly. ‘Of course, there is something you can do for me in return.’

Of course. ‘What would that be, sir?’

‘It concerns Mae.’

Of course.

‘And your friend, Mr Matthew Grange.’

Stephen closed his eyes. That was just the opening blow and it hurt like hell. It made him wonder if he was going to make it intact to the end of this cordial battle.

‘You did agree to help in her search for prospective husbands. Perhaps Grange is not what most fathers would want in a match for their daughters,’ Halford
mused. ‘But then, most fathers don’t have to contend with a daughter such as Mae.’ He chuckled. ‘But the man has been a war hero. And as far as I’m concerned he proved his mettle and his courage over again when he faced down society’s wolves here this week.’