Marrying the Marquis (5 page)

“I would love to accompany you,” Blaze lied, “but I have already accepted Lord MacArthur’s invitation to tour his estate and stables.” She flicked a sidelong glance at the marquis and hoped he would not dispute her words.

Dirk Stanley cocked a blond brow at his stepbrother. “Alone?”

“Alexander and I will be joining them,” Raven spoke up. “Isn’t that so?”

“I can hardly wait to tour the marquis’s estate,” Alexander agreed.

“The estate belongs to his father,” the earl said.

“I own the thoroughbreds,” Ross said, “and ye arena invited to tag along.”

Blaze felt sorry for the man. “Come to tea another day.”

The earl’s expression brightened. “I would enjoy that.”

“What about me?” the prince asked.

Blaze sent him a flirtatious smile. “Your Highness—I mean, Lykos—you are welcome to tea every afternoon.”

When dinner ended, the ladies rose from their chairs to leave the gentlemen with their port. Ross MacArthur stood when they did.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he told the others, and followed the ladies into the corridor. “Yer Grace, I beg a private word with Blaze.”

The Duchess of Inverary nodded, her dimpled smile decidedly feline. “Take as long as you like.”

Blaze faced the marquis but dared not meet his black gaze. “Thank you for not contradicting me,” she told his chest.

“Look at my face.” When she did, the marquis warned her, “Ye’ll need to follow through on our outin’ lest Dirk discover the lie.”

“I will tour your estate if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, lass.”

“I’ve decided to accept your help with Pegasus,” Blaze told him.

He smiled with apparent satisfaction. “Ye’ve made a wise decision, lass.”

“That remains to be seen,” she said, wiping the smile off his face. “I’m meeting Rooney at the track in the morning.”

Ross nodded. “I’ve arranged everythin’.”

Blaze narrowed her gaze on him. “What do you mean?”

“Bobby Bender and I will be the other riders,” he answered.

“Bender is my father’s trainer,” she said. “He’ll squeal to my father.”

“Bobby willna say a word,” Ross assured her. “The other two would’ve spilled their guts to curry yer father’s favor.”

Blaze disliked the marquis controlling the situation. Pegasus was her filly and her responsibility. She was the boss, not he.

“Ye know, I thought ye didna like me.”

She arched a copper brow, assuming a haughty expression. “I don’t like you.”

Ross raised his brows. “Ye dinna mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“How much time do you have to listen?”

“Very funny, lass.”

Blaze gave him her sweetest smile. “Shall I begin with bossy and arrogant?”

His lips twitched. “Oh, that.”

“You disturb me,” she added.

“Thank ye for the praise.” Ross turned toward the dining room door. “I’m in dire need of whisky to wash the foul lemon taste from my mouth.”

“I thought you liked lemon barley water.”

“I lied.” He winked at her and then disappeared into the dining room.

The bachelors were stealing her focus.

With her lips in a grim line, Blaze trudged across the lawn early the next morning on her way to the path leading to her father’s private track. Troubled thoughts had disturbed her sleep, her mind consumed with a newly discovered flaw.

Cowardice. She was a coward, no doubt about it.

Pleading a headache, Blaze had escaped the bachelors by retreating to her chamber and bolting the door against intruders. Locking the door had been a wise move. Later, her stepmother had knocked and called her name, but Blaze had jerked the coverlet over her head and pretended deafness.

She could return to the old Flambeau family home in Soho Square. Unfortunately, that would mean forgetting her dreams for the racing season and a refuge for unwanted animals.

In spite of a lack of sleep, Blaze felt her fighting spirit reviving. Would she allow three bachelors to send her scurrying back to London? Certainly not. She would string them along to keep her stepmother quiet. At least, until the racing season ended.

All three bachelors were wealthy, titled, and reasonably good-looking. Her stepmama would have barred the door against them if they hadn’t possessed those first two qualities.

Choosing a husband on the basis of prestige meant marrying Prince Lykos Kazanov, but his wanting to court her stretched the limits of credulity. For some unknown reason, Lykos wanted to irritate MacArthur and had chosen her as his instrument.

Dirk Stanley’s blond hair, green eyes, and angelic expression would win him the beauty contest. Blaze knew she could never marry a man prettier than she, nor could she erase the sickening sight of the earl sucking on the duck bone.

That left the Marquis of Awe. Marrying MacArthur would be almost as prestigious as marrying the prince. Though he lacked an angelic expression, the Scotsman possessed a ruggedly handsome masculinity. She could not envision herself marrying a bossy, arrogant man.

Blaze smiled at the idea of marrying the marquis. The peace would last less than two minutes. She could almost hear the sound of the crockery crashing.

The three bachelors were simply unacceptable. The next three paraded in front of her would not be any better. Nor would the following three.

Her plan to keep the bachelors dangling was stepmother-proof. Once the racing season ended, she would inform all three that she could not develop a fondness for them. Then she would steel herself for the meddling woman’s next parade of bachelors.

Chirping birds, aroused from their night’s sleep, awakened Blaze to her surroundings. The April morn was crisp, promising warmth once the sun rode high in the sky.

Blaze reached the end of the path. Morning fog clung like a lover to the open track.

Ross MacArthur, Bobby Bender, and Rooney huddled together and spoke in hushed conversation. Two chestnut horses and Pegasus stood nearby, the Arabian’s white coat creating the illusion of a mythical horse goddess.

The three men watched her approach. Greeting them with a nod, Blaze headed straight for Pegasus.

She stroked the filly’s face.
Love Peg
.

Me love
, the thought popped into her mind, making her smile.

Walking back to the men, Blaze knew the marquis would not be easily controlled. She needed to assert her authority.

“Good morning.” Blaze looked at Bobby Bender. “You won’t mention this to my father?”

The trainer shook his head. “My lips are locked.”

“Good mornin’.” Ross slid his gaze from her freshly scrubbed face to her body. “What are ye wearin’?”

Blaze glanced at her stableboy garb. She wore black breeches and a shirt topped by a leather jerkin for warmth. She’d woven her hair into one thick braid and tucked it beneath a cap.

“I am wearing appropriate clothing,” she answered.

“Well, ye make a bonny jockey.”

“Thank you for the praise,” she said, echoing his words from the previous evening.

Then Blaze became all business. She knew the trainer and the jockey would follow her orders. The marquis was an entirely different matter.

“Mount your horses,” she said, “and show me this balking.”

Ross MacArthur cocked a dark brow at her. “Are ye orderin’ me?” His tone challenged, not questioned.

“I must see the balking in order to solve the problem,” Blaze said, evading a direct answer.

The marquis did not budge. “I told ye I would solve the problem.”

“Demonstrate the balking.” Blaze gave him an ambiguous smile. “Please.”

“That’s better.” The marquis turned to the others. “Let’s show her.”

MacArthur gave Rooney a leg up on Pegasus. Then he and the trainer mounted their own horses.

“Give Bender and me a four or five length lead down track,” Ross instructed the jockey. “We’ll keep a hole between us.”

Rooney nodded.

“Wait.” Blaze approached the jockey and held her hand out. “Nobody uses a whip on my horse.”

Rooney rolled his eyes at the other two men but passed her the whip.

Ross called to Bender, “One, two, three,
go
.”

The marquis and the trainer spurred their horses into action. Swishing and thudding, their horses galloped down track. When they were fifty feet from the line, Rooney and Pegasus started after them. Within mere seconds, the Arabian caught them but slowed near the hole. The filly refused to pass between the galloping horses.

Slowing their mounts, the three men halted farther down track. They turned their horses in unison and returned to the start line.

“I can see the problem,” Blaze began. “Perhaps if we—”

Rooney ignored her, turning to the marquis. “Do you think blinders would work?”

“I suppose blinders could help,” Ross said, and then looked at the trainer. “What do you say, Bobby?”

Bender shook his head. “We tried blinders in her second race last year. She balked all the same.”

Blaze did not like the way this was unfolding. She owned the filly, but the men were ignoring her.

Sounding more confident than she felt, Blaze lifted the reins out of the jockey’s hands, telling them, “I can solve this problem once I know the source.”

Blaze led the filly away, feeling the men’s gazes on her back. They were smiling behind their hands at her foolishness, but she would make them believers before the season ended.

Love Peg
, Blaze thought, stroking the filly’s face.

Me love
.

Peg run between horses?

Lonely. Scared
.

Seeking to comfort, Blaze put her arm around the filly’s neck and pressed her face against her cheek. Then she led the filly back to the watching men.

“Dinna kiss me until ye wash yer face,” Ross teased her.

“I would rather kiss a frog,” Blaze said, remembering to give him a serene smile. “Perhaps the frog would turn into a Russian prince?”

That wiped the smile off the Scotsman’s face.

Blaze shifted her gaze to the trainer and the jockey. “Peg feels lonely, which makes her afraid to go through the hole. She needs to feel the jockey is with her.”

Bobby Bender and Rooney stared at her in openmouthed surprise. The marquis was not so polite.

Ross shouted with laughter. “Horses canna feel lonely.”

“What does it mean when a dog growls or bites?” Blaze asked, rounding on him, her hands on her hips.

Ross rolled his eyes at the other men, making them smile. “Most likely, the dog is angry.”

“And if the dog wags its tail?”

“The mutt likes ye.”

“How about a purring cat?”

The marquis’s expression said he knew where her questions were leading. “The cat feels contented.”

“If dogs and cats can feel anger, friendliness, and contentment,” Blaze said, “then a horse can feel lonely.”

“Have it yer way, then.” He threw his hands up in feigned surrender. “Ye women always do.”

“Try again,” Blaze ordered Rooney. “While you ride, reassure Peg that she’s not alone.”

The three men mounted their horses while Blaze watched from the sideline. Again, the filly balked at passing through the hole.

“Rooney isn’t connecting with her,” she told them. “Do it again, and I will try connecting with her from here.”

Blaze leaned against the track’s fence. The three men lined their horses side by side, and then the marquis and the trainer spurred their mounts forward into a gallop. Rooney and Peg gave chase.

Love Peg. Love Peg. Love Peg
.

Blaze chanted inside her mind, her lips moving with the repetitive thought.

Peg through hole. Peg through hole. Peg through hole
.

Rooney reached the marquis and the trainer. Pegasus started through the hole but slowed at the last minute, allowing the other horses to pull ahead.

Blaze closed her eyes in disappointment. Communicating from a distance was proving more difficult than she could have imagined. She did not doubt her eventual success, but weeks of practice would be needed.

“Give it up,” Rooney said, dismounting. “Winning requires heart, not speed.”

“Peg can do this,” Blaze insisted. “I’ll take her through the hole.”

“Women do not jockey racehorses,” Rooney told her.

“If you get on that horse,” Bender said, “your father will slit my throat.”

In desperation, Blaze turned to the marquis. His expression was unreadable, but he wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Raven insisted we will solve Peg’s problem.” A pleading note crept into her voice. “She said you would help us.”

“How does your sister know we can solve the problem?” Rooney asked, drawing her attention.

“Raven knows because…because she knows.”

Ross struggled against the urge to laugh in her face. He could never have imagined how entertaining his future bride would be. Her pleading expression became glacial when he said nothing.

By fair means or foul
, Ross reminded himself. He aimed to persuade her into marriage even if it required dragging the damn filly through the hole.

“I’ll give ye a leg up,” Ross said, gratified when her expression thawed into pleased surprise. He turned to the trainer. “I’ll shoulder the blame if she gets hurt. Rooney, ride my horse while I watch.”

Ross cupped his hands together and hoisted Blaze up, admiring her derriere as she swung her leg over the horse and settled into the saddle.

“Crouch low over Peg,” he instructed her. “Ye must connect with yer horse physically as well as mentally. A winnin’ jockey and horse become one. Ye ken?”

Blaze gave him a smile that made rising early worth every minute of lost sleep. She nudged her horse forward to the start line.

“Wait until they’re eight lengths ahead of ye,” Ross called.

He kept his gaze fixed on Blaze. Her lips were moving in silent communion with the filly, who seemed to stand more confidently. Or was his imagination running wild? Horses did not feel confident or anything else.

“One, two, three,
go
.”

Bender and Rooney spurred their horses into action, galloping down track.

“Go now, lass.”

Blaze and Pegasus bolted away. The filly chased the two horses down track at an amazing speed. Blaze’s lips never stopped moving as the filly ate the distance like a starving man at a feast.

And then it happened. Pegasus flew through the hole between the two horses.

“God’s balls, she did it,” Ross shouted.

Blaze slowed the filly and turned toward the start line. He could see her smile even from this distance.

Ross helped her off the horse. Before speaking, she paused to stroke the filly’s face. “Love Peg,” he heard her whisper.

“Pegasus, I do believe ye’ll win a few races,” Ross said, patting the filly.

“What good is Blaze taking her through the hole if Rooney will be riding?” Bobby Bender argued.

Raising his brows, Ross looked at Blaze. His dark gaze demanded she answer the trainer.

“We’ll practice every day,” Blaze said, “and Peg will learn to go through the hole while I guide her from the sidelines. Communicating from a distance takes practice.”

“Time is short,” Rooney entered the argument. “Peg cannot learn by Monday.”

Ross recognized the worry in Blaze’s eyes. To her credit, she managed a confident smile for the trainer and the jockey.

Did the lass believe in miracles? Why would God grant her a miracle when so many others needed a miracle more than she?

By fair means or foul.

“Blaze will ride Pegasus in The Craven next Monday,” Ross announced, startling everyone.

“I will?” Blaze looked flabbergasted.

“I refuse to become an accomplice to this,” Bender said.

“Bobby, ye need to go along to get along,” Ross said, giving the man an easy smile. “I’ll make it worth yer while and shoulder the blame.”

“The Jockey Club will revoke your membership,” Bender warned him.

“I’ve read the book,” Ross countered, “and I canna recall any specific rule banning female jockeys.”

“Inverary will never permit his daughter to race.”

“Bobby, ye worry too much aboot life’s little thin’s,” Ross told him. “Ye should be worryin’ aboot findin’ employment if ye dinna go along with me.”

“I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning,” the trainer muttered.

“They’ll disqualify her for being female,” Rooney argued, and the trainer bobbed his head in agreement. “She won’t even make the starting line.”

“Both of ye sport red hair and freckles,” Ross said. “Once dressed for racin’, no one will suspect she isna ye.”

“What about her”—Rooney dropped his gaze to her chest—“her you-know-what?”

Ross laughed at Blaze’s blush. “She’ll bind them.” He looked straight into her blue eyes. “Give me an honest answer, lass. Do ye want to win enough to ride Peg if need be?”

Blaze bobbed her head. “I’m game.”

“Mind ye, this can only work at Newmarket,” Ross warned her. “When the horses move to Epsom, the other track willna allow deception. Ye’ll need to use the next two months trainin’ Peg to go through holes with Rooney.”

“I understand.”

“I’ve a plan that can work.” Ross looked at the trainer. “Bobby, I’d be grateful if ye showed each mornin’ for practice and escorted the lass onto the track on race day. Ye dinna need to know more than that. If we’re caught, ye can claim ignorance.”