My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) (5 page)

“Thank you,” she growled.

“Nineteen. You must be fretting that you’re not married. Is that why you want to race? To shore up your spinster money?”

She was about to flay him for his attitude when he began to chuckle. He was teasing her! Her own mouth pulled into a reluctant smile. “You— Why, you’re...you’re outrageous,” she sputtered.

He tipped his hat to her. “So I’ve been told many times. I’d rather be shocking than boring, wouldn’t you?”

Her jaw fell open at his pronouncement as Anne gasped beside her. “Why, Jemma said that very same thing two weeks ago!”

Lord Harthorne’s smile turned into a grin. “
I know.
I was there at the dinner table where she professed it.” His gaze locked on Jemma once again. “I was three seats down but well within earshot to overhear your declaration.”

Why, the devil! He’d remembered her words and used them to bait her. Two could play that game. “I didn’t take you for the sort of man to purposely embarrass a lady,” Jemma chided.

He froze in the action of handing his hat to Sophia and gaped at Jemma. “I’m terribly sorry. Truly, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“You may make it up to me by agreeing not only to race me but to wager with me,” she replied, a smile playing at her lips despite her best effort to school her features.

A bark of laughter escaped him. “Clever,” he said, his voice appreciative. “You’ve effectively trapped me and left me no honorable course but to agree to all your terms. But you still don’t have a horse.”

Sophia winked at Jemma. “She can borrow mine.”

The duchess waved a hand, and a servant walked Sophia’s gleaming black horse over to them. Jemma had confided in Sophia about her plan to race this morning because she was afraid if she’d tried to take a horse without a sidesaddle the stable master would have alerted her grandfather. She wanted him to find out, of course, but not until after the deed was done. Jemma hadn’t worried overmuch that Sophia wouldn’t agree to help. Sophia hadn’t always been a duchess. There was a time, before she’d married His Grace, when she’d worked as a barmaid in her father’s pub. She didn’t hold with the notion that women of the
ton
had to obey so many rules of etiquette.

“How did I know you’d say that?” Sophia’s husband groaned.

“Because, darling, you know me so well.”

“Then it’s set,” Jemma exclaimed as she strode to Sophia’s newest horse. “I’ll ride Fairfax.”

“Fairfax doesn’t take to strangers,” Lord Harthorne supplied in a cheerful tone.

Jemma frowned. Did the man think she didn’t know how to handle a horse? “When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it,” Jemma replied and held out a cautious hand to Fairfax.

Sophia had warned Jemma of Fairfax’s nature, but Jemma wasn’t worried. Animals loved her. “Hello, boy.” She moved to touch his side, and he whinnied and nipped at her hand. She jerked her hand back amid Scarsdale’s deep chuckling and Lord Harthorne’s notable silence. Heat flamed her cheeks but she refused to forego her plan. She would make the beast like her. “Come now, boy.”

The horse whinnied louder, and Scarsdale’s chuckle grew louder, as well. Sophia hushed her husband and he immediately complied, but the snickers from the onlookers behind him continued. That was perfectly all right. The horse’s defiance would make her victory even sweeter and more gossip-worthy.

The thud of boots hitting the ground made her jump, and as she glanced behind her, Lord Harthorne was suddenly there, blocking her from the rest of the party. He leaned toward her, and she thought he was going to touch her, so she tensed. Instead, he reached around her and placed a gentling hand on the horse, who immediately quit moving.

“Fairfax is a filly,” he said in low undertones. “I think
she’s
taking exception to you calling her a boy.”

Was he serious? She opened her mouth to ask him, but he spoke first. “Trust me.”

Will
had said those exact same words. Jemma cringed. “I’m far too intelligent to do that,” she snapped.

He flinched, which made her feel terrible about saying such harsh words. It wasn’t his fault she didn’t trust men. Though, just because it wasn’t his fault that didn’t mean she trusted
him
. She pressed her fingertips to her aching temples. “Er, thank you, for the tip on Fairfax.”

“Certainly,” he said, but his voice was much cooler than it had been.

She turned from him, unsure what else to say, and carefully placed her hand on Fairfax’s side. “You’re a good girl,” she cooed, feeling silly, but she’d be as silly as need be if it accomplished her goal. Fairfax snorted her approval, and Jemma grinned. “It’s working,” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” Lord Harthorne replied, in a deep satisfied tone. “I did tell you it would.”

She rubbed Fairfax gently as she forced an apology to the surface. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. Apologizing to any man truly went against the grain.

He sketched a mock bow. “Quite all right. I can see how my trying to help you would make you doubt my character.”

Of course, he couldn’t see, and he’d effectively told her so with his words, so full of silent retribution. She scowled inwardly. She didn’t have to explain herself to him. “I’ve already apologized.”

“Yes. Quite so. And such a heartfelt apology, at that.”

Of course, it wasn’t, and they both knew it. For one brief second, she longed to be that girl who could trust men again. But that girl was gone. She bit her lip and faced the horse. “Time to race, I suppose.” She could feel him behind her, unmoving, his heat almost invading.

“Do you need help mounting?”

Normally, she would have said no, but she’d rather have him steadying the skittish Fairfax until she was securely in the saddle. She nodded and was about to direct him to hold the horse when his hands suddenly came to her waist and he lifted her effortlessly up before she could protest. She scrambled to gain her hold and her footing, and with a huff of breath, she was in the saddle, her sides burning oddly from the heat of his touch. She glanced at his gloveless hands, which were now curled into tight fists.

She pulled her gaze to his eyes, and for one silent moment, they stared at each other. A bubble of hysteria rose in her throat. That would probably be the last man’s touch she ever felt.
Never mind it,
she snapped at herself. She didn’t care.

“Shall we race?” he asked, whipping out his gloves and tugging them on.

She nodded her agreement but behind them, His Grace spoke up. “My wife has informed me she will lock the bedchamber door to me if I dare to race another lady when I refused to allow her to race today, so I’m afraid I’ll have to bow out.”

Jemma nodded. Sophia had not told her she was going to do that, but it didn’t matter. As long as she had someone to race.

Lord Harthorne glanced up at her. “It appears it’s just the two of us. Is that acceptable to you?”

“For the race, it is.”
Heaven above.
Why was she being so prickly with him?

He frowned. “Naturally, I was referring to the race. I didn’t mean to raise your hackles,
Katherina
.”

She snorted. “I suppose that would make you Petruchio.”

“Certainly not. We are not involved in a courtship, and I’d never dream of trying to tame you.”

She scowled at him, knowing good and well he’d been referring to the woman in
The Taming of the Shrew
. “Then you’re simply calling me a shrew.”

“You said it,” he replied with a chuckle, “not I.”

“Well, this shrew will easily defeat you.” With that, she tapped on Fairfax’s flanks and moved past Lord Harthorne to the start line.

Within seconds, he was beside her on his own gleaming stallion with a nice crowd of the
ton
looking on to witness her unspeakable lack of decorum. It was perfect. Sophia quickly laid out the race path—over the knoll, around the far tree and back—and with a large grin on her face, she raised her white handkerchief in the air and then dropped it, signaling the beginning of the race.

Before Jemma even tapped Fairfax’s flanks, Lord Harthorne left her in a haze of dust. She gasped and nudged Fairfax to go. The horse took off, but Lord Harthorne was already ten paces ahead. As the wind whipped Jemma’s hair against her face, she leaned low over Fairfax and urged the horse to go. “Please, girl,” she whispered, as the horse’s hooves thundered against the ground and Jemma’s body vibrated with the contact. “I cannot lose my pin money. I need it, you see.”

Fairfax lifted her head, as if to say,
Yes
, then dropped it down once again before seeming to double her speed. They raced over the grassy knoll and around the tree they had designated. Though Jemma was closing the distance, her gut told her it was not going to be enough. Lord Harthorne was a superb rider. He glanced back at her before suddenly raising himself, and with the slightest movement only someone racing him would notice, he pulled back on his reins and slowed his horse just enough that she knew she could close the distance.

Why was he doing that? He was letting her win! She urged Fairfax faster, and as she passed Lord Harthorne, he winked at her. It so startled her that nearly lost control of the horse. She crossed the finish line with a halfhearted victory whoop for show before moving past the onlookers to allow Fairfax to cool. Soon, Lord Harthorne was beside her, his stallion panting.

She turned in the saddle toward him. “You let me win.”

He nodded. “I’m too much of a gentleman to take money from a lady.” She felt her brow wrinkle, and he chortled. “I’m sorry if that offends you.”

She pulled Fairfax to a stop while gazing at Lord Harthorne. His kind gesture almost made her question her belief that there was no such thing as a gentleman. Almost. But not quite. “A true gentleman is a thing of fairy tales, myths, and poems.”

“I rather like poems,” he said with a grin. “And I beg to differ.”

“Of course you do,” she said, irritated at herself that she was having so much fun verbally sparring with him. That would not do. One moment it was simple conversation, and the next you forgot to be cautious, and before you knew it, your heart was engaged. “Good day to you, Lord Harthorne. You can send the money you owe me through your sister, Amelia.”

He nodded. “All right. Good afternoon to you,
Katherina
,” he said with a chuckle.

She snorted and turned Sophia’s horse away without a backward glance. Though, heavens, she truly did have the urge to look back.

“P
hilip, darling, what are you doing?”

Philip De Vere, Earl of Harthorne stuffed the creditors’ notices littering his desktop into the drawer, forced a jovial smile he hadn’t felt in months, and turned to face his mother as she strolled into his study. He swept a hand toward the foolscap in front of him that he’d been about to jot a note on for Miss Adair, to accompany the money he owed her from their race that morning.

“Just writing a note,” he said. “What brings you to my office on this fine, sunny day? Shouldn’t you be out riding about in the carriage or visiting with one of your friends?”

Philip’s mother sat across from him in a noticeably threadbare gown that made him frown. She ran her finger along the worn, faded edge of what used to be his father’s favorite chair before his father had died and left them in shocking debt. She looked so small and helpless in the enormous rose-colored armchair.

Her brows dipped as she stared at him. “Never mind the lovely weather and my friends. You look worried.” Her hands twisted together as her blue eyes locked on his. “Are you? I mean to say, are the finances still excellent?” Her voice held the quiver of one who had been forced to worry about many things in her life, and it made Philip’s heart ache.

The finances were not excellent. He was sure he had never used that word, or maybe he had when he’d been blindly hopeful last year that this year’s crop would be better, that he’d be able to pay his sister Amelia’s husband, Aversley, back for the loan Mother knew nothing about, and that all would be well. But the damned rain was ruining the crops again. Philip couldn’t even commit to saying the finances were
decent
. They were far from it. He was still deep in debt. They were precariously close to not being able to afford food once again, as they had been immediately after Father had died.

Philip ground his teeth. Wagering with Miss Adair earlier in the park had been foolish, reckless, and wholly unlike him. And he’d purposely let her win on top of the initial idiocy of agreeing to the wager.

“Philip?” His mother’s prompting jerked him back to the moment.

He pulled his gaze from the window and glanced at her. What to say so she would not worry, yet ensure he was not lying? The words had to be just right. He could not tell his mother about the crops, and he could never let her know that they were so near running out of money that even buying necessities such as food was going to be difficult. The last time their situation had been so dire, she’d turned to laudanum to cope. He had to protect her now as he’d failed to do previously.

Philip raked his hand through his hair, trying to ward off the familiar feeling that he was drowning. If you’d asked him when he was a young lad if he would grow up to be a man who worried about finances he would have laughed. Money had never meant much to him. They’d had enough for a happy life, and he’d never desired more. As long as he had food to eat, poetry books, and the supplies he needed to write, he had everything he required.