Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel) (16 page)

Gillian goaded
Lightning into a faster speed as she squinted against the sun to judge the
height of the fence. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to be a little showy. The earth
trembled under the pounding of Lightning’s hooves, bringing the fence closer by
the second. Was it four feet or five?

They would sail over it with no
problem. Together they had hurdled heights of six feet before. The faces of the
hunting party sharpened as she drew nearer. She leaned forward in preparation
to soar, counting the paces. The mechanics of what she needed to do ran through
her mind—tighten the legs, brace the body, jump and land. But then what should
she do?

She must fake a fall to bring Mr.
Sutherland to heel. She could alight and pull the reins taut. Without the beast
having the proper amount of time to slow his momentum, he would fight against
the control and most probably jerk her around a bit. This would present the
perfect opportunity to slide off her horse. She would lean to the left, away
from the group and toward that nice patch of hay calling her name.

The thought of purposely fumbling a
perfect leap left a sour taste in her mouth. Hooves approached behind her,
their building tempo letting her know that Alex closed the distance between
them. So he planned a good show, did he? She grinned and tapped Lightning. “Give
me everything, old boy.”

The beast responded with dizzying
quickness. The forest flew by in a green blur on either side of her and exaltation
poured through her veins. She loved the speed, the freedom and the thrill of
the unknown.

In a flash, Alex whizzed by her on
his black beast. Her heartbeat exploded, and her gasp filled the air. He had not
said a word about besting her.
The devil
. The man was really not to be
trusted.

He was reckless. He
landed in one fluid motion on the other side of the fence and swung the steed
around to face her, a gleaming smile lighting Alex’s face. Greek tales of
Bellerophon and Pegasus that her mother had once told her filled Gillian’s head.
She could well imagine Alex as the descendant of the great Greek hero who rode
the flying horse.

She had to clear her thoughts. There
was no more time for fanciful musings. One deep breath and every muscle tensed
as she signaled to Lightning, and they vaulted up over the fence, through the
hissing air and down toward the ground rushing at her. They landed in an explosion
of speed and jarring movement, which sent waves of numbness ricocheting through
her body and clanked her teeth together with a force that left her wincing. That
was not her smoothest landing.

Her reflexes took over and she
wrenched the reins upward instead of using the tight, controlled pull she had
intended. Lightning reacted violently to his speed being abruptly ended. He reared
back and up, hooves kicking in the air. Time ticked to a stop, save the twisted
faces matched in their horror at the doom displayed before them. Her head
roared, and her pulse soared. Too late to correct her mistake and soothe her
steed. His hooves sang through the air, met the ground and paused long enough
to bend his neck and send her flying forward.

She landed without any grace
whatsoever but with a bit of luck. Instead of meeting her death against a tree
or sharp rock, she alighted in the semisoft hay she’d meant to aim for. Of
course, she had not intended to land with her feet in the air and her split
skirt bunched up at the top of her legs, but at least she was not dead. She
would have moved and set herself to a respectable position if she could have
even wiggled a pinkie. As it was, the act of breathing hurt her chest. Her
state of dishabille would have to be dealt with in a moment.

Perhaps Mr. Sutherland would find her
legs pleasing and marry her on the spot for her lovely calves. She started to
chuckle, but abruptly stopped to spit out some stray hay stuck in her mouth. Noise
erupted around her, and she brushed the locks of hair hanging in her eyes away
so she could see if her plan was working.

First a black boot appeared, followed
by a rather muscular leg clad in tight tan riding britches, which dropped into
a kneeling position beside her. If these were the consequences of botching her
jump then she could live with them. She inspected the powerful muscles swelling
underneath Mr. Sutherland’s riding breeches. Her future husband had nice legs.

Fingers grabbed at her skirt and
pulled it down toward her ankles, and she could not help but hope Mr.
Sutherland liked her legs as much as she liked his. A heavy, warm arm lay over
her ankles and pushed down as a hand grasped her under her arm and pulled her
up into a sitting position. Alex’s amused blue gaze met hers.

“That was quite a show,” he
whispered.

She grinned, happy to see him even
though he was the wrong man. “You did say put on a ‘big show.’”

“Not one that would make my heart
stop.”

Gillian gaped at the intensity of his
statement. Recovering herself, she smiled cheekily. “I didn’t know you truly
cared,” she teased.

He brushed a finger down her cheek. “It
surprised me as well.”

Before she could respond to his
statement or his tender touch, Whitney and Sutherland walked up. They knelt on
the ground beside Gillian. With a frown, Whitney pressed cool fingers to
Gillian’s cheek. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll recover.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Whitney
snapped, abruptly changing her demeanor. “You just aged me five years. I’ve
never seen you take a tumble or miss a jump.”

“And I’ve never seen you clear any
jump,” Gillian snapped back, slapping her palms against the dirt and pushing
into a standing position. Her head swam with the rush of blood through her
body, and she rocked backward with dizziness. She reached out blindly and
gratefully grasped the arm offered to her. “Thank you.” She turned and expected
to see Alex’s familiar face. Instead, Mr. Sutherland smiled at her.

“My pleasure, doll. Nothing a man
likes better than rescuing a damsel in distress.”

Gillian met Alex’s eyes, understanding
passing between them. He tilted his head, a small smile curling the corners of
his mouth up, and then he turned the full force of his gaze onto Whitney. Gillian
clenched her teeth against the unfounded jealousy streaking through her.

Alex tucked Whitney’s hand into his
arm, and she leaned toward him as he led her away. They appeared as two lovers
sharing a secret. Gillian fought the urge to jump up, run to them and place
herself in the middle of their pretty little picture. What on earth was the
matter with her? Mr. Sutherland was beside her, ripe for seduction, and she
stared at Alex as if he was the forbidden apple in the Garden of Eden.

She snapped her gaze to Mr.
Sutherland and was surprised to find Trent looming over her. Where the devil
had he come from?

He clapped a hand on Mr. Sutherland’s
shoulder. “Do you mind giving Gillian a ride back to the house? I don’t want
her back on her own horse after that fall. Mother and the staff are there and can
take her off your hands.”

Gillian stared in awe at Trent. Her
cousin was a brilliant liar. Apparently, whatever else he had done in Paris, he
had also mastered the art of subterfuge. He had not blinked an eye or missed a
breath as he wove his tale. She really needed to learn his tricks for any upcoming
confrontations with her father. Not becoming tongue-tied and flushed would come
in quite handy if she needed to have a secret rendezvous with Mr. Sutherland.

“My horse is over there,” Mr.
Sutherland said, taking her hand in his. His hand was nice, though not nearly
as large as Alex’s. Mr. Sutherland had long, thin fingers, whereas Alex’s
fingers were long and—curse her wandering mind and the devil who invaded her
thoughts. Why were unwanted images of Alex causing havoc in her head?

Mr. Sutherland
raised her hand to his lips, brushing a light kiss over her knuckles. She
waited for an explosion of emotion, an awareness in her gut or a tingling
anywhere
.

“I’m not used to all the rules and
regulations that dictate your Society. I hope I’ve not offended you by holding
your hand.”

“It would take a good deal more than
you taking the liberty of holding my hand to offend me, Mr. Sutherland.” She
batted her eyelashes at him, determined to regain her focus.

“Call me Drake. All my intimate
acquaintances use my Christian name.”

She nodded as he leaned toward his
horse and helped her to mount. He settled behind her, and she rested against
his chest. Leaning into her ear, he whispered, “Is this proper?”

“Not in the least,” she replied,
catching Alex staring at her from across the way. His gaze probed, questioned, and
as Drake’s hand slid around her waist, she was sure Alex’s eyes narrowed with a
dangerous glint. Was he jealous? A thrill pounded through her at the thought.

Curse him! She raised trembling
fingertips to her lips, lips Alex had kissed into a tender, swollen state
earlier. Confusion muddled her mind as Drake set his horse to a trot. She was
going to ruin everything if she could not keep her mind on Mr. Sutherland.

Road to the Kingsley Estates

Yorkshire, England 

Even with the breeze created by the
speed of Abigor’s gallop, the midday sun glared down on Harrison’s head. His
good mood threatened to evaporate. He hated being hot almost as much as he
hated his mother. He kicked Abigor in the hindquarters, and the steed snorted in
return but quickened his pace. His beast knew better than to cross him or risk
the whip, and after last night, Harrison’s mother knew better too.

With his father’s dying secret, he
had the weapon to be the man he was meant to be. Mother could take her shrewish
ways and disappear if she didn’t behave.

He grinned as he entered the
immaculate grounds of the Kingsley estate. Soon he would be part of all this,
and then the men at his club would never be condescending to him again. He
would be the one to look down on them, gifting them sometimes with a tale or
allowing them to share in a card game.

First things first, though. Gillian’s
education as to exactly who reigned as lord and master needed to begin today. He
was not concerned about Kingsley trying to stand up to him. In eleven years,
the great and mighty duke had not managed to break the hold Harrison’s mother
had over him, and she was just a bent-over, beady-eyed woman with a sharp
tongue.

God, he loved this feeling of finally
having control over his life. He jumped off Abigor and bounded up the steps. Just
as he raised his hand to rap on the door, it swung open and a butler, dressed
better than he was,
damn him
, glanced over him once before resting cold
gray eyes on his face.

“Help enters at the rear entrance,” the
butler said, brushing past to shake out a rug.

“I am not a servant, you fool.”

The butler paused mid-shake and
turned to face Harrison. “You’re not the stable master’s new man?”

Harrison clenched his fist at his
side. Luckily for this idiot, he didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good shirt. “I
am Baron Westonburt, Lady Gillian’s fiancé.”

“I apologize for my mistake,” the
butler hastened to reply, but the man did not make a move to show Harrison into
the house.

“Go announce me to
Lady Gillian and His Grace.” He brushed past the butler and into the foyer. He
wanted to break the man’s nose, but what if Kingsley was one of those weak men
who opposed violence and decided sacrificing Gillian
was
actually wrong?

He stopped in his tracks, stunned and
pleased by the splendor of the home. Obviously, blackmail had not put the tiniest
dent in the Kingsley coffers.
Good
. He glanced at the arrogant butler. What
would the good man say if Harrison swung from one of the enormous chandeliers
singing his good fortune for having a mother who followed her brainless husband
into the woods eleven years ago? The servant would likely faint dead and show
himself to be the fop he really was.

“Lady Gillian is not home at present.
Would you care for an audience with His Grace?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

The butler inclined his head and
turned on his heel, but Harrison reached out and grabbed the man’s arm. “What’s
your name?”

“Mr. Percy.”

“Well, Percy.” Harrison towered over
the man, intent on intimidating him.

The butler gazed at him with a blank
expression.
Fool. Soon he would understand his place
. “Do you always
leave company standing in the entranceway? How about a drink and a seat?”

“I beg your pardon,” Percy replied. “I’m
afraid I’m still recovering from learning you were not the new help.”

“Why you miserable little—”

“See here, what’s this about?” a
voice boomed from the top of the stairs.

Sure that the voice belonged to the
duke, Harrison stepped back from Percy and genuflected as Kingsley descended
the stairs. The necessary show of respect curdled in his stomach like sour milk.
“Your man needs a lesson in respect.”

“Go about your business, Percy.” Kingsley
waved at his butler, then turned dull blue eyes upon Harrison.

“Follow me.” Kingsley did not wait
for a reply but walked away. Left with no choice, Harrison followed along,
though he hated feeling as if he was a puppy trailing after his father.

Kingsley shut the door behind him as
Harrison situated himself into a deep, comfortable chair. He gazed around at
the hundreds of books lining the walls, the full liquor cabinet and the ornate,
expensive looking mahogany desk. This was a rich man’s haven with the view of
the enormous gardens, lush rugs and an open box wafting the scent of foreign
cigars in his direction. He settled back with a contentment he had never
experienced. He was home, and nothing short of death would prevent him from
claiming everything here as his.

Of course, he’d never have Kingsley’s
title, but that left a lot of other treasures for the taking. He was in the
mood to take. He needed to make sure Lady Gillian’s dowry was indecently huge.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the drink Kingsley
handed to him. The strong aroma of whiskey made his mouth water. Just what he
needed to relax a bit.

Over the rim of his glass, he studied
Kingsley. The duke took a swig of his drink before setting the glass down with
a thud. “Was it the ride that put you in such a foul mood?”

“Your butler thought me a servant.”

With one eyebrow raised, Kingsley hardly
appeared appalled. Fine. Let the duke play this game. The man’s turn would only
last a minute.

“I don’t know how you get on with
your servants, Westonburt, but I don’t manhandle mine. Percy made an honest
mistake. You’re covered in dust and sweat and not exactly dressed in finery.”

“Well, I guess you’ll have to remedy
that once I marry your daughter. You wouldn’t want me to bring shame to the
family name with my shabby attire, now, would you?”

Kingsley scrubbed his hand across his
face. The man’s increasing weariness was pleasing.

“Why are you here? I told your
mother—”

Harrison came out of his chair to
tower over the duke. “You’ll no longer be dealing with my mother. I know what
your agreement was with her, but I have some terms of my own.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Kingsley
choked out.

The man was angry. It was plain
enough to see by his mottled complexion and the spittle that had sprayed out of
his mouth when he spoke. Harrison smiled evenly. “I am the man that knows your
darkest secret.”

Blanching, Kingsley pressed down into
his chair. “Roberta swore never to tell you. It was part of our arrangement.”

Pleased with Kingsley’s shaky tone, Harrison
dropped down in the chair beside the duke and slapped the old man’s back. “Don’t
worry, Kingsley. Mother didn’t break her promise to you, though she shouldn’t
have tried to keep me in the dark. Father told me everything, rest his pathetic
soul.”

“Have you been sending the
threatening letters to Gillian?”

“That was Mother. She was worried
someone else might catch Gillian’s eye when you returned to Society, but I’ve
told her to stop.”

“You’ve gotten everything you want,
so why are you here now?” the duke whispered.

“I want you to add more money to
Gillian’s dowry. And I want you to come fully out of seclusion and make sure
I’m accepted into Society.” He settled back and crossed his legs. This day was
getting better by the moment.

 “Is that all?” the duke sneered,
raising a shaking hand to his temple.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I want to spend
some time alone with Gillian, so we may properly get to know each other.”

The duke lunged at him. With little
effort, Harrison stopped the old bugger’s laughable attempt and sent him flying
with a grunt backward into his seat. “Careful, Your Grace. Your temper could be
the death of you. Gillian’s virtue is safe with me until our wedding night.”

“And if I’ve changed my mind and I
don’t agree?”

“Then I suppose your secret will have
to come out, and we shall see what consequences the past reaps for the future.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He caught Kingsley’s gaze and held it.
“I would. Make no mistake about it. Now tell me—where is Gillian?”

A few short minutes later, he was
back on Abigor and riding hell-bent toward Davenport’s home.