Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (14 page)

“Well, that depends. How strong are your teeth?”

Derek was ready to spout off again when he noticed the small tug at the corner of her mouth. Realizing the hilarity of the situation himself, he smiled and then chuckled. A moment later they were both laughing.

He followed her example by taking an apple and then cutting a large slice of cheese. “What do you do with the food? The food you don’t eat?”

“At first I tried to feed it to the animals, but they wouldn’t eat it,” Lucy said, laughing again. “Now I have Harry throw it out before the dishes are returned to the kitchen.”

“Harry?”

“My footman, driver, and whatever else he must be. Starting today, though, I shall be able to hire more help.”

“Perhaps you should start with a new cook.”

Lucy smiled. “Poor Matilda. She does so want to be a good cook.”

“Yes, but a complete lack of talent can’t be argued with. And you won’t tell me why you have a cook who can’t cook?”

“Well, it was my housekeeper, Mrs. Gray’s, suggestion. You see, my uncle had a rule that only the butler, cook, and housekeeper could live in. Mrs. Gray was interviewing for a cook and she brought Matilda to me. Said her husband had left her while she was with child and the poor girl had nowhere to go. So naturally, I chose her over the others that applied. As it turned out, Matilda’s husband came back. He had only left to try to make a living, to bring back money, because his wife was expecting. I couldn’t bear to take the position away from Matilda, even though she moved back with her husband, so here we are.”

Derek was oddly comforted that this young woman he had married felt such compassion for those in need. “Didn’t it occur to you to ask if she could cook?”

“As a matter of fact it did, and Mrs. Gray assured me of it, mentioning in particular Matilda’s pies.”

“I’ve had better-tasting pies from my little sister, and hers were made of mud!”

Lucy looked up, eyes wide. “You have a sister? How old is she? Is she in America? What does she look like?”

Derek smiled indulgently at her barrage of questions and helped himself to another chunk of cheese. “Gretchen is eight now, and she looks exactly as I suspect my mother looked at her age. Curly dark hair; huge, inquisitive, hazel eyes; and a little sassy mouth that’s capable of pouting the likes of which you can’t even begin to imagine.”

“She sounds charming,” Lucy said wistfully. “Do you miss her?”

“Yes, strangely enough, I do.”

“Why strangely?”

“I don’t know. I never thought I would have such feelings for a sibling, especially one so young. But I do miss her, though I don’t miss her mud pies. I was forced to take an actual bite of one after Gretchen accused me of being insincere in my praise. I later learned the entire ‘breakfast’ was a scheme concocted by my brother Anthony, who wanted to see me eat mud.”

Lucy’s expression softened during the storytelling, and by the time he finished she was studying him with what seemed to be approval.

“I hope you’re not trying to distract me,” he said with a lazy smile. “I do accept the terms of the contest. Let’s say tomorrow afternoon, provided I get the map of the racing route in the morning. And in case you’re wondering, tonight I’ll sleep alone.”

He’d have to sleep alone, he thought as he appreciated Lucy’s graceful exit, her skirts swishing alluringly. Otherwise, he’d be in no condition to race. He’d had two sleepless nights already. He wouldn’t tempt fate with a third.

Not with so much at stake.

B
y the time the race was upon them, Lucy regretted her decision. Derek was much too relaxed for a man who had little experience with horses. She watched from her window as he casually yet quite expertly adjusted the stirrups, and she wondered if she had misjudged him. But honestly, where would he learn about horses if he ran away to sea at such a young age?

Still, the worry persisted; he was a complicated man. With each conversation, she learned something new about him, and it wasn’t just the words that threw her off balance, it was the way he said them. He’d been gentle and compassionate in the carriage before their wedding . . . though his conversation with Lord Aster during the wedding party had changed her mind about that. Then he had ceded defeat so easily when she thwarted his efforts in bed, when, despite her anger at him, she most likely would have given in had he continued his seduction. She’d had no right to even ask for a month to deepen their acquaintance; it was a duty of both husband and wife to consummate their marriage. She doubted any Englishman would have stuck to that bargain.

Then at breakfast, his recounting of the story about his little sister ;. . . She saw him quite differently now. Of
course
he had a family, and of course, if he
had
young siblings, there would be such stories to relate, but until she watched him speak of his sister and brother, she had not given his family a thought. She could scarce think of anything else now. He had a family in America whom he loved very much. She saw that love on his face, the laughter lurking in his eyes as he spoke of his brother’s prank that forced him to eat mud. Who could dislike such a man?

Finished with the buttoning of her long shirt, she pulled on a pair of old breeches that her stable boy, Colin, had given her, and tied back her hair with a wide ribbon before heading downstairs.

“I was beginning to think you had changed your mind,” he said as soon as she stepped outside.

She looked up at him, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun, and felt the now-familiar thrill that jolted her every time she saw him. He looked like a Greek god sitting so tall on his horse, power and strength radiating from him. His crisp white cotton shirt was unbuttoned low enough that she could see the bronze of his neck, and the brown riding pants hugged his powerful thighs. He was backlit, but the soft shadow on his face couldn’t hide the desire in his eyes as his bold gaze captured hers and then moved slowly over her body, caressing her, before it returned once again to her face.

She dropped her gaze, determined to brace herself against these onslaughts. She wasn’t going to let him do this, to fluster her to the point that she would lose the race. It wasn’t even fair of him to try. It wasn’t fair that he had to be so undeniably handsome. It wasn’t fair that he had to have that thick, dark hair that lay so softly against his neck, those intensely riveting eyes that seemed able to peer into her very thoughts, those broad shoulders that surely could withstand the weight of any problem, those—confound the man! He was doing it to her again.

Annoyed for being distracted before the race had even begun, she snapped, “I wouldn’t dream of going back on my word. I said I’d race, and I’ll race. And win!” At his chuckle, she turned her back to him and prepared to mount by pulling up the long shirt she’d donned and tucking it into the top of her breeches. She jumped up on the mounting block fashioned especially for her and untied Ahote.

“Did those belong to your father?”

At her questioning look Derek pointed to her breeches.

“Of course not. Papa’s clothes would be much too big. Colin gave these to me.”

“Colin? Who’s Colin?” Derek asked, his question laced with suspicion.

“Our stable boy. He’s only been with us a couple of years.” She gestured in the direction of the stable where a wizened old man was making extremely slow progress toward the doors. “Joseph is too old to be a groom, but he refuses to take an easier position. It didn’t matter while my father was alive; Papa took an avid interest in the horses and did everything Joseph couldn’t. But after he was gone . . . well, Colin seemed a perfect choice to help out.”

There was no reason to reveal the fact that she’d caught Colin trying to steal a bag of apples left for the horses. Surely that could only embarrass the boy, and it had no bearing on this matter. He’d proved an excellent risk. As her father had told her, good people were sometimes driven to desperate measures, and as far as she was concerned, starvation was a good motive for the theft of a bag of decaying apples.

“And just how old is this stable boy?”

“Colin? He’s just a boy,” Lucy replied. To her, Colin would always be the boy she’d first seen clutching the sack of apples with that guilty expression on his dirty, tear-streaked face. Of course, he’d grown a full foot since then thanks to regular meals, but to her, Colin was still that freckled-faced, frightened boy.

“I suppose it’s all right for you to wear them today,” Derek conceded grudgingly. “But I don’t want you wearing them again unless I’m with you.”

“What I choose to wear is none of your concern. Let me remind you of our agreement: I shall tend to my own pursuits without your interference, and one of my pursuits is riding my horse—in breeches.”

“And let me remind you that I specifically said those pursuits can’t involve other men. If you insist on wearing such indecent clothing, you can’t help but invite trouble from men.”

At her bewildered look, Derek softened his voice. “You aren’t exactly built like a young boy.
Er
 . . . the breeches don’t fit you quite the same. What I mean is, your backside fills out those breeches in a way no young boy’s could. There isn’t a red-blooded man alive who could ignore such an inviting sight.”

Lucy was silent as she quickly mounted her horse, but the high color on her cheeks told Derek he had made his point.

“Well, let’s go, then,” he said gruffly, trying hard not to look at the plump rear end that fit so nicely across the saddle. He’d have a difficult time keeping his mind on the race if
that
was going to be in front of him the entire time. Yet, he had no intention of taking the lead right away. He wanted to win, but it wouldn’t serve his purpose to injure her pride.

“We’ll cut across here to the starting line,” she said, nodding toward the narrow path that led around the pond. “There are three gates to jump, with varied terrain in between, but you did study the route, didn’t you?” Without waiting for his reply, she leaned forward and whispered something in Ahote’s ear and they began an easy trot toward the starting point.

“Are you ready?” she asked as Derek moved up beside her. “Ahote’s afraid of gunshots, so we can’t have a starting signal, but I can ask Joseph to wave something in the air, if you’d like.”

Derek’s smiled indulgently. “I have a feeling it would take old Joseph as much time to get here as it would for us to finish the race, so why don’t you go on ahead and start. I’ll try to catch up.”

She gave a simple click of her tongue and a nudge from her knees, and Ahote, who had stood patiently with only a slight tossing of his head an indication that he knew what was to come, leapt forward with the grace and speed of a racehorse that had been trained to the life.

Leaving Derek behind, Lucy leaned low, riding ahead and taking the first gate easily, with no discernible decrease in speed.

Derek chuckled to himself. She really was quite a woman, and his mother would be absolutely delighted with her. Of course, he’d need to tame her inclination for independence. He couldn’t afford to be distracted from his responsibilities by a wife who insisted on wearing breeches or riding astride. But then, surely she would give up such pursuits once she had important matters to tend to, as his wife.

Forcing himself back to the present, he was amazed to find Lucy well ahead of him and decided he’d given her quite enough lead. The course wasn’t that long, and if he let her win, he’d have a month to heartily regret it. Urging his horse toward the small copse of trees Lucy had just entered, he began a concentrated effort to overtake her. By the time Lucy and Ahote sailed over the second gate, Derek was directly behind them. A few moments later, his horse’s thundering hooves ate up the remaining distance between them.

Passing her, he grinned at the startled look on her face and realized with more than a little surprise that she’d actually expected to win the race. Well, he wouldn’t rub it in, but he would make her stick to the bargain. The thought of her slowly letting down her hair, revealing her luscious, innocent body to him little by little, until she was completely naked to his gaze, sent a rush of mingled lust and exhilaration through him, and he took advantage of it, doubling his efforts to stay in the lead.

The finish line was less than a hundred yards away, with only one more jump before it. The pounding of hooves suddenly grew louder and from the corner of his eye he was astonished to see Lucy at his side. How had she gained on him?

With a growing admiration he realized he’d underestimated her skill, or at least the stamina of her horse, and he drove his own horse as hard as he could. He reached the gate only a half-second before she did, flying over it, so intent on his victory that the loud popping sound didn’t register until he crossed the finish line a few seconds later. When it did, he swung his horse around, feeling as though he were fighting heavy seas and making no headway. A gut-wrenching fear struck him when he spied Ahote, down and riderless, and at the same moment saw a flash of something that had to be Lucy tumbling to a stop.

Vaulting from his horse, he was beside her in seconds, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. At the moment he reached her, Lucy’s eyelashes fluttered, then her eyes opened, and she struggled to sit up.

“Don’t move,” Derek urged, easing her back down, one hand behind her head. “Let me make sure nothing’s broken.”

Her face was white and she closed her eyes but said nothing, waiting quietly while he grasped first one leg and then the other, running his hands along them and squeezing gently to see if she was hurt. She sat up then, her face pale against the ebony cloud of hair that now hung about her shoulders and down her back. Her white shirt was dirtied and torn, and pieces of leaves and twigs clung to her long curls. She pushed him away with shaking hands, her blue eyes dark with worry.

“Nothing’s broken. But Ahote,” she choked out. “I must get to him.” Her voice broke as she frantically searched the area, her eyes widening with fear when they settled on the huge black horse ten yards away, whinnying softly and trying unsuccessfully to get to his feet. “Oh, no,” she cried out. “No! No!”

Derek pulled her to her feet and ran to Ahote, realizing that Lucy’s own well-being depended on that of her horse. He ran his hands over the horse’s legs, taking his time, anticipating a break and dreading it with each and every breath.

“I don’t understand,” Lucy said, her eyes glistening with tears. “There’s no hunting allowed on my land. I have signs posted and everyone knows. How could this have happened?”

Derek glanced up at her, his hands never stopping. “It wasn’t a shot; Ahote must have clipped the gate with his hoof as he jumped. At his speed, and with such force, it would sound like a shot.”

“No. I know exactly how he reacts to a gunshot and that’s what it was. He panicked and then he stumbled when he hit the ground. Did the shot hit him?” Her voice quivered. She reached out a hand to the horse, comforting him as he whinnied.

Derek shook his head, wondering why she insisted there had been a shot. “No, and nothing’s broken as far as I can tell. His right hind leg is tender, though.” He stood and helped Lucy up, aware of an overwhelming sense of relief that was beginning to seep through him. “Let’s wait until he’s able to stand and we’ll walk back slowly. If he can’t put weight on it, I’ll bind the sprain with my shirt. How are
you
feeling?” he asked, noticing the stiffness of Lucy’s movements as she stroked the horse.

Another woman would have been crying by now, if she hadn’t swooned. And another woman would have been more concerned about herself than her horse. He watched Lucy limp to the generations-old wooden gate. As with the other gates they’d jumped, this one was about twelve feet wide and connected two hedges. At either side of the gate was a solid wood post as tall as the hedge. Lucy grimaced only a little from what he knew must be great pain at the movement, and his earlier admiration deepened to respect. She would not complain, not about her own discomfort, anyway.

He waited while she inspected the gate, though what she hoped to find he did not know. When she turned around to face him, her face bore a queer expression.

“What?” he asked, hurrying to her. She pointed to the wooden post that had been on Derek’s left as he jumped. He took a better look and froze. A lead ball was embedded in the wood where pieces had splintered away. There
had
been a shot. Glancing around uneasily, he discarded the open field as the source of the shooter. From the pattern of splinters, the ball must have come from the woods not thirty yards away. Scanning the perimeter of the clearing, he saw nothing unusual.

“Hello there!” he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. There was no reply to that or to a second shout, no sound at all. Nothing but complete silence in the still afternoon air.

A sense of foreboding snaked through him. “Get back to the house,” he told Lucy.

“What?” Lucy was kneeling next to Ahote again.

Derek grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“Now.
That way,” he said, pointing opposite from where the shot would have come. His heart began to thump in his chest again, this new danger hitting him full force.

She shrugged out of his grasp, her irritation evident in her tense shoulders and frown. “I’m not leaving Ahote. What is the matter with you?”

“Oh, for Christ sake.” He knew better than to waste precious time arguing with a woman who would do what she wanted anyway. He’d wasted too much time already by not believing Lucy when she insisted there was a shot.