Highest Stakes (22 page)

  "I was completely smitten, and she was more than willing to initiate me to manhood. In time, I became nothing more than her pining lackey, while she regarded me as little more than an indulged pet.

  "I found no such bliss as you ascribe to
love
, only regret and selfdisgust. I had no contentment, no peace, only an intense jealousy of her affection, a restless angst, and a gut- wrenching vulnerability greatly exceeding anything I have encountered on the battlefield."

  He took another long swig from the mouth of the bottle, continuing bitterly, "In my blind passion, I offered her love, eternal devotion, and even… my name, but she was too contemptuous of my proposal even to reply. After the affair lost its novelty, the jade cast me off. The anguish of the entire affair, by far, outweighed its pleasures. I grow maudlin," he stated with distaste, "'tis undoubtedly the wine." He grimaced and examined the bottle. "Empty," he said and tossed it away, along with his dredged-up memories.

  "Appears I'm in luck today, Devington." Philip grinned. "The fine weather has presented a much-anticipated match race between the local champion and a new contender. Mayhap we should put your extensive knowledge of Yorkshire horseflesh to some good use?"

  "How so?" Devington asked warily.

  "Apparently a certain Mr. Martindale of North Yorkshire has a score to settle with the honorable Mr. Grisewood. 'Tis reported that Grisewood's Teazer soundly trounced two of Martindale's best runners this season past, and Martindale, unable to resign himself to such sound defeat, has issued a new challenge. What do you know of this Teazer?"

  "Teazer, you say? I recall the horse from when I apprenticed at John Croft's stud in Barforth. He's by Bolton Starling, but one would be easily deceived by the look of him. 'Tis perhaps the secret to Grisewood's success."

  "How so?"

  "Teazer is remarkable for being so
unremarkable.
He stands barely thirteen-two. Though he appears the antithesis of a running blood, what the tiny giant lacks in stature, he well compensates in speed. He established a formidable reputation on the track. His first year out he won at Carlisle, again at Durham, and Grantham, and finally the King's Plate at Ipswich. He trounced a number of good horses."

  "So you say?" Drake listened attentively and remarked, "Yet our worthy Martindale, who assuredly knows his competition, challenges him. The man is either supremely confident or a fool." He directed another inquiry to his companion. "Which would you wager, Devington?"

  "I would first know whom he plans to run."

  "'Tis a Godolphin son, called by Regulus."

  "Regulus, by Godolphin? Though I've not seen the colt, he's likely the half brother to Lancaster's Starling, Martindale's favorite. If Martindale has the aphoristic axe to grind, 'twould be curious for him to run the lesser of the pair. Gives one pause for reflection, does it not?"

  "My notion precisely, especially as Martindale appears too impatient to wait until spring for his payback and even meets Teazer on his home training grounds."

  "Then I anticipate the devil of a run today." Devington gestured at the throng anxious to lay their odds. "Surely fortunes great and small will be wagered over a four-mile gallop."

  "I swore I heard from your own lips that you never play the horses."

  "Oh, I'm not here to place a bet. I told you earlier I had business in Doncaster."

  "I thought your
business
involved a woman. You made no mention of racing."

  "It's a complicated matter. My purpose is related to both, but it appears my own appointment will be delayed this morning."

  "Indeed? And just what appointment is this?"

  Although initially reluctant to reveal his true purpose, Robert unfurled the events of the previous day. Philip was at once intrigued and amused. "This is your mysterious
business
? A racing wager?"

  "But there is much more to this than the horse race." Robert expounded on his plan, to return to Heathstead Hall in spring to breed the mare and pursue formal courtship of Charlotte.

  "So it is actually a wager for love." Drake laughed. "Your purpose is only to ingratiate yourself to the lady's uncle in the belief that he will then accept your suit?"

  "Something to that effect," Robert answered. "I sought to turn his racing obsession to my advantage."

  "Must admit I've heard of stranger bets, but your reasoning may be somewhat flawed, my friend."

  "What do you mean?" Robert asked.

  "If you win, what makes you think the blighter will favor your suit? You take altogether the wrong approach. Marriage among the landed class is a business arrangement made to each family's mutual advantage. The purpose is to advance one's standing. You might ask yourself what you bring to the negotiating table, Devington. What do you have to offer Sir Garfield in exchange for this precious commodity, his niece?"

  "In truth, Drake, I have nothing at present but a promise to love, protect, and care for Charlotte. I'll never be a rich man, but her dowry and the eventual sale of my commission should afford us a modest living. We might even endeavor to breed some horses of our own, Charlotte and I."

  "Though I regret to burst your bubble, the man undoubtedly has plans to marry his niece off to someone of consequence, someone who can advance his agenda. An impoverished earl, perhaps? It happens every bloody day," he stated cynically. "Besides, if he is so averse to losing a race, the very sight of you will remind him of his disgrace. 'Tis hardly the way to ingratiate yourself."

  Considering Drake's arguments against his plan, Robert realized the flaw in his thinking. In consternation, he asked," Now that you raze my only plan, I'm compelled to ask if you've any better strategy?"

  Philip mused a moment. "Why not give the man what he wants, the victory he craves?"

  "You propose I should lose the race?"

  "Perhaps. It's only a thought, ludicrous though it may seem. If it's the man's goodwill you desire…" Philip shrugged. "Consider, if you should concede the race to him, he might respond altruistically, the magnanimous victor and all that rot. In such a moment, he might be more disposed to attend to your plea."

  Robert hesitated. "I see your point, but this alternative creates a bit of a snag."

  "Indeed?" he asked sardonically. "Just how much is this
snag
going to cost?"

"Just how lucky were you at the cards the other night?"

"Lady Luck bestowed her graces generously," Philip drawled.

"If I am to lose, I need fifty guineas."

  "Fifty guineas!" Philip hooted. "A bloody gentlemen's wager! Hardly worth the trouble."

  "Unless you're living on a captain's wages," Robert said dolefully.

  Realization dawned on the major. "Are you mad, Devington? You challenged the man without the funds to back your bet?"

  "I had no intention of losing, but now you suggest a significant deviation from my prior plan. Whether I win or lose, I shall return to breed Mars to the mare. The difference is who shall own the resulting foal. At least he agreed to that much before he upped the ante. So now 'tis just the matter of the money, should I lose."

  "But I contest that you risk all you have in this infernal wager. There are much easier ways up a woman's petticoat. Have you learned
nothing
in my presence, man?"

  "Be wary how you tread, Drake," Robert remarked with a deathly glower.

  "What, are you now going to call me out?" He laughingly dismissed the notion. "I fail to understand why you have made this ludicrous wager."

  "For Charlotte; I intend to have Charlotte!" Robert cried.

  "Not if you end up in debtor's prison. I credited you with more sense."

  "I'll cover it. If nothing else, I'll sell Mars."

  "The devil you will!" Philip rebuked him. "Just how do you expect to return to the Horse Guards without a horse? You've lost all sense! In the interest of your sanity, if not for your professed devotion, I'll back your infernal bet… if I'm able."

  "What do you mean,
if you're able
? You just said you were lucky at cards."

  "Indeed I was, but I've wagered it all on the first race, ole chap. Just have to wait and see what this newcomer Regulus is made of."

  Robert awaited the start of the race, knowing his fate was in the balance.

As the starting time approached, spectators to the private match drew in to the track in keen anticipation, with the breeders, owners, and local gentry finding reserved places on a raised dais overlooking the field. The other spectators milled about, seeking the best vantage point, and the contenders were led in.

  Mr. Grisewood and Mr. Martindale had agreed that the single heat of four miles, two furlongs, was sufficient to trial the newcomer, Regulus, against the more seasoned runner, Teazer. The gleaming, snorting fifteen-one-hand copper chestnut took his position first at the starting post, appearing to tower over the diminutive Teazer, who innocuously resembled a prancing gray pony being led up to the start. Once at the post, both horses eyed each other, snorting, dancing, and tossing their heads. Their nostrils flared, and every visible muscle tensed in acute anticipation. Their riders balanced precariously on the restless mounts and edged closer to the mark.

  With the signal, the horses launched forward in unison, surging forth and grunting their exertions with every stride. As they thundered past the crowd, their iron-shod hooves hammered the ground. Down the track, they fought neck and neck along the rail. They pounded down the turf, and clods of earth became projectiles in all directions.

  In the first pass, the panting animals flashed by the frantic spectators, shoulder to shoulder, in a blaze of gleaming sinew. They rounded the bend. Teazer was visibly slipping, but every bit the fighter, he brought all to bear and rallied valiantly to regain the fore. Eyes glazing and mouth foaming, he pressed on. His jockey urged him furiously, but Regulus gained by inches, soon by feet, then by yards. By the final bend, Teazer's supreme efforts had waned. The game was up for Teazer, and in the end, he proved no match for the leggy chestnut, who easily breezed him by. Regulus gleaned a clean victory.

  With the defeat of the local champion, moans of agony overcame roars of triumph. Mr. Martindale, however, was not alone in his ecstasy.

  "Looks like I've more than enough blunt to go around." The jubilant major clapped a hand on his companion's back. "I'll back your bet, Devington. Just tell me which way the race is to be run."

  Devington considered his answer. "I suppose I am about to run a losing race."

  "Then when I double my winnings on your race, your debt to me shall be quite forgiven."

  "How so?"

  "How do you think?" He grinned. "I plan to bet against you."

  "Opportunistic bounder," Robert mumbled, watching his comrade swagger off to place his "sure bet."

  At ten o'clock, the riders checked in, with the horses being weighted by age and size. Rascallion, the younger, carried ten stone, while Robert's mount, perforce, carried twelve. The single heat of three miles was shorter than normal but also gauged to equalize the age difference of the contenders.