Highest Stakes (23 page)

  This anticlimactic challenge of two unknowns, following Teazer– Regulus, drew few but the most die-hard spectators. Among them, Sir Garfield awaited the celebration of his assured victory, while Charlotte watched expectantly, absorbing the final preparations and the horses advancing to the start. With intense concentration, she unconsciously angled forward, her hands clenched in her lap. In her mind's eye, she was positioned to ride.

  As the gentleman jockeys came forth, Jeffries made his way to his young master's side. His instructions were tersely spoken. "If'n ye hope to ride him to the finish, Master Charles, ye'd do well to give me yer ridin' crop. This 'un be none too fond o' it." Without comment, Charles handed the object to the trainer. "And don't ye be too generous wi' the spur neither, or this horse will run the race wi'out ye," Jeffries warned him ominously.

  Already nervous, Charles struggled to maintain control over the unruly chestnut, who jigged sideways and thrashed his way to the start.

  Conversely, Robert cued Mars quietly, almost imperceptibly, and the horse pawed the ground, arched his powerful neck, and locked his gaze intently on the horizon. He sensed that Mars had coiled, akin to a spring. The horse was prepared to launch.

  Awaiting the signal, Robert and Charles slanted over their horses' necks. Their fingers tightly threaded the reins. Their legs locked in position.

  The starter signaled. Mars exploded like a lightning bolt, with greater power and speed than Robert could have imagined. Wholly engaging his hindquarters, he stretched forward. Running nearly nose to earth, in a peculiar style of his own, he drove forth with an astonishing intensity that left Rascallion in the dust.

  Fearful after Jeffries's instruction to give any direction to his horse, Charles rode as little more than a passenger, not caring who crossed the line first, as long as he remained horsed.

  With the finish in sight, Robert was at once euphoric and dismayed. Rascallion was truly a good runner, so he had counted on a challenge, had hoped for a good fight, but never in his wildest dreams had he envisaged such a blistering start. Mars, never trained or tried to race, had already such a strong lead that no attempt to pull him up would go unremarked.

  Robert's only option: submit to the will of his steed and chase the wind to the finish.

  He relaxed the loop of rein through his fingers, leaned forward, stomach to withers, with his face to the wind-whipped mane, and held on for the ride, resigned to face the music later.

  The race called without question. Mars had completely distanced his challenger and was the clear champion. Sir Garfield watched agog, with his greatest hopes, pinned on his best prospect, torn asunder.

  Philip was nearly purple with suppressed fury. "Incredible! Simply bloody incredible! What in the devil's name are you about, Devington?" He glowered once he was capable of forming coherent speech.

  "It didn't play out as I intended. Honestly, Philip. I knew he would make a good show, but by the time I realized what a lead we had, the race was nigh run. What else could I do?"

  "I lost a bloody fortune on that race!"

  "Perhaps we might yet turn this around," Robert offered hopefully.

  "Just let it rest!"

  "But I haven't told you about the mare."

  "What do I care about the bloody mare?"

  "Half of the wager was that I should breed Mars to one of Sir Garfield's mares. She's a daughter of Bartlett's Childers, and a good one, I tell you."

  "I recall your fondness for this lineage," Philip remarked with little interest.

  "The mare's a producer, Drake. Her first filly, White Rose, ran only one race and was sold to the king of France."

  "I recall
winning
on that one," Philip remarked acerbically.

  Ignoring the remark, Robert continued, "With the right stud, the right blood, we could produce an unbeatable champion."

  "Precisely what has this to do with me?" he snapped.

  "In for a penny, in for a pound? You fronted me the fifty guineas, so I propose a partnership. I offer you one-half ownership in the offspring."

  "You propose half ownership in an
unborn
horse as repayment?"

  "Surely a good racehorse is worth what you lost?"

  "The horse would need be bloody Pegasus to cover what I lost! But let's have a look at this mare."

F ree
to travel cross-country, the two officers preceded Sir Garfield's lumbering coach to Heathstead Hall by a full half hour. They dismounted in the stable yard, handed their horses off to the younger groom, and then proceeded to the house, where its mistress, who hadn't the least interest in horseracing, awaited her husband's return.

  A footman led the gentlemen to the morning room, and Devington made the introductions. Lady Felicia eyed the major speculatively. "Drake?" she said, repeating the name. "I've a peculiar notion we've met before, but can't seem to place you."

  "Having never before visited Yorkshire, madam, I might ask whether your family have perhaps any political connections? My father and brother are both in Parliament."

  "No, Major, we do not. But 'tis of no moment. Undoubtedly 'twill come to me soon enough. Now, gentlemen," she continued, "would you care to join me for a dish of Bohea while we await our racing party? I had expected their arrival in time for tea but am disappointed again. Sir Garfield's horses seem to always take precedence."

  The clattering outside announced Sir Garfield's arrival, whereby the two men took leave of the lady to greet the coach. They arrived outside just as the footman lowered the steps.

  Though Philip had accompanied his friend only to provide moral support, he soon realized the serendipity of his decision when Beatrix made to alight from the carriage. Robert had come to claim his prize, but Philip now espied his own trophy in the baronet's daughter.

  Unaware of the company, Beatrix said with a giggle over her shoulder, "What a vastly entertaining ride, Charles! I thought dearest Papa was in danger of apoplexy! I fail to comprehend all this ado over a silly little horse race."

  Intercepting the footman, the major reached up to hand the lady out of the carriage. Beatrix's giggle died on her lips.

  "So we meet again." Philip's voice was low and smooth but his lips smoother as they brushed her fingertips. Frozen, Beatrix blinked three times before her brain could process the vision or compose a response. Here stood the same man, the raffish captain, who had ridiculed her.

  "'Twas the Lichfield races, was it not?" His eyes mocked even as his lips spoke the reminder of her humiliation by his hand.

  She flushed, taken unawares, but recalling her vow of vengeance, she reclaimed her equanimity with an artful reply. "Are we acquainted, Major? I'm afraid I have not the least recollection of you."

  "But I remember it well," Charles said, exiting the carriage. "'Tis the same chap who came to our rescue when we were entrenched in that devilish mud. Trixie, you
must
recall it," Charles insisted, soon joined by Sir Garfield and Charlotte.

  "Regretfully, Major, the event signifies with my brother, but alas, my poor memory fails." Her vindictive glint belied the mendacious response.

  Realizing her game, Philip suppressed a wicked chuckle.
Hell hath
no fury, eh? We'll just see about that.
Beatrix had dropped the gauntlet, and Philip was not one to refuse a challenge.

  With an infuriatingly rakish grin, Philip replied, "I am chagrinned, my lady, in having made such a poor and forgettable impression. A grievous discredit to my rank and station, for which I am compelled

to make amends."

  Beatrix gave this man further study. Did he still mock her? She would surely exact vengeance for his scorn. She vowed to bring her charms to full measure. She would enslave him, make him beg as no man had ever begged. She would hold nothing back to achieve her aim: the complete degradation and utter humiliation of Philip Drake. Her decision made, she applied herself immediately and unreservedly to her purpose.

  "Amends, you say?" She flashed her most beguiling smile and placed her hand on his sleeve, allowing him to lead her into the house.

  Once inside, Charlotte and Beatrix excused themselves to change, and Sir Garfield withdrew to his study for a stiff drink, mumbling about settling the bet after tea.

  Lady Felicia, abashed at her husband's inhospitality and less-thanconvivial manner, and secretly eager to further Beatrix's acquaintance with the major, ordered tea served in the solarium and then instructed a footman to prepare a chamber for the two men to refresh themselves.

  Once in the privacy of the bedchamber, Philip ventured languidly, "Beatrix was none too concerned with her father's losses today."

  "Beatrix? She's a vain and frivolous chit. She hasn't the least care for money, leastwise not the spending of it," Robert added dryly.

  "But one would expect her to have more care for her dowry," Philip artfully segued to his purpose.

  "She needn't worry on that account, I assure you."

  "Do you indeed?"

  "Nigh on twenty thousand, I've heard."

  Philip's interest was decidedly piqued. "You do say, Devington? How reliable is your source?"

  "Her cousin, Charlotte. Why the interest?"

  "You promised heiresses, as I recall." Philip's indolent tone did nothing to assuage Robert's growing unease. He instinctively balked at Drake's setting his mercenary sights on Beatrix.

  "I meant in Doncaster, not here at Heathstead Hall," Robert said.

  "I beg to see the difference, and I daresay you owe me after your
brilliant
performance this morning."

  Mortified by the truth, Robert suppressed any further protest.

Once retired to her chamber, Beatrix set about formulating her battle plan. She took particular pains with her toilette and selected her most flattering day gown. The pink silk bespoke innocence, but she bade Letty lace her stays as tightly as achievable, to display her bosom to best advantage.

  With her blond curls newly coiffed, she rehearsed a sultry moue in the looking glass, and then an enticing smile, and rubbed her teeth for shine. Her vanity now well satisfied, she went to Charlotte's dressing room to ply her with questions.

  "Charlotte, what do you know of this Major Drake? What has Robert said of him?"

  Charlotte was surprised by her cousin's keen interest in the major. Beatrix had never shown sincere interest in any other gentleman. She answered warily.

  "As an officer, Robert is in admiration of him. He has described the major as capable, competent, and brave. He exhibited great valor in battle. Outside of that, I know little of the man."

  "But what do you know of his family?"

  "I believe he is the son of an earl, but 'tis the limit of my knowledge."

  "From a noble family?" Beatrix furrowed her brow. "But he has no title, Charlotte. Do you suppose he is heir to one? But then surely he would have introduced himself with at least a courtesy title such as
Sir
Philip Drake or Major
Lord So-and-so,
if he was heir to one. Even Charles, as first son of a baronet, is eligible for knighthood at his coming-of-age." She frowned again, posing the question almost to herself. "Since
you
are no help, I suppose I must make it my objective to discover for myself."
And then make him grovel at my

  Beatrix wafted gracefully into the solarium, gushing disingenuous apologies, just as Lady Felicia began pouring tea. Charlotte followed demurely in her wake.