How to Marry a Rake (11 page)

Mae judged her moment to have arrived. She leaned in and asked her question low in his ear. ‘Did you steal Pratchett, Lord Landry?’

That woke him up. He pulled his head back up in a hurry. ‘Damn and blast—did that devil Ryeton tell you that? Hell, no.
He
stole that horse from me!’

‘He stole Pratchett from you?’ She made her eyes wide.

‘Next thing to it.’ His eyes pleaded for her understanding. ‘A while back, I owed him some money. A pittance, really, but he wouldn’t wait for me to come up with the blunt. He wished to take Pratchett as payment instead.’

She sat back. ‘Well, that showed significant foresight, didn’t it?’

‘Horse was young then. Promising, but no significant races to his credit.’ His head nodded again. ‘Funny.
Horses don’t have credit, do they?’ He sighed. ‘Neither do I.’

‘And then Pratchett began to win.’ Mae was all sympathy. ‘You must have wanted him back.’

‘That horse has made Ryeton rich several times over. All I wanted was the money I could have got for him if I’d sold him instead of turning him over outright.’ His drunken indignation was fading.

‘It seems only fair.’

‘Ryeton wouldn’t even hear me out.’ His eyes closed and he laid his head back again. ‘It’ll be Marshalsea for me, before long.’

His eagerness to get her alone became clear. ‘Unless you marry?’ she asked sourly.

‘Marry,’ he agreed with a yawn. ‘Halford’s daughter.’ He smiled with his eyes still closed. ‘Who knew she was such a pretty thing?’

Mae had outmaneuvered him.

She’d charmed Matthew Grange. The man was half-besotted, singing her praises in Stephen’s ear until he wished to plant his friend a facer.

‘Just wait until you know her better,’ Stephen had told Matthew.

She’d flirted shamelessly with his friend; he’d witnessed it himself. She’d snatched Landry away, too, preventing Stephen from discovering information vital to their mission, and then she’d disappeared with the man.

She’d better not be
breathing
at him.

She was off alone with the most flagrant fortune hunter in the
ton
and he was stuck here, caught in a
choppy confluence of emotion. Some of it held a definite flavour of familiarity; he’d swum through waters of irritation and exasperation often enough when dealing with Mae. His old weaknesses were flaring tonight, too. He was not used to being ignored, could scarcely abide it, but never had his shameful need to be noticed blazed so painfully as tonight, when Mae had so blatantly disregarded him and his wishes.

But what was this burning madness that had seized him as he watched her slink off, alone with Landry? He refused to believe it was jealousy. It was concern, naturally. Although even that was an overreaction. What was Landry going to do? Ravish the girl? Of course not. He was more likely to grab that dare-you-not-to-look sapphire between her breasts and hie off to the nearest fence.

The image kicked him hard in the gut. Landry’s hands. Mae’s breasts.

Without a word he abandoned Matthew and went in search of them.

The parlour door, standing half-closed, flew the rest of the way open with a bang.

‘Shh,’ Mae admonished Stephen. ‘You’ll wake him.’

He blew into the room, a thundering storm looming over the questionable shelter of the sofa. Mae kept her gaze fixed steadily with his. This was no time to back down.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ he demanded.

‘Practising my wiles,’ she answered, leaning away from the viscount and rising up to meet Stephen. She
had the feeling she’d want to be steady on her feet for this.

‘Practising …’ His words fell away. Clearly this was not the response he’d been expecting.

‘Yes—and putting them to good use, too.’ She gazed down at Landry with regret. ‘Unfortunately our mystery is not going to be solved so easily. The viscount did not steal Pratchett away.’

That dissipated some of his blustering. ‘No?’

She shook her head.

‘Damnation. He accused Ryeton of stealing the horse from him, so I’d hoped …’ He stared at the sleeping man in disappointment.

‘No.’ Mae explained what the viscount had said. ‘So,’ she concluded, ‘Ryeton took Pratchett to cover a trifling debt and made a fortune off him. Landry’s been trying to weasel a share of it.’

Stephen heaved a sigh. ‘I suppose it would have been too easy, had it turned out to be him.’

‘Easy would have made for a nice change.’ Mae sighed right along with him. ‘But there is good news. We’re not left completely without leads.’ She outlined all that she’d learned at tea this afternoon.

He’d lost his words again, but his glare was back. ‘You think Ryeton’s wife—or perhaps his mistress—might have orchestrated this? Out of spite?’

She shrugged a shoulder. ‘He is miserable, by all accounts. And it would appear that they both have reason to make him so.’

‘But they wouldn’t …’ He sounded aghast.

‘Why not? Because they are women? Do you judge
them incapable of such a thing because of their sex?’ She raised a brow at him.

‘Point taken.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘But I don’t relish the idea of investigating the man’s wife. Or his …’ He paused. ‘Oh, Lord, I shouldn’t even be speaking of these matters with you.’

‘Don’t be missish, Stephen.’ She rolled her eyes at him. ‘By the way, Josette’s ruled out Pratchett’s groom being involved.’

‘What? How?’

‘I sent her into town this afternoon. She asked around, found his favourite tavern and spent several hours with him. She said he’s distraught with worry over the horse. And the cat.’

‘Cat?’

‘Yes, apparently Pratchett has a cat as a constant companion in his stall. Like the Goldolphin Arabian and his faithful Grimalkin.’

‘Damn the cat.’ Stephen exhaled mightily and began to pace. ‘Damn it, Mae! I’m proud of you—look at all that you’ve accomplished in such a short time. But I can’t condone your methods!’

‘What have I done that is so terrible?’

‘I brought Landry along, but you shut me out!’

She straightened in indignation. ‘You shut me out first!’

He speared her with his glower. ‘You should never have come in here alone with him.’

She crossed her arms. ‘Why not?’

‘Why not?’ He spun away, pacing again. ‘Why not, she asks! What goes on in those European salons, I
have to wonder?’ He turned back to her. ‘You shouldn’t have done it because it’s not seemly!’

His attitude was a flame setting her anger to simmer. ‘You asked for my help. You don’t get to dictate the manner in which I give it.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘You’re after a husband. I understand.’

‘Yes! We have a bargain in that regard,’ she snapped. ‘I hope you have not forgotten!’

‘I have not.’ He’d descended into condescension now. ‘But you asked not just for my help, but for my opinion. You should have given me a chance to express it before you went traipsing off alone with a jug-bitten fortune hunter like Landry! The man is at his limits and he’s growing desperate. Who knows what he’s capable of? He could have kidnapped you. Or compromised you beyond saving.’

She laughed. ‘This situation is too much for you. You’ve gone histrionic.’

He gaped at her. ‘I am not histrionic!’

‘And I’m not a fool.’

‘I didn’t say you were!’

Mae knew she’d taken on her most mulish, unattractive expression, but there was no avoiding it. ‘You implied it—and the alternative is worse. If I’m not foolish, then you must think me a wanton! Is
that
what you meant to imply?’

His mouth dropped open. She didn’t give him time to come up with a reply.

‘I left word with my mother before I left the long parlour. She’s aware of both my location and the viscount’s condition. The servants have been in and out
with coffee and a footman has been parading up and down the hall at regular intervals. I had only a few minutes alone with him, but I managed to discover what I needed to know
before
he passed out from all the drink you’ve poured down him.’

She set her hands on her hips. He stood near now; close enough to catch the scent of his spicy cologne and freshly starched linen. Close enough to feel the warmth rising off his broad chest and notice that it was rising faster than it had been just a second before.

‘He was in more danger from me than I was from him.’ She pitched her voice low, kept her expression cool and taunting.

In contrast, his face darkened. ‘That’s the God’s honest truth.’

‘Perhaps you should consider your own welfare, then.’ She exhaled. ‘Perhaps you’d better run.’

He made a strangled sound of protest. He took a step closer instead, closing the small space between them. He looked like he wished to strangle her.

‘Or perhaps you might begin to fulfil your part of the bargain.’ She gestured towards the unconscious viscount. ‘Twelve hours it’s been since we made our pact and between Josette and myself we’ve eliminated two suspects and one potential husband.’ She showed him no mercy. ‘It would appear you’re falling behind, Stephen.’

His only answer was a growl, laden with frustration. She froze as he took the last, infinitesimal step. If she moved but an inch, she would find herself pressed up against him.

He didn’t speak.

She wouldn’t back down.

Stalemate. It lasted moments. Or centuries. She waited. He held himself aloof. Immobile. His breath sounded like a bellows, and his expression might have been carved from stone.

‘Good Lord,’ he moaned. ‘Perhaps this is not going to work.’

‘Perhaps not.’ She sighed.

He stepped back, scrubbed a hand in his hair. Even now, mad as a fury, she longed to follow suit.

‘Did you agree to this, Mae, just so that you could get even with me?’ He sounded exhausted. ‘Were you only after a little revenge?’

Flabbergasted, she stared at him. ‘Revenge for what?’

‘For the last time we were together.’

It hurt, that he would bring the subject up again. But she tossed her head to hide the pain, and gave a deprecating snort. ‘I begin to think that you ascribe more importance to that night than even I do.’

He turned away, his head hanging low. ‘I was in a lot of pain that night, Mae.’

‘I know.’ And that had been the problem all along. She’d known things, seen things that he didn’t want seen. She’d chased him, yes. Manipulated him into kissing her once. But the real problem had been that she had asked for more than he was willing to give. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

‘I’d only just returned from my first visit to Fincote, since my mother’s death. I …’ His voice trailed away.

Mae did not make the mistake of urging him to continue.

Finally he turned back to face her. ‘It wasn’t you I was angry with.’

‘It’s fine, Stephen. I’m fine. You did what you had to that night—you told the truth. You made me see that there was nothing more than friendship between us.’

‘I shouldn’t have lashed out so harshly.’

‘It was better that you did.’

‘I never thought your father would pack you off to the Continent.’

‘He did the right thing, too. I was hurt, and young and headstrong. He’d been aware of my … pursuit … of you. I think a good deal of his sympathy was for you, actually. He saw me that night, after we argued. He knew I was upset and suspected that something had occurred between us. He knew enough of my tenacity to take me away before I did something foolish.’ She sighed. ‘It
was
the right thing. It gave me time to deal with my disappointment and plenty of other things on which to focus my energies.’

He was going to say more. She could see that he wanted to. She waited, but he held silent, stood immobile. His breathing grew harsh and laboured once more.

Her own breath caught the rhythm and followed along. Behind them the viscount slept on. Between them the air crackled with intensity, sizzled with spiralling heat. And inevitability.

She saw his intention in his eyes a moment before they closed, before he gave a groan of frustration, reached out and pulled her hard against him.

She froze at first, rigid with disbelief. Feebly,
she reached up, put her hands on his chest to push him away.

Instead, she melted. Gone. All the rigidity of her bones and the strength in her muscles—gone to mush under the angry heat of his kiss.

This was nothing like their first kiss. Her first kiss. That had been all tentative exploration and giddy excitement. This was heat and anger and denial and want all wrapped up in the taste of his lips and the insistent stroke of his tongue.

This was no boy’s kiss, nor green girl’s response. Stephen loomed above and all about her. He felt bigger, darker and more demanding—and she thrilled to it. She opened wider to take him in, revelled in the abandon with which he ravished her mouth.

From behind them came a loud, rasping snore.

It shattered the spell. They stilled. Stephen pulled back, staring at her with bewilderment and accusation in his eyes.

She raised her chin. ‘If I didn’t like you so well, Stephen, I would slap you a cracking good blow for that.’

‘Perhaps now you will understand why you should not go off alone with strange men.’ He lacked the conviction with which he’d been arguing before.

She forced a laugh. ‘You may have been the first strange man to have kissed me, but you’re not the only one. And I doubt you’ll be the last.’

His fists clenched at his sides. ‘Made a habit of it, have you?’

She raised a shoulder. ‘A girl does what she must. But I’d hoped that your help would mean
less
of this sort of … research.’

He gaped at her.

‘I don’t mean to disparage your skills, of course. You are a lovely kisser. But I already knew that, didn’t I? Now, we have a horse to find. And a husband. Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

With a swish of her skirts, Mae turned and left the parlour.

Chapter Nine

‘T
he world’s gone upside down.’ Lord Toswick stared down into his mug of coffee like he was looking for the way to set things right again.

‘You have no idea,’ Stephen agreed with him. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he’d kissed Mae Halford. Not a friendly kiss, either. He’d practically devoured her. He’d tossed and turned all night long and rose from bed still hungry for her. All of that was bad. But the worse part, the most disturbing and painful truth, was that it hadn’t been at her instigation. This time it had been his doing.

He pushed the thought away. Almost as bad was the memory of her indifference to his kiss. A blow to his pride, to be sure, but a good thing. He repeated that to himself once more. That kiss had been a mistake. One he couldn’t allow to happen again. He was going to apologise—profusely—and move on. He was damned lucky Mae
didn’t
want him—had she been another sort of woman she might have had his head in a noose and
tugged him to the altar already. But she had her goals and they in no way coincided with his.

And it was time he began to concentrate harder on his. What if her father had found them? He would have been ruined. The people at Fincote would have had nothing again. Nothing but hunger and despair. Again. Such a thing would kill him. He didn’t think he could handle another burden of guilt like the last one.

He looked about him, at the men settled comfortably in this thoroughly masculine environ. They all sat at peace with their papers or grouped together, debating tomorrow’s racing with muted excitement. He was here, in the Jockey Club Coffee Rooms. He should be savouring this moment.

‘This morning at the breakfast table, my wife asked me what I looked for in a jockey.’ Toswick frowned at Stephen. ‘When I answered, she took out paper and pencil and began to take notes.’

‘That is odd.’ No wonder Toswick had been in a strange mood. The earl had met him on the stairs this morning and invited Stephen to the Coffee Rooms as his guest. He had eagerly accepted, but now he began to wish he hadn’t. The rooms were a shrine to horses, dogs and manly pursuits, but he felt like a fraud. He wanted to be here on his own terms, recognised for his own merit.

‘And that’s not all. I think Ryeton’s run a little mad, what with Pratchett gone and his wife just arrived.’ By Toswick’s tone, Stephen was given to understand that the two events carried the same disastrous weight. ‘He even questioned me—as if he thought I might have known something about Pratchett’s disappearance!’

‘His search doesn’t go well, I presume?’ Stephen had to disguise his surge of pleasure and relief.

‘Not at all.’ Toswick cast a careful glance about. ‘But after listening to all and sundry—my money’s on Cray. As the culprit, I mean.’

Stephen took the statement literally—he knew there was voluminous betting taking place, on just who the horse-napper would turn out to be. ‘Cray?’ he asked. ‘Chester Cray, the leg?’

‘Aye—that’s the one.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There’s bad blood already between him and Ryeton, you know. Ryeton suspected he might have been the one to poison the feed at his home stables.’

‘Is Cray even in Newmarket?’

‘Reputed to be, though he must be laying low. I haven’t caught a glimpse of him myself.’ Toswick looked about once more. ‘I’d appreciate you keeping this to yourself. Cray’s not a character I’d want to cross.’

‘Of course.’ Stephen’s spirits lifted a little, while his heart began to beat a more hopeful rhythm. It didn’t make good business sense for a leg to steal a favourite horse, but if Ryeton had a contentious history with the man, the matter might have become personal.

‘I say …’ Toswick’s amused tone woke him from his reverie ‘… what have you done to Halford?’

‘Halford?’ Stephen straightened in his chair.

‘Yes. He just passed us by on his way out—and the look he cast your way was distinctly … odd.’

‘Perhaps it was only that he didn’t expect to see me here.’ Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that he’d lost control with his daughter last night. That he’d let
her daunting confidence and the challenge in her eye goad him into silencing her with his kiss. A kiss so devastating that his nether regions felt the echo of it even now.

‘Have you spoken to him about his filly?’

‘I did.’ He’d mentioned Toswick’s idea to Mae’s father last night while she’d been flaunting her jewel-adorned cleavage at the bleary-eyed Landry. ‘He appeared amenable to the idea.’ Stephen had also taken the opportunity to mention the promise he saw in Ornithopter.

‘Splendid,’ said Toswick with satisfaction. ‘The fillies go off tomorrow. If both animals perform well, there will be that much more interest in seeing them matched against each other.’ He set down his coffee and checked his pocket watch. ‘Halford is likely returning for the garden party.’ He groaned. ‘I don’t suppose my wife would look favourably upon either of us if we missed it.’

‘I don’t suppose she would.’ Mae would be there. Lord, he’d be better off taking her advice and running the other way.

He stood. ‘Shall we go?’

Toswick sighed. ‘I’ll have to show my face, at least. But then I’m off to watch Butterfly’s time trial.’ The earl stood as well. ‘I wonder if my wife will be inviting a jockey as her guest?’

Lady Toswick had invited a jockey to the garden party, as her guest. All of the ladies had been made privy to the scheme. Her orders, given at the end of her tea and spread across town yesterday, had been for
everyone to ask questions of their men and come ready to share what they’d learned.

Now women were milling about the lawn in terrible chaos, ignoring the lovely setting, the refreshments and the men. Some clustered about, questioning the jockey, a Mr Kincaid, late of Dublin. Others stood about or flitted from one group to another. Bonnets nodded and parasols pointed as the ladies of Newmarket discussed sires and dams, and furiously argued favourites and odds.

At first the pandemonium barely registered with Mae—likely because it so perfectly echoed her own inner turmoil. She, usually so clear-headed and focused, found herself floundering. It was uncomfortable, intolerable—and all Stephen Manning’s fault.

He’d kissed her! She didn’t understand it. She’d done just as she’d ought. She’d followed each carefully planned step, adhered to every painfully plotted stratagem, even down to squelching the heat, the thousands of tiny explosions of desire that had beset her as they argued.

And yet the results had been mixed at best. Yes, she’d made a favourable impression on Lord Banks, and she’d eliminated Lord Landry both as a potential husband and as the person responsible for Pratchett’s disappearance, but she’d also somehow goaded Stephen into kissing her.

Worse, she’d succumbed completely. Forgotten every design and objective and allowed herself to be overpowered by the glorious heat, strength and taste of him, and by her own heady desire for more.

There would be no more, she told herself sternly.
One kiss had left her lost; her straight and narrow path degenerated into a swampy marsh of too many choices, too many voices.

They clamoured in her head as she looked about at the confused picture the ladies made. All they wanted was an occupation, a bit of attention. Well, they had it. The men stood about, looking amused. Or annoyed. Mr Fatch in particular was looking sour, standing aside in deep consultation with Miss Metheny.

Mae resisted the almost violent urge to take the ladies in hand. It was what she had intended to do when she arrived in England: behave prettily, as her father wished, blend in and present her best face to rigid English society. But Stephen Manning was watching, his head close to Lord Toswick’s, as they and all the gentlemen tried to work out what had gotten into the women. And suddenly it was Matthew Grange’s voice echoing in her head, and it spoke of the misery that came with hiding one’s true character.

She decided to listen. Breathing deeply, she stepped into the midst of the hubbub and clapped her hands until the chattering ceased. It was but a matter of minutes before she had the ladies gathered into a cohesive group. She saw that everyone had refreshments and invited Mr Kincaid to speak on the qualities he looked for in a successful racehorse. A word whispered into the ear of their hostess and a chair was brought from the house. Another whisper—and a little flirtation—and Mr Matthew Grange took the chair once Mr Kincaid was through. He talked for a while about how the legs went about taking bets and ‘making their books’.

The women listened, asked intelligent questions
and began to be as excited about the actual sport as they had been about the idea of gaining the attention of their men. Even Mae’s mother looked to be caught up in the fun. The male guests were still flummoxed at their behaviour, but at least the ladies were presenting a more impressive image.

As Mr Grange finished, the group began to break up. Their hostess called them together for a last moment. ‘The gentlemen are puzzled, ladies. Some are intrigued and a few are a little put out. I’d say we’ve had a successful start to our strategy, but for now let us go forth and mingle as if all of this was perfectly ordinary.’

She shooed them off. Mae glanced towards Stephen. He was decidedly not looking at her. She scanned the crowd until she located Lord Banks. With a toss of her head, she made a beeline for the baron, joined his group and took his arm.

‘I’m afraid I missed the chance to explore the forest walk with the ladies yesterday,’ she told him. ‘Would you care to join me as I make up for the lack today?’

He readily agreed and it was with a grim smile of satisfaction that she felt the stealthy weight of Stephen’s gaze, as he pointedly did
not
watch her set off.

The path they took was longer than the one she and Stephen had taken to the little meadow, and enhanced in spots with cleverly planted groves of elm and sycamore. At one point it became clear that the trail had been designed to showcase a pretty little stream lined with willows.

They had not been walking very long before Lord Banks cleared his throat. ‘That was a masterful display back there, Miss Halford.’

She raised her chin. ‘Thank you. The ladies were only in want of a little management.’

He nodded. ‘I could use someone with an orderly mind like yours, as I plan my stable renovations. It will be a large undertaking, especially when combined with the start of my stud.’

A little hitch of pleasure had her catching her breath. Perhaps Mr Grange had been right! Still, Josette’s warnings rang in her ears. Eyeing the baron carefully, Mae decided to give him a taste of the real Mae Halford.

She crossed over to the bank of the little stream, where several individual stone seats had been placed. They both remained standing, though. ‘I would be happy to help in any way I could. I have a good deal of experience in helping to manage renovation projects. My father and I have also visited many of the finest breeders on our travels.’

Lord Banks’s pleasant expression grew more shuttered. ‘How kind you are.’

Watching him closely, she continued. ‘Your enthusiasm is quite catching. I confess, though, a question did occur to me, listening to your plans yesterday.’

‘Oh? What question was that?’ He sounded only curious, which Mae took as a good sign.

‘You mentioned that the estate is small. Most breeding enterprises do require a good deal of acreage.’

‘Ah, yes, you are right about that. Actually, I’m hoping to acquire a nice bit of land marching our eastern side.’

Mae didn’t try to hide her surprise. ‘How lovely that a small estate provides enough of a profit to do so.’

Now the baron began to look a little uncomfortable. ‘The estate does well enough to support itself.’

‘But not well enough to support your dreams.’ She nodded her understanding. ‘Then I hope you have a plan to raise the money. It’s unlikely that you would get enough in stud fees, for several years at least, to cover such an investment.’

He looked her over with an odd smile. ‘I do indeed have another plan.’

She waited, but he didn’t continue, only watched her with amusement in his eyes. And finally, realisation dawned. ‘Oh!’

She supposed she should be flattered, but instead the laughter and quiet confidence in his expression set her back up. At least he was honest. She could do no less, really, than return the favour. What had Josette called her? A feast of strong flavors? She smiled, and hoped he was hungry.

‘Quite sensible of you,’ she said with a nod. ‘I do have a substantial dowry—though clearly not enough to purchase land, update your stables
and
fund the beginning of a business.’ She cocked her head at him. ‘I feel I should warn you, though, that my father and I have already agreed that the bulk of my money will remain under my own control after my marriage.’

He did look startled. ‘Why would your father agree to such a thing?’

‘Because he knows me,’ she answered simply. ‘I was raised at his knee, you know. Interest and investment and insurance were the regular topics of dinner conversation in our household.’

He blinked. ‘How unusual.’