Regency Wagers (12 page)

The man broke into a wide smile. ‘Lord Devlin, well I’ll be. Good to see you again, sir.’

They had grown up together at Heronvale, separated by their stations in life. Jem had been born to the stable, while Devlin belonged in the great house with its portrait hall of ancestors, its armour and family silver. When he and Jem met in the horses’ stalls, however, they were of one mind. Horses. They could spend hours talking of horseflesh. On horseback, they rode for miles.

Devlin reached out his hand, which Jem accepted with hesitation. ‘What are you doing here, Jem? By God, I have not seen you in years.’

‘Yes, sir, since you went off to fight the Frogs.’ Jem glanced around proudly. ‘His lordship gave me the running of the stable here.’

‘Indeed?’ Devlin surveyed his surroundings again. ‘Well done, Jem. He could not have chosen a better man. How goes it with you? You are well, it seems. What of your mother?’

‘Passed away two years ago, I’m sad to say.’ Jem’s mother had worked in Heronvale’s kitchens. She had been a jolly, generous soul.

‘I am sorry. I had not heard.’ Devlin felt guilty for not having known, not having even thought of her in that many years.

‘I’m married now, sir,’ Jem said, a proud expression on his face. ‘I have a son and another babe on the way.’

‘That is excellent news.’ It was on the tip of Devlin’s tongue to tell all about Madeleine, Linette, Bart and Sophie,
but it could not be right to do so. Jem had a real family. His was not.

They stood awkwardly for a moment before Jem asked, ‘And how can I be serving you today?’

Devlin had almost forgotten his purpose, though it now seemed less necessary to thunder away on horseback at breakneck speed. ‘I had a fancy to ride this morning. Did the Marchioness send word of me using the stable?’

‘She did, m’lord.’

Devlin clapped the man on the back. ‘Show me your animals, Jem, and help me select the best bit of blood.’

As they toured the stable, Devlin selected Ned’s black gelding, the only horse to truly tempt him. He spied another spirited animal, a mare.

‘Jem, I have another request…’

From the kitchen where she washed the morning dishes, Madeleine heard the front door open. Devlin’s voice roared, ‘Bart!’

She ignored it and returned to her chores. Sophie had become more accustomed to Madeleine’s insistence on helping with the work. The little maid’s success as a seamstress helped her relinquish her hold on every menial task that needed to be done. That and the fact that her cough had become no better.

Linette came barrelling into the kitchen.

‘Mama! Mama! Horses.
Horses
.’ The little girl pulled her by the hand and there was no refusing. Madeleine followed, though she preferred to avoid Devlin.

Linette led her out the front door to where Bart was holding the reins of two of the most beautiful horses she had ever seen. The gelding was so black the sun on its coat reflected blue. The mare was a rich chestnut. The steeds’ eyes shone with intelligence and good breeding. Their superior long legs impatiently pounded the cobblestones of the street.

She noticed the mare was saddled for a lady to ride.

Linette squealed something incoherent, and it was all Madeleine could do to keep hold of the child’s hand.

‘What are you about, Bart?’ she asked.

‘Dev asked me to hold them.’ Bart scooped Linette up in his free arm, cooing to the child, ‘Now, lass, pet the nose gently.’

Linette was in raptures, hardly able to be contained in Bart’s arm.

Madeleine smiled at her daughter’s enthusiasm. ‘What is this?’

Devlin appeared at her side, responding to her question in a low voice. ‘Have you forgotten what riding horses look like, Maddy?’ He reached for Linette.

He was dressed in riding gear: buckskins clinging to his muscular thighs, top boots gleaming with polish, a riding coat of deepest blue. Her heart caught in her throat and she turned away from him.

‘Horses, Deddy!’ the child cried.

‘Indeed, Lady Lin.’ He grinned at Linette and placed her on the back of the black horse, holding on to her as he did.

Linette looked tiny atop the huge steed. ‘Devlin, please take her off. She is too little—’

He spoke stiffly. ‘I’ll not let any harm come to her.’ Without turning toward her, he continued, ‘Madeleine, you will accompany me for this morning ride?’

The lady’s horse was for her? A thrill rushed through her, replaced by trepidation. She should not spend time with him.

‘I have no clothes.’

‘Yes, you do. On your bed is the riding dress.’

She had refused the riding dress at the modiste. He had ignored her. ‘I told you I’d have no need of riding clothes.’

‘You were wrong. You need them now.’

More useless money spent on her. Perhaps if he had simply given her the money he spent on clothes, she could have found her own place to live and he would be free not to marry for her.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. ‘What else did you buy that I asked you not to?’

‘The evening dress.’

‘The evening dress!’ Her voice became shrill.

‘And shoes to match.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘Useless waste of money.’

Devlin spoke firmly. ‘Madeleine, change into the riding dress and return here forthwith. We will ride.’ It was a command straight from a battlefield.

‘Yes, my lord.’ She turned and made sure she did not rush up the steps and into the house.

Once out of his sight, her anger blazed. She stomped into her room, and saw the riding dress laid out on her bed. It was an elegant outfit, a deep crimson, the colour rich and luxurious. She fingered the fine weave of the cloth and could not help but admire the garment’s excellent cut.

She picked up the matching hat. A single feather adorned it, curled into a crescent to accent her chin. The hat had netting she could pull down over her face.

She had never expected to ride again. Indeed, she had settled in her mind that giving up horses was fitting punishment for fate to bestow upon her. When Lord Farley had first seen her on horseback, she had worn her brother’s outgrown breeches and shirt instead of a proper riding dress. His old clothing was tight on her newly emerging curves. Now she knew how such garments must have inflamed Farley’s senses, and she’d had no sense to restrain herself.

Yes, it was a fitting punishment to never ride again.

She walked over to the window and peered out. Devlin was now astride the black horse with Linette seated in front of him. He urged the horse into a sedate walk and she could hear through the closed window Linette’s squeals of delight.

Devlin looked as if he were born to the saddle, and, as he held Linette protectively in his arm, Madeleine felt her heart yearn for him.

No. She must refrain from such feelings. She would ride,
as he commanded her to do, but she would not allow herself to feel a thing. Not for him. Not for anything, except her daughter. She would not allow herself to care about how the horse felt beneath her, how the hooves pounded in her ears, how the wind beat against her face.

She turned back to the bed and began undressing.

A quarter-hour later, she allowed Bart to toss her into the saddle. She remained silent while Devlin handed Linette down to Bart and they cantered through the London streets.

They made a solemn pair as they rode next to each other through neatly kept streets, still quiet at this early hour. The shops made way for rows of houses, each larger and more elegant as they progressed. She did not ask where they were headed.

Devlin finally spoke, though more to himself than to her. ‘I have not been on horseback since…since Belgium.’ His voice was flat, expressionless.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. She must have tugged on the reins because the horse broke its gait. She hurriedly righted it again, but remembered the battle’s evidence on his chest and back. In spite of her resolve to be angry with him, her throat tightened with emotion.

‘We are here,’ he said. They had stopped in front of a large stone gate.

Hyde Park.

Beyond the gate was a landscape of green, a fantasy of countryside in the midst of a city. ‘Oh, my,’ she gasped.

‘It is early. No one will heed us at this unfashionable hour.’ His horse led the way.

So many years ago, it had been her girlish wish to gallop down Rotten Row in Hyde Park, while her sisters had merely aspired to sedate afternoon drives.

As she and Devlin rode, Madeleine tried to imagine row after row of fashionable equipages with beautiful ladies and finely dressed gentlemen perched on the seats. The less pros
perous would stroll along the pavement. She admitted to curiosity about such a sight, even though she had disdained the role of passenger. In those innocent days, however, she had never expected to feel like a trespasser in a world to which she no longer belonged.

Devlin led her to a dirt path where it was clear they could let the horses have their heads. Rotten Row. There were a few other riders, and Devlin ignored them. Madeleine pulled the netting of her hat over her face.

‘We will race.’

He was back to giving commands, was he? Well, she would do as he commanded. She would race.

She did not wait for his command to begin. She pressed her knee into the horse’s side. The mare leaped into motion. Madeleine leaned forward almost flat against the horse’s neck. She inhaled the mare’s scent, heard the panting of the mare’s breath and the pounding of her hooves. Madeleine’s heart ignored her bidding to play dead and leapt with delight. For the first time in years, she felt exhilaratingly free.

Other hooves sounded and Devlin’s horse, neck pumping, pulled alongside. She glanced at him. His beaver hat was gone, and his hair blew wildly around his head. His eyes, too, blazed with excitement.

She urged her horse faster. Joy overwhelmed her and she laughed out loud. She glanced at Devlin, his horse neck to neck with hers. He grinned. They ended the course together.

They slowed their horses to a walk. Devlin, breathing as hard as his horse, circled around Madeleine. He gazed at her. To Madeleine, the green of the park faded and was replaced by the green of his eyes. She held his gaze, memorising it. No matter what her resolve, she vowed to remember the passion she saw in his eyes, the passion that mirrored her own.

A slow grin came over his face. ‘Shall we do it again?’

Before she could figure out what the
it
could be that they would do again, he launched into a gallop. She recovered quickly and urged her horse on his heels. He smiled proudly
at her when she caught up. Again they finished the course together.

‘I won,’ he said, a smug look on his face.

‘You did not,’ she countered. ‘I would have been a length ahead if not for this infernal saddle.’

His brow wrinkled. ‘Is something amiss with the saddle?’

She felt herself redden. ‘No, I…I am accustomed to riding astride. Or I used to be.’

His expression turned solemn and she suspected he could imagine the scandalous picture she made in those days.

A bird fluttered noisily out of a nearby bush, startling Devlin’s horse. He quieted the animal and glanced at Madeleine. Her face was flushed and her blue eyes sparkled. No matter what happened to him from this day forward, he would never regret this moment with her. Nor would he forget.

They remained that way, staring into each other’s eyes, their mounts restless underneath them. Neither looked away.

More riders arrived in the park. Some greeted Devlin and tossed curious glances toward Madeleine. She held her head down.

‘Perhaps we had best head home,’ he said.

‘Perhaps.’

He rode to retrieve his hat and led them to the gate. She followed closely.

They returned through the most fashionable streets, to streets full of shops, to their own nearly respectable address.

Madeleine spoke, ‘Why did you hire horses today?’

He glanced at her. ‘They belong to my brother.’

‘The Marquess?’ Her voice was anxious.

‘Yes, but do not worry, Maddy. I have my brother’s permission.’ It was not entirely accurate, but he had Serena’s permission, and Ned would never counter her wishes.

They lapsed back into silence.

Soon they neared their street. Madeleine asked, ‘Why did you do this?’

‘Fetch the horses?’

‘Make me ride with you.’

He frowned. How could he explain what he did not truly understand? He had not meant to invite her. At first he had meant to escape her. ‘I did not wish to ride alone.’

‘You could have taken Bart with you.’

To Bart horses were like tools, a means to get a job done. His wish to ride was more ephemeral. A last chance for freedom? Bart would never have understood.

He had not even thought of Bart, though. He had wanted Madeleine. Who else would understand the need? The pleasure?

‘I wished it to be you.’ His voice had turned low and he was not sure if she heard him.

As they rode up to their apartments, Linette’s face disappeared from the window. A moment later she was out the door, tugging away from Bart’s firm grip.

‘Horse! Horse! Mama. Deddy.’

‘Hello, my darling,’ Madeleine called to her.

‘Me, too, Mama. Me, too.’ Linette cried, squirming to get free. Even a strong man like Bart could barely hold her.

‘Bring her here, Bart.’ Devlin reached down and scooped the child into his arms, holding her securely in front of him. ‘Maddy, come with us.’

Devlin, Madeleine, and Linette rode sedately to the end of the block, quiet at this hour, and back again. The little girl’s delighted laughter filled the street.

‘More. More.’ Linette shouted.

‘Enough for today, Lady Lin.’

Bart reached for the child. Devlin slid easily off the horse and turned for Madeleine, holding her firmly by the waist to assist her to dismount.

She looked him directly in his eyes and whispered, ‘Thank you, Devlin.’

He held her there, suspending the moment.

When he finally slid her down his body to touch the pavement, Madeleine blinked, turned and took Linette from Bart.
She allowed Linette to pat the horses and say goodbye to them.