The Scandalous Life of a True Lady (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Simone awoke to feel hot breath on her neck, and a weight against her right side. “I told you, dogs do not belong on the bed, Blacky. They don’t even belong in the house, but you’re not welcome anywhere else.”

Mr. Black licked her cheek, on her left side. Simone rolled over with a start. She hadn’t heard Harry come back in, or change his clothes.

He hadn’t. He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, in his shirt and breeches and boots. He’d come to her bed in boots? He’d also come unshaven and unwashed, smelling of horse and spirits and sweat. He looked like a libertine who had stayed out all night, which was what he was and what he had done, the lizard. She sniffed the air for the scent of perfume, but detected only damp wool and dog. Good. Her honorable Harry would not shame her by going to another woman after she’d refused him her bed. Would he?

The very idea of him tom-catting like some of the other men made her shake him harder than she’d intended. “Where were you?”

He rolled over, proving why he was better at managing the intelligence division from an office than he would have been as a spy in the field. He’d be shot his first morning.

Simone shook him again. “Get up. We have a busy day.”

He made a gurgling sound—or was that the dog, wanting to go out?—but he did not move.

“Harry, it’s the race day. And you promised to teach me billiards this morning before anyone else is up. That contest is scheduled for tonight after the entertainment.”

“Mm. Start without me.”

“I can’t, you moron. I do not know how.” When she got no response, she tried to arouse his jealousy. After all, it worked on her. “Maybe I’ll get one of the other gentlemen to teach me.”

“Fine. You do that, sweetings.”

She put her hand to his forehead. “Are you sick?”

Harry pulled a pillow over his head, sending a cloud of bread crumbs over the sheets. That showed Simone how much he cared about her concerns and her comfort. Why should he, anyway? He’d only hired her to impress his friends. She ignored all his blather about national security and personal danger as more weapons in a rake’s arsenal. The silver-tongued devil could get a gullible female like Simone to believe anything he said, and permit any liberties he chose to take. She tossed her own pillow atop his head. “Take that, you dastard.”

She didn’t ring for Sarah, not wanting the girl to see her master so…so sunk in dissipation. She didn’t want anyone to know he’d spent the night elsewhere, either. She had her pride. She found a morning gown she could fasten for herself.

Many of the gentleman must have stayed up late too, for few of them were in the breakfast room when Simone went in. Claire was, for the first time since Simone had arrived. She must be thinking about the race also, Simone decided, to be up so early. Claire was dressed perfectly, every black hair in place, unlike Simone’s hastily coiled braid. Simone decided not to stay to watch Lord Ellsworth and Mr. Anthony fawn over their hostess. She selected a sweet roll to take with her when she went out to the stable to speak with Jem.

Claire set her coffee cup down before she could leave. “Where is Harry?”

Simone dipped her head. “Good morning to you, too.”

“I need to speak to him.”

Simone couldn’t keep the rancor from her voice. “So do I.”

“Trouble?” Claire sounded delighted.

“Of course not. He’s merely sleeping in this morning. I believe he stayed up with the gentlemen last night.”

“No, he went to the village. His cousin Stamfield, half cousin, I suppose, has been making the acquaintance of every serving girl at the inn, I understand. My maid’s sister’s husband tends bar there.”

Simone knew what Claire was implying. She knew what she feared, that Harry’d sought a soft bed to sleep in, and a soft woman to sleep beside. “Harry and Mr. Stamfield are very close friends.”

Claire sank her teeth into an apple, when she didn’t get a rise out of Simone. “Are you ready for the race?”

“I will be.”

“What about the entertainment? Have you decided what you will perform?”

“Not yet.”

“Perhaps you should consider withdrawing from that event if you do not have confidence in any of your, ah, talents.”

“Not yet,” Simone repeated, putting an apple in her pocket to bring to the gelding. “But what did you wish to speak to Harry about? Perhaps I can help.”

A shutter came down over Claire’s face. She gestured that Simone should come closer so none of the gentlemen or servants could overhear. “Did he tell you?”

Tell her what, that he was going to the village? That was none of Claire’s affair. “I do not know what you are speaking of.”

Claire looked around to be certain they were private. “Did your lover tell you about my past?”

Ah, now Simone understood: Claudinia Colthopfer. “Yes, he mentioned something most people do not know. Do not concern yourself. I am no gossip.”

“I need to know who else he told and how he found out.”

Simone started to reassure the other woman that Harry was as close as a clam, but then she had an idea. “We have an hour or more before getting ready for the race. I’ll tell you what Harry told me, if you teach me to play billiards.”

“We are rivals. Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because you must know that I cannot learn enough in an hour to defeat you. I merely wish not to look like a fool. I might even find a game with one of the others who is worse. Sandaree never played, I’d wager.”

“That poor girl,” Claire said, the first kind words Simone had heard her utter. “Get her. I’ll show both of you at the same time.”

Simone couldn’t tell if Claire was sabotaging the lessons by giving them the wrong rules or bad advice, but she and Sandaree had fun, with no male acting superior or making suggestive remarks when they leaned over the table. Sandaree was a natural at holding the stick, while Simone was better at figuring angles. Together they might have a chance. Claire actually laughed with them.

Before they left the billiards room to change into their riding habits, Claire held Simone back instead of letting her follow Sandaree. “Inform Harry that if he tells anyone else about my daughter, I will see every door in London shut to him and to you, Royce connection or not.”

“You have a daughter?” Simone gasped. “Harry never told me.”

Claire slammed the cue stick down so hard it shattered.

Simone drew her own conclusions. “I suppose Gorham does not know. And I also guess that is why you need the money so badly. I sympathize, I truly do. I have a young brother to support, so I understand. I would never tell anyone your secret. Neither would Harry. He’s better at keeping secrets than anyone I have ever met.”

She could tell that Claire was not appeased by the hard wooden ball that went sailing past her head into a painting of one of Gorham’s ancestors. Claire would have used the information against a competitor; she obviously thought Simone would too.

“I am not your enemy,” Simone said before Claire could pick up another billiard ball to toss, although she did consider letting her hostess destroy the room so the contest could be cancelled. “And Harry is trustworthy.”

She repeated that to herself on her way to the bedchamber, where the trustworthy toad was still sleeping. She could hear Sarah in the dressing room, but Metlock must have taken the dog out. He also must have pulled Harry’s boots off and covered him with a blanket so he did not appear quite as debauched. He still smelled of brandy, though, and Simone hoped he’d have the devil’s own headache when he finally woke up. Which had to be now, if he was to be any help to her at all.

“Harry, the race.”

He succeeded in opening an eyelid, with great effort. “You don’t have to ride. It’s almost over.”

“No, the race won’t begin for another hour.”

He yawned. “Not the race, the other.”

“What other?”

“I can’t tell you, not yet.”

She watched him stretch, pulling his shirt taut over hard muscles, then remembered her grievances and Claire’s daughter. “There is a great deal you do not tell me. But you can tell me about Gorhams’ race track. You said you were going to look it over yesterday. And you can tell me anything I need to know about pacing the gelding.”

He rubbed at his eyes, then said, “You can’t ride the bay. Too tired.”

“I realize you are tired, but you have no one to blame but yourself, and you might try to help for my sake. Or for the bets you’ve placed, at the very least.”

He put one foot out of the bed. “Not me. It’s Lodestar who’s spent. I had to ride him last night.”

“You rode my horse?” The bay gelding was his, of course, but Simone could not bother with minor details right now.

“Gorham’s bound to have something suitable. Ask him for a mount. Lud, I need a bath.”

Simone almost gave him one with her dirty wash water.

*

In her elegant new habit, Simone should have felt confident, eager for the race. Instead, she was dreading it, with good cause. The male house guests were all at the stables, along with many London bucks who had come for the race and the ball, plus a score of local residents. Simone could see Daniel Stamfield over the crowd, he was so much bigger than anyone else.

The females who were to ride were either flirting with the newcomers or listening to their protectors giving last-minute instructions. Not many of the original twenty courtesans were left to race.

Of the women still at Gorham’s, Mary Connors, the actress, had never learned to ride although, she told everyone, she could drive a high perch phaeton to the inch. Pregnant Alice was suffering from morning sickness again, and Sandaree had only ridden elephants. Madeline Harbough, the circus rider, was departing for London as soon as she found enough cushions to put under her sore derriere, and the banker’s companion, Miss Hanson, was going to practice the pianoforte for her evening’s performance. That left Simone, Maura Doyle, Daisy, Ruby, in a ruby-colored habit, of course, and Sir Chauncey’s, or Danforth’s, ballerina, who was also going to perform tonight, but insisted on riding anyway. And Claire Hope.

Simone did not see Claire yet, but she knew there’d be no race if their hostess wasn’t sure she could win.

Jem agreed that Lodestar was sluggish this morning. The bay could be ridden, and the gelding would give his all, but Miss Noma wouldn’t have a chance to win and might injure the horse. Daniel agreed and went off to ask Gorham’s head groom to find her a mount. His own horse was a slow, lumbering beast that suited him perfectly, but would never win any race.

Daniel and the head groom brought out a pretty chestnut mare. She looked sound, Jem told her after inspecting her legs and back and neck. The stableman called her a sweet goer, Miss Hope’s second favorite mount.

Then Simone saw a groom lead out Claire’s first favorite, and her dreams turned to horse droppings. A snow-white, part-Arabian mare pranced past her, looking like visiting royalty. Shouts of changing odds went up from the spectators.

Simone saw Claire now, looking as stunning as her horse in a stark black habit to match her black hair, a white feather in her jockey-cap type bonnet, and a ruffle of white lace at her throat. She and her horse were a matched set of rare, high-priced and exquisite works of art.

Simone looked at the dainty mare she was to ride. Then she looked at Claire’s long-necked, thin-legged beauty that was built for speed. She marched young Jem back into the stable.

“Saddle Fidus for me.”

Daniel was leading the chestnut mare after Simone. He laughed. “You can’t ride Harry’s horse. He’ll kill you. Harry, that is, or the horse might, too. No, Harry’ll kill me. Fidus will toss you before you reach the starting line.”

Simone put all her courage and confidence in four words: “I can ride him.”

Jem said, “Pardon, Miss Noma, but Fidus has never carried a lady. He’d never take to a sidesaddle.”

Simone raised one leg to show her split skirt. “Then it is a good thing I am prepared to ride astride.”

The boy stood his ground. “You can’t take the horse out, not without the governor’s permission.”

“I have it,” Simone lied.

Daniel stepped behind the mare to scratch his groin. “No, you don’t.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I say I do. You did not speak to Harry an hour ago. I did.”

“He wouldn’t let you ride Fidus. Hell, he won’t let me ride him.”

“It is my word against yours.”

Daniel couldn’t say how he knew she was lying. He couldn’t scratch his privates and tie her up on the borrowed mare at the same time, either. She was already striding down the long stable corridor to Fidus’s stall at the end.

“Get the saddle now,” she ordered. “Or I’ll ride bareback.”

Daniel stopped itching. She was telling the truth, by Jupiter.

“Harry won’t want me breaking my neck, will he?”

“He just might,” Daniel told her, and that was the truth, too. No matter, the woman was as thick-headed and stubborn as the horse. Daniel knew he was defeated either way, which was why he usually avoided independent women. “I’ll go get Harry.”

“Fine. He ought to be in his bath by now.” She was crooning to the big stallion, ordering another groom to take the mare away because she was distracting Fidus. The black liked the apple she’d brought for the bay gelding, and didn’t put up any fuss when Jem tightened his girth on a lighter, smaller saddle he’d found. The boy warned her that Fidus didn’t like the whip. Simone set hers aside and took the reins to lead him out, still talking quietly, telling Fidus how handsome he was, how he was going to help her win a new life, how proud Harry would be. “You believe me, don’t you?”

A hush fell over the crowd, then there was a mad scramble to record new bets. The ballet dancer tried to reach Lord Gorham, to withdraw from the race, but Claire blocked her way as she pushed forward to confront Simone.

“You cannot ride that horse.”

“Oh, yes, I can. I can ride anything. My grandfather was a horse trader and trainer. He taught me.”

Danforth went to put his money on Claire. “No filthy Gypsy ought to be allowed among decent people,” Simone heard him mutter. Simone glared and Claire curled her lip at the duke’s wastrel son who kept poor Sandaree a near slave.