by Jane Feather
Guy nodded, he was just beginning to understand the depths of intimacy between Petra and her friends, and their families. The layers went down very far into their shared past. Sometimes he found himself envying them their natural ease and understanding with one another. He was fond of his sister and interested in her life and her family, but he wouldn’t say they were close, not in the way Petra and her brother were. And he’d never really developed any particularly close relationships with either men or women. His love affairs had been satisfying, but not particularly deep, if he was honest.
Until now.
He glanced sideways at Petra, who was laughing at something Fenella had said, her hazel eyes alight, her cheeks slightly flushed with champagne, sun and pleasure, and something seemed to come loose inside him. It felt almost like a spring breaking. If he’d ever tried to imagine the woman who would steal his heart, she wouldn’t have borne the slightest resemblance to Petra Rutherford, small, vivacious, challenging, with little respect for the rites and rituals of society’s dictates. She lacked artifice. What you saw was what you got, and Guy’s experience with women hitherto was that a man had to assume wiles and deviousness in all their dealings. The image of Clothilde rose vividly in his mind’s eye. He enjoyed matching wits with Clothilde, but he wouldn’t trust her any further than he could throw her and knew she felt the same way about him.
“The Royal Procession is just starting.” Jonathan’s voice interrupted his thoughts as the younger man hurried across the box toward them. “Let’s see if we can squeeze into a spot at the front of the box for the first race?”
“Come over here,” Diana called imperatively, waving from where she now stood with Rupert in the middle of the front row of the box. “The Queen Anne Stakes are the third race.”
“Oh, good, I’ve time to put a bet on,” Petra said, fumbling in her handbag for her wallet. “Guy, will you place it for me? How much do you think?”
“How confident are you in the horse?” he asked with an amused smile.
“Oh, totally confident,” she said airily, withdrawing a ten-pound note. “Ten pounds on Kimberley Diamond to win.”
He took the money and shook his head. “Do you even know what the odds on her are?”
“No, but what does it matter?” she said. “That’s what I want to do.”
“Very well. As my lady wishes.” Still smiling, he made his way through the gathering to the bookies’ stands outside the enclosure.
“Edward put five pounds on,” Fenella said. “Now I feel as if we didn’t have enough faith.”
“Nonsense,” declared Petra. “I’m just feeling impulsive. What do you think of the queen’s hat?”
Fenella wrinkled her nose, watching the royal carriage approach up the Straight Mile. “Pedestrian,” she stated. “I’m sure I’ve seen her wear it before . . . at one of the garden parties, I think.”
“She’s never been much interested in high fashion.” They watched as the carriage disgorged its royal passengers, who took their places in the royal box. “Now that’s over, the excitement can begin.” Petra turned her head to look toward the entrance to the box. “It’s taking Guy a long time . . . oh, there he is.” She waved at him vigorously.
“Quite reasonable odds,” he said, giving her the betting slip. “The filly doesn’t have much of a reputation yet. If she wins, you’ll make some money.”
“Diana, how much did you put on Kimberley Diamond?” Petra asked. “Guy says the odds are reasonable.”
Diana looked stricken. “I didn’t put anything on her. I was so agitated and excited and nervous it was the last thing I thought of.”
“Well, fortunately for the honor of the family, I thought to put twenty guineas on her,” Rupert said, laughing.
Petra gave her attention to the racecourse, leaning her forearms on the rail, her gaze roaming over the crowds in the stands below her and across to the neighboring boxes. And her eyes met those of Clothilde Delmont, leaning forward in the neighboring box, regarding the crowds and the course. She held opera glasses on a wand in one hand, occasionally lifting them to her eyes to get a better look.
Petra turned her head away but not quickly enough. Clothilde raised the glasses and seemed to examine Petra minutely for a very long time. Even with her head turned away she could feel the stare boring into her. Deliberately she turned to look at the woman, then touched Guy’s arm. “I think Lady Delmont is trying to attract your attention, Guy?”
He raised his eyebrows, then turned to look where Petra indicated. Clothilde lowered her glasses and smiled, raising a hand in a fluttering wave. Guy bowed his head in curt acknowledgment and his expression was dark as he turned abruptly away.
“That is the most fetching hat, Lady Delmont is wearing,” Petra said. It was a towering confection elaborately adorned with silk flowers and what looked remarkably like a bird in a gilded cage, but one couldn’t be certain at this distance, Petra thought, hugging to herself Guy’s clear displeasure.
“Lady Delmont’s dress sense is always impeccable,” Guy said coolly. “She has unerring taste.”
That wasn’t quite what Petra had hoped to hear but she had to admit it was only the truth. It seemed though that perhaps Guy and the lady had had a falling-out when she considered his present clear displeasure combined with what he had said to her on her doorstep about not worrying about Clothilde. But it also seemed to her that there might well be some unfinished business between them. And complications were always dangerous. Just when you thought something was settled, some twist or other would upset the apple cart.
Guy glanced down at Petra, aware of a sudden rigidity in the slight frame beside him. He saw the line of her jaw harden and frown lines deepen between her arched eyebrows. And once again he had the strange sensation of something loosening within him, followed by conviction, the absolute knowledge of what had to come next.
“Come.” He took her hand, drawing her away from the front of the box.
“What? Where? Guy, the race is about to begin,” Petra protested in a fierce undertone.
“Never mind that.” He pulled her inexorably beside him, circling her waist with an arm, guiding her through the box. No one paid them any attention, they were all too intent now on the racecourse, binoculars in hand, and they reached the ground outside the box without notice.
“Guy, what are you doing? I want to see the race.” Petra pulled back, digging her heels in. “Are you mad?”
“No, probably saner than I’ve been in a very long time,” he responded. “I have something to say to you and it can’t be said in a crowd. This way.” He gave a quick pull on her hand that almost unbalanced her and she flailed for a few seconds trying to get her footing. But she was propelled along nevertheless until Guy stopped in a far corner of the Royal Enclosure, as far from the course and the spectators as it was possible to get.
“Hush, Petra,” he said imperatively, as she looked ready to launch into an indignant tirade. He put a finger on her lips, keeping it there as his steady gaze held hers until she took a breath of acceptance and was still.
He smiled, running his thumb over her lips as he so often did. It made her lips tingle and she moistened them with the tip of her tongue, held by his gaze as if on the brink of something momentous. “I don’t know what to do with the way you make me feel, Petra. I want to look after you, to protect you, but then your stubborn, obstinate, challenging, bristly self-assertion annoys me and I want to shake some sense into you. But you move me in a way I’ve never felt before, being with you fills me with joy, like the blackbird’s song the other night, so my question to you, Petra Rutherford, is, will you marry me?”
Chapter Thirteen
Petra was faintly aware of the roar of the crowd somewhere in the far distance, the thunder of pounding hooves, but her world seemed to have shrunk to this encapsulated moment contained by the intense dark gaze, the fingertip warm on her lips, the soft but so momentous words in her ears. It took a long moment for the import of those words
to penetrate, to fall into a sensible pattern. And as the pattern fell into shape she wondered what answer she wanted to give to his straight question.
Part of her couldn’t believe she was hesitating. What woman in her right mind would turn down such an advantageous marriage proposal? An ancient title, lands, fortune . . . her parents would be pleased. They would consider they had done very well by their daughter, who had done very well for herself.
Even as these cynical thoughts played in her head, she realized that she was trying to find a way to temper her need to fling herself into his arms, to shout her acceptance to the rooftops. Some warning niggle held her back from the unbridled joy his proposal brought her. Of course she wanted to marry him, of course she wanted to share her life with him. Of course she wanted that close, intimate partnership that Diana and Fenella had with their husbands. But was it safe to love Guy Granville?
Petra knew that she could not tolerate a marriage where there was ever the faintest suspicion of a lack of loyalty on either side. She could not commit herself if it was not completely and forever. Was that the same for Guy? His past spoke against it.
“Petra?” he prompted quietly. “Will you please say something?”
“Yes, oh, yes, I’m sorry. I was thinking.”
His finger left her lips and his smile was puzzled as he said, “I hadn’t realized my proposal would cause you so much heart searching. If you need to think further, why don’t we discuss this again in a day or two.”
The world fell back into place. Petra shook her head vigorously. “No. No, Guy, of course I will marry you. I love you and there’s nothing I would like more than to share my life with you.”
“Well, that took you long enough,” he responded, his smile now teasing as he bent to kiss the corner of her mouth.
“I’ve never been proposed to before,” she said, laughing against his mouth. “I had to get used to the idea.”
“I’ve never proposed to anyone before,” he returned, cupping her face between his hands.
“Not even to the lady guerrilla in Macedonia?”
“Most definitely not to her.” He kissed her, a deep, affirmative kiss and the last faint wisp of misgiving flew into the ether. When at last they moved apart their surroundings flooded in, the raucous sounds of the crowd, cheering and applauding.
“What happened?” Petra asked. “Which horse won?”
“We’ll find out if we go back.” Guy slipped his hand under her arm. “Shall we keep this between ourselves for the moment?”
“Yes, of course. This is Diana’s day. Oh, I do hope Kimberley Diamond won.” Petra plunged into the crowd, fighting her way back to the box.
Guy shook his head in astonishment. She seemed to have forgotten the last momentous moments, or at least thrust them into the background with no difficulty. He’d rather expected that when a young lady received an acceptable proposal of marriage she would find it difficult to think of anything else and be bursting to share the news. Not so, it seemed. Or at least not where Petra Rutherford was concerned. Anyone would think she received marriage proposals on a daily basis. It certainly put him in his place. The reflection brought a reluctant smile to his lips. He doubted life with Petra would ever be boring, infuriating at times almost certainly, but boring? Never.
“Oh, where were you, Petra?” Fenella cried as Petra pushed through the excited guests in the box. “Diana and Rupert have gone down to the Winners’ Enclosure. Did you see it? It was so exciting.”
“Kimberley Diamond won?” Petra asked, guilt mingling with pleasure at the news.
“Yes, by a hair, just in the very final seconds, she pulled ahead. It was so exciting.” Fenella stared at her. “Where were you? You were right here when the race started.”
“Sudden call of nature,” Petra improvised airily, ignoring her friend’s disbelieving stare. “It couldn’t wait.”
“This calls for more champagne.” Guy appeared opportunely, bottle in hand. “Have a drink and then we’ll go and collect your winnings, Petra.” He filled Fenella’s glass. “Has Edward gone to collect yours?”
“Yes, a moment ago,” Fenella said, regarding the pair of them with a bemused question in her eyes. Something had happened between them, but before she could say anything further, a cheer went up from the party in the box as Diana and Rupert returned. Diana’s eyes were shining, and the sheen was more than pure joy and excitement, her friends could see the gloss of tears and knew she was thinking of Jem, and wishing he were beside her to revel in their filly’s triumph.
“Congratulations, dearest.” Petra hugged Diana tightly. “It must feel wonderful.”
“It does,” Diana agreed, smiling through her tears as she turned into Fenella’s embrace. “Jem would have been so thrilled. Rupert . . . ?” She looked around for her husband. “Oh, what’s going on now?”
An ensign in royal livery was talking to Rupert, who nodded and came over to his wife. “We’ve been summoned to the Royal Box, Diana. His Majesty wants to congratulate us on Kimberley Diamond’s race.”
“Then I suppose we had better obey the call,” Diana said. “We won’t be long. Don’t go anywhere,” she enjoined her friends, following her husband to the Royal Box.
“Well, here you are, my love. Thirty pounds.” Edward materialized out of the crowd, flourishing a handful of banknotes. “Not a bad return on a fiver.”
“No, indeed not.” Fenella tucked the winnings into her handbag. “What about the next race? Should we put money on that?”
“If you wish,” her husband said. “I’ve never seen the appeal of gambling just for the sake of it.”
“Oh.” Fenella looked a little deflated. “I thought that was quite exciting.”
“Well, we’re going to collect Petra’s winnings,” Guy said. “I’ll be happy to put a bet on for you for the next race.”
Fenella shook her head. “No, really I agree with Edward. It was only so exciting last time because it was Diana and Rupert’s horse.”
“Come then, Petra.” Guy guided her through the box and out to the bookies’ enclosure. They collected her winnings and Petra turned to make her way back to the others.
Guy put an arresting hand on her arm. “Do you really want to go back?” he asked. “Could we make our excuses? I feel we have some unfinished business.”
Now that the excitement of the race was over, Petra forgot everything but the astounding few minutes before the race. Had Guy really proposed? Had she really said yes? The enormous significance of it all swamped her and she gazed at him, for the moment numbed into silence. Then with an almost visible shake of her head she brought herself back into the world.
“I’ll send a message to Diana,” she said finally. “I can’t possibly go back and pretend everything’s just the same as it always was.”
“Good.” Guy turned back to the bookies’ stand. “Can you let me have a piece of paper?” The man tore a piece out of a notebook.
“’Ere y’are, guv.”
“Thanks.” Guy borrowed the stub of a chewed pencil and scribbled on the paper. “Is there a lad who can take this for me to the box over there? The one with the blue and white flag.” He gestured to the box, which flew the colors of Kimberley Diamond’s stables, setting half a crown down with the note.
“Our Diccon’ll do it.” The man pocketed the coin before yelling something incomprehensible over his shoulder and a grimy boy of about ten appeared at a run. He took the note, listened to instructions, and dived into the crowd.
“What did you say?” Petra asked.
“Just that something urgent had come up and we needed to leave, and that you would explain everything when you saw them. Was that all right? I didn’t see a need for an elaborate fabrication.”
“No, that was fine. I’m not in the habit of lying to my friends.”
“And there’s no reason to in this instance, is there?”
“No, of course not.” Petra laughed suddenly. “There’s so much to talk about. Where shall we g
o?”
“Berkeley Square?”
“Yes, let’s take an early train home. We can get away before the crowds. I think Diana and Rupert’s party are planning to stay for the singsong around the bandstand after the last race, so no one will be back in London until much later.”
The communal singsong at the end of every race day during Royal Ascot was a long-held tradition, but Petra was perfectly happy to skip the ritual this time and Guy made no demur, guiding their steps to the field where the hired hackneys awaited travelers for the station.
As luck would have it a London train steamed into the station five minutes after they arrived on the platform, and Guy half lifted Petra up the steep step into a deserted first-class carriage, stepping up behind her.
She sat down on the plush bench seat, resting her head against a starched antimacassar, her head turned to the window as the train whistled shrilly and began to chug out of the station and into the countryside. The wondrous excitement she had felt earlier seeped back, filling her with a delicious sensual anticipation. Her toes curled in her elegant kid shoes, and her blood seemed to run fast through her veins. She looked across the small space to where Guy sat, arms folded, on the opposite bench, watching her with narrowed eyes.
“What are you thinking, Petra?” he asked, his voice smooth as cream, a deep note of something wonderfully wicked beneath the question.
For answer, she stood up and pulled down the blinds at the carriage window, shutting out the passing world. Guy reached across the space, taking her hands and pulling her toward him. “Lift your skirt.”
She did so, hitching the delicate silk up to her hips, pushing down her drawers, kicking them off one foot impatiently, as she straddled his lap. Guy unbuttoned his trousers, his penis springing hard and erect as she sank down slowly astride him, taking him deep within her.
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth as she felt him move high inside her, his full length buried to her core, her thighs pressing hard against his. He moved his hands to her waist, holding her lightly, moving upward even as she circled her hips around him, lifting and lowering herself, her head thrown back, her eyes closed as the moment of climax crept up, hovering in the background, holding her in a suspended anticipation. Guy seemed to know exactly what she was feeling, seemed to know as the moment crept closer and her breath came fast. He stopped moving and held her still, poised on the brink of ecstasy, watching her face, watching for the moment when she could bear the suspense no longer, and at that moment, he drove upward, holding her waist firmly, bringing her down upon him as he rose within her.