When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  Papa crossed her mind and she glanced up at the heavens. She’d give anything for him to be here now. He would be exceedingly pleased. Merlin had been bred from Papa’s prize stallion, and it had been his dream to race the horse. Together they had started the horses’ training. After Papa passed away, she was determined to see his dream brought to reality.

  She closed her eyes. Papa, I hope you are watching. A gentle breeze wrapped around her as if in answer and her chest tightened. She missed him dearly—always would. In her heart, she knew he was watching, cheering, as he would at Epsom, and she found a measure of comfort in the knowledge. Papa had always been her champion.

  She turned her attention to the other riders lining up for the Two Thousand Guineas sweepstakes race over the Riley Mile. The twelve-horse field looked impressive, though it did not shake her confidence in Merlin. He could outrun all of them. The bookkeepers had picked him as the favorite. She’d heard the frenzy of betting with many gentlemen placing wagers on her mount. She, too, had bet on Merlin for the win.

  Even now, a crowd surrounded the bookmaker, placing last-minute wagers. Off to the side, a tall man with midnight black hair caught her attention. The way he studied her with his piercing blue eyes sent a chill straight through her. Who the deuce was he? And why did he take such an interest in her?

  Narissa tore her gaze away, determined not to let the stranger shake her. She bent low over Merlin, then inhaled his scent, calming herself. Nature, the mingling of hay, horse sweat, and dust—there was nothing more refreshing, more capable of bringing her into the moment.

  Merlin bolted at the signal to start. Narissa’s muscles strained with the effort required to hold him back. Heart pounding, excitement thrumming through her, she focused on the course awaiting the perfect time to loosen her hold on the reins, and unleash Merlin’s full speed. Yes, this is what she lived for—the thrill of competition. The satisfaction found in victory. And make no mistake, victory would be hers.

  Seth Blakey, Duke of Blackmore, could not take his attention from the turf. Not that he wished to as his own horse, Highflier, was among the racers. However, it was the lady rider that held him captive. Where had she come from? And what the devil was a female doing jockeying at Newmarket? This was a competitive male field, not suitable for the gentler sex.

  Prying his attention from her, he looked at the whole field of horses. Highflier had the lead by a head. His competition, a well-muscled black, fought to close the gap, while the rest of the horses ran in a cluster a few furlongs behind. The woman trailed the field at the back of the pack, though not by any great distance.

  Calls of ‘Come on’, ‘Go, Merlin, go’, ‘Come on Highflier’, and ‘Move Gypsy Dancer, filled the air around him. A frenzy of chants and curses from the crowd rang out from the sidelines as the horses approached the final stretch.

  Seth remand silent, his focus on the woman whose mount was overtaking the field with a burst of speed. Merlin took to the inside, passing the cluster of trailing horses before closing the distance on Highflier and the black who remained neck in neck with him. Bloody hell, the woman could ride. And she’d not used the whip at all.

  For the first time since the race began, he saw the real possibility of losing. Something he could not abide. He leaned closer to the rail and bellowed, “Move it, Highflier. Use the damn whip!” His gaze skittered between the three horses battling it out for the lead.

  “Come on Highflier!” he yelled as his horse and Merlin pulled ahead of the black, nose and nose. Not only did he stand to lose the prize purse, but he’d also bet ten thousand pounds on Highflier winning. “Use the whip, dammit!” He screamed across the turf at his own jockey as Merlin pulled into the lead. What the devil was his rider doing?

  Pulse thrumming, he tossed his program to the ground as Merlin raced across the finish line leaving Highflier in second place. Merlin and his female rider were not among the initial field of entrants, but were late editions added only this morning. A complete surprise that left him at a disadvantage, not that he would have scratched Highflier from the race—he could not have even if he’d wanted to.

  Bloody hell, he should have won. Who the hell was the woman? And where had that horse come from? Determined to find out, Seth moved toward the finish line.

  “Your Grace,” a baritone voice called after him.

  His irritation increased as he turned toward the man. “Lord Stanford.” The older man smiled, his brown eyes sparkling, the skin at their edges creased with age.

  “Your horse ran a fine race, today. If not for Merlin, you surely would have won.”

  Seth swallowed. He did not need nor want a reminder of what had just occurred. Though he did have unanswered questions. “Who is the woman that rode Merlin?”

  Lord Stanford glanced to where the jockeys now congregated. “A true hoyden that one. Lady Narissa Goodwin. She’s a rare breed, beautiful and brazen. There should be more like her.”

  Goodwin. Where had Seth heard that name? He looked at the beauty that had dismounted and removed her riding cap, revealing tightly bound chestnut locks. “Lord Haddington’s daughter?”

  “Indeed.” The older man clapped a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “Ladies like her breed excitement. They keep a man young, you know.” He flashed a fine set of crafted ivories. “In my day they ruled society.”

  Seth disagreed with the old man’s musings, though he kept his opinion to himself. Women like Lady Narissa were foolish. They would bring a man to ruin and had no care for their own reputations or safety. It mattered not to him, for he had no desire for lasting connections. Though he may have a short-term use for this particular hellion. “If you will excuse me.”

  Lord Stanford gave a nod before turning away.

  Seth strolled through the crush of spectators, toward Lady Narissa. A crowd of gentlemen surrounded her, offering their congratulations and complimenting her skill as well as her mount. He stopped short of reaching her to watch the frenzy and wait for his opening. Squinting against the sun’s rays, Seth studied her from the shiny braided mass of hair at the back of her head to her boot-clad feet.

  Her golden eyes twinkled against her tanned skin reminding him of fine whisky. Full pink lips grinned at her crowd of admirers, emitting whimsical laughter now and again as the gentleman spoke. She could not be much over five feet tall. An imp of a woman, but Lord Stanford had been correct. Lady Narissa was indeed a beauty. The fact only served to rankle him more.

  She said something he could not make out, then began moving away from her admirers. This was his chance. Seth sprinted after her, calling out her name, “Lady Narissa.”

  “I truly must be—” Her gaze caught on him, brows creasing. “Have we meet?”

  “No. I am the Duke of Blackmore, Seth Blakey.” He offered a friendly smile, his annoyance at having lost the race forgotten the moment he drew near her.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.” She glanced down, swiping a hand over her dusty riding jacket. “Perhaps we will become better acquainted some other time.” She turned to take her leave.

  How dare the vixen dismiss him? “Wait,” he said in a firm tone he hoped brokered no argument.

  Scowling, she returned her attention to him. “I haven’t the time for games right now.”

  “Very well then, I will cut straight to the point.” He rocked back on his heels. “I want you to ride Highflier at Epsom.”

  “I will be riding, Merlin. Good day, Your Grace.” She turned on her heels and began to march away.

  “I will give you five thousand pounds,” he called after her.

  “Keep your blunt.” She tossed the words over her shoulder. The sway of her hips confident as she grew smaller in the distance.

  Had he ever met a more self-assured, infuriating woman? She acted as if he were below her. A bothersome pest circling her tiara. Yet, he found himself captivated, wanting to know more about her. A foolish notion, he was certain.

  Seth kicked at the ground, causing a plume of dus
t to fill the air. Let the hellion ride Merlin. It would make no difference to him. He’d train more speed into his mount. Find a more skilled rider. Do whatever was necessary to win at Epsom. As it were, his horse had nearly won. If he trained him a bit harder, Highflier could, no would, beat Merlin. In the meantime, he would keep an eye on Tattersall’s offerings. The she-devil would not best him at Epsom.

  Not unless she changed her mind and rode for him.

  Chapter 2

  London, England

  Narissa strolled across Madam Josephine Debroux’s shop, a smile curving her lips when she found Josephine relaxing in her office.

  “Do tell.” Josephine repositioned herself on the gold brocade chair she’d been lounging in. “Did you find victory?”

  Narissa took the chair opposite from her modiste, who was in truth, more of a friend. “The competition was stiff, but the odds favored Merlin.” She paused, meeting Josephine’s warm gaze. “We were victorious indeed.”

  A wide grin spread across Josephine’s face, her warm gaze sparkling. “I knew you would be. Never doubted it.” She beamed. “Your papa would be so proud. Let us celebrate.” Josephine strolled from her office to the dress shop door and turned the lock.

  Narissa stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her green dress. She had bathed and donned a frock hastily before coming to Madame Debroux’s, intent to see her friend and check on her gaming hell. When Josephine returned to the office, Narissa said, “Then let us go above stairs and have a scotch. I dearly wish to check on my club.”

  Josephine gave a nod, signaling for Narissa to lead the way.

  Narissa strolled through the shop to the door hidden behind the fitting room that displayed the name of her secret, all female gaming hell, Fortuna’s Parlor. The letters scrolled in black across a brass plate. In the rear of the building, another door led into the club, but it bore no sign in order to maintain secrecy. All the same, her members were familiar with it as well as how to gain entry.

  Narissa had made a fortune gambling with her pin money before papa passed away. After his death, she came up with the idea for Fortuna’s Parlor. During a fitting for new riding clothes, she shared her desire to open a female gaming club with Josephine—her longtime modest. Josephine offered to rent Narissa the space above her shop, and Fortuna’s was born.

  Now Narissa did all she could to guard her club and see it flourish. She catered to societies upper crust ladies and their need for both adventure and secrecy. All the while, Narissa watched her fortune grow while doing the things she most enjoyed. She’d managed to carve out her own version of a perfect life.

  Narissa pulled open the door and started up the stairs with Josephine behind her. The dark haired man from Newmarket sprang into the forefront of her mind. Why the devil had he upset her so? It wasn’t as if he’d been the first man to ever study her. Nor had he been the first to incite her anger. She glanced back at her friend. “There was a man at the race.”

  “Several, I imagine.” Josephine gave a wave of her hand. “What makes one stand out from the rest?”

  “I noticed him watching me before the race started. He seemed to be studying me, and I must admit that I found it rather unsettling. It was as if he knew I had secrets and wished to discover them.” Narissa glanced around the grand space before she strolled toward her office.

  She had a full house tonight. Ladies sat around green baize tables, some chatting and laughing, others with serious expressions focused on the game at hand—faro, whist, rouge et noir, and hazard among them. Tonight would be profitable, indeed. She grinned.

  Narissa caught Lady Brooke Lynwood’s attention and waved her over to join their celebration. Brooke, the daughter of an earl, had been one of Fortuna’s first members and had become a close friend to Narissa. She was one of few ladies who did not publicly shun Narissa while embracing her privately. Furthermore, the pair had much in common and lived by similar philosophies—neither giving a fig for what the ton deemed appropriate.

  Leaving the door ajar for Brooke, Narissa and Josephine entered the office. “It was almost as though he were looking into my soul. He had the most captivating blue eyes.” She shuddered at the memory emblazoned into her mind. “I swear they cut right through me.”

  “Did you speak with him?” Josephine lifted a decanter from the carved mahogany sideboard and began pouring tumblers of scotch.

  “Speak with whom?” Lady Brooke stepped into the office closing the door behind her.

  Narissa accepted a tumbler from Josephine and took a drink, relishing the heat that spread through her, before replying. “His Grace, the Duke of Blackmore. And indeed, I did.”

  “I am acquainted with him.” Brooke took the tumbler Josephine offered. “I have played cards with his sister, Lady Hannah, a few times. I met him through her, though it was but a brief introduction. He is a handsome devil.”

  “Never mind him. I am far more interested in his sister.” Narissa strolled to the window that overlooked the gaming floor. Papa would love what she’d created here. An image of him playing at the tables formed in her mind. How many times had she witnessed such a scene growing up?

  Her mind flashed back to the first time Papa had allowed her to join in on a game. She’d been sixteen and the only lady in the card room. Papa had beamed and jested good naturally with the other gentleman when Narissa won. From that day forward, she was always allowed a seat at the table when the gentleman gathered. God, she missed him.

  Narissa turned back to Brooke. “Is the lady fit for membership?”

  “I believe she would be a good addition.” Scotch in hand, Brooke positioned herself on a chase. “She is free-spirited and holds her own around a deck of playing cards.”

  “Bring her tomorrow night.” Narissa stared out at the crush of gambling ladies.

  What did she hope to accomplish by meeting the duke’s sister? She did not know, however, it could only benefit her to learn more about the man in case they should cross paths again. Papa had long ago taught her to keep as many tricks as possible up her sleeve. Lady Hannah would be an ace against her brother, the Duke of Blackmore, should Narissa ever require one.

  “I can do better than tomorrow. I am to meet with her this evening, within the hour as a matter of fact. We were to go for a ride in Hyde Park. I will bring her here instead.” Blue eyes sparkling, Brooke lowered her glass to the marble table beside her, “If it pleases you.”

  “Indeed it does.” Narissa sighed, her shoulders relaxing.

  “Are you planning to keep us in suspense all night?” Josephine asked from where she leaned against the sideboard. “Or do you intend to tell us about your duke?”

  “He is not my anything.” Narissa took another deep drink. “All the same, I will fill you in.”

  Josephine settled more comfortably, her attention solidly trained on Narissa.

  “After the race, once my well-wishers had dispersed, the duke approached me. He requested that I ride for him at Epsom.”

  Brooke’s eyes rounded. “The nerve! Surely, he knew you rode for yourself.”

  “I do not know that he did. After all, Merlin is still registered under Papa’s name.” Narissa ran her finger around the rim of her tumbler. “I really must update that. All the same, I have no wish to ride for anyone else and I told the duke as much.”

  “Good for you,” Josephine said, giving a matter of fact nod of her head.

  “Thank you.” Narissa smiled, she did so adore these women and considered herself kissed by good fortune that she got to refer to them as friends. “After I declined, the duke offered to pay me an absurd sum to change my mind. Five thousand pounds, can you imagine?”

  “I may have agreed for that much blunt.” Josephine carried the decanter to Narissa before topping off her tumbler.

  “Say you did not.” Brooke held her own glass out for a refill. “It is a great deal of coin, but you are already wealthy.”

  “Of course I stayed steadfast, refusing the offer and marching away.” Tho
ugh a part of her wished she’d entertained the duke a bit more. Allowed the conversation to go further. Not that she ever would have agreed to ride for him.

  Josephine raised her tumbler. “Cheers to you, my lady, my friend.”

  “Cheers, indeed.” Brooke followed suit. “As well as congratulations on your most recent win.”

  Narissa lifted her tumbler. “And here is to victory at Epsom.”

  The duke would be there, and she would not cede to him. Merlin had better times than any horse she had ever trained. He ran a mile in under two minutes and required no whip. Furthermore, he ran equally well on dirt or grass. She doubted there were many other horses out there like him, and fewer capable of besting him. The duke would soon know it, too.

  “Yes, to Epsom.” Brooke notched her chin.

  “And to besting the duke.” Josephine winked. “I’d wager all I have that your father is proud as a peacock watching over you.”

  Narissa smiled, then drained her glass. She looked at Brooke. “Do bring the duke’s sister at once. I should very much like to make her acquaintance.”

  Brooke nodded, rising from her seat. “I will return within a couple hours’ time.”

  Narissa placed her tumbler on the sideboard. It would not serve her to be foxed when the lady arrived. “Thank you, Brooke.”

  Josephine retrieved a deck of cards from the top of Narissa’s desk as Brooke took her leave. “Shall we pass the time with a friendly game of piquet?”

  Narissa accepted the cards and began shuffling as she took a seat near the fireplace.

  “While we are at it, you can tell me what you have planned for the duke’s sister.” Josephine gave a knowing grin.

  “How is it that you understand me so well?” Narissa laughed, then without waiting for an answer, said, “I am not certain as of yet, but believe she could prove useful.”