When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  “Indeed.” Josephine fanned her cards out.

  After several hands of piquet, a knock came at the door, drawing Narissa’s attention. It had to be Brooke with the duke’s sister. Her excitement spiked. “Enter.”

  Lady Brooke strolled in, followed by a petite woman with midnight curls and the same piercing blue eyes as the duke. Narissa sat her cards aside and stood. “You must be Lady Hannah.”

  “And you must be Lady Narissa. Brooke has told me a great deal about you and your club. I am honored to be here.” The lady bestowed a genuine smile, excitement radiating from her.

  “It is my pleasure to have you. And do call me Narissa. We are all friends here.” Narissa retrieved a tumbler and offered it to the lady. “Come, sit.”

  Hannah accepted, taking a sip of the scotch before positioning herself on the chase near Brooke. “It is very impressive…what you have built here.”

  “Fortuna’s is a labor of love.” Narissa offered a grin. “Is it your wish to become a member?”

  “I would very much like the honor.” Hannah returned Narissa’s smile.

  “Then let us get to know each other better.” Narissa sipped from her scotch. “Tell us all about you. Your family, hobbies, leave nothing out.”

  Hannah sat her tumbler aside and folded her hands in her lap. “I am afraid there isn’t much to tell. My parents are deceased. The duke of Blackmore is my brother and guardian. He brought me to London hoping to secure a suitable marriage for me.”

  “Do you wish to be married?” Narissa studied her finding nothing off in the tone of her voice or her body language.

  “No, leastwise not yet. Once married, I fear that I will lose the freedom to do the things that I enjoy.”

  “Such as?” Narissa prodded.

  Hannah retrieved her tumbler and held it up. “For starters, a husband is not likely to approve of me drinking scotch.” She tipped the glass against her lips and drained the contents. “Nor would he approve of my spending time in a gaming hell or attending secret female fencing matches in darkened gardens.”

  “I take it you have met Lady Diana?”

  Hannah smiled. “Indeed. I found her delightful.”

  Josephine retrieved the decanter and refilled Hannah’s tumbler before topping of Narissa and Brooke’s. “Do you enjoy fencing?”

  “Regrettably, I have never had the occasion to try my hand at the sport. I do rather enjoy spectating though.”

  Narissa swirled the scotch in her glass. “Does your brother approve of how you spend your time?”

  “Heaven’s no.” Hannah shook her head. “He doesn’t know the half of it, but what he does know makes him want to lock me away.”

  Narissa laughed. She had the distinct feeling that whether or not she learned anything useful about the duke, Hannah would be a welcome addition to the club.

  Chapter 3

  Seth rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he strolled along the line of stalls at Tattersall’s. Hannah had snuck out last night, resulting in his keeping watch for her return until nearly sun up. He had to do something about his hellion sister before she ruined any chance of making a good match for herself. The unapologetic minx strolled into their townhouse in the early morning hours as if she’d done nothing wrong, bid him goodnight, and retired to her room behind a locked door.

  He should have throttled her. Though he’d wager a good whipping would straighten Hannah out, he wasn’t the sort to result to such violence. The very idea of anyone striking a woman made his stomach sour and incited his anger. No, Hannah did not need to be beaten, but she most certainly did require a husband—and sooner rather than later.

  “What has you so addled?” His long-time friend, Graham Fulton, the Marquess of Ramsbury, asked.

  “Hannah robbed me of sleep yet again.” Seth glanced at the rows of stalls as he made his way down the path toward the stallion he’d come to bid on.

  “Did she have an explanation?”

  Seth shook his head. “Does she ever bother to defend her actions?”

  “Perhaps you should arrange a marriage for her and be done with it.” Ramsbury flicked something from his coat sleeve, amusement lighting his green eyes.

  Seth peered at him, sharing none of his good humor. “You know I cannot.” His mind roamed back to earlier times, before his parents’ tragic accidents. Both Mother and Father gone forever in the span of a fortnight. Father had died first when his carriage careened off an embankment. Mother followed, her neck broken in a fall down the stairs.

  Before Mother’s death, she’d requested an audience with Seth to discuss Hannah’s future. She’d made him swear to allow Hannah a choice in husband. He could not go back on his promise no matter how troublesome his sister had become.

  “What I should have done was stayed in Yorkshire. Hannah is woefully unprepared for London.” He cut a look at Ramsbury. “If not for that blasted promise.”

  “Stop with the bloody oath. There is no reason to take everything so seriously. You never agreed to allow Hannah free rein. Present her with a couple of gentlemen and make her choose one. Have done with it and resume your own life.” Ramsbury nodded to a passing gentleman.

  A novel idea. Why hadn’t Seth thought of it before? Hannah would no doubt revolt against having her hand forced, but in the end, he would see her settled. Alas, he very well knew that was not his mother’s intention when she’d made him promise to allow Hannah a choice. “Are you offering yourself up for consideration, Ramsbury?”

  “Gads no! Though I am certain many a gentleman would.” Ramsbury nodded at a nearby stall, housing a large grey stallion. “There’s the one we came for.”

  Seth chuckled at his friend’s disdain as he moved to stand before the stall gate, studying the horse within. Banshee, a three-year-old grey stallion of superb bloodlines. The horse had yet to be tested on the turf but was rumored to have been born on the wings of the wind. The beast had everyone talking, and would no doubt bring about a bidding war. How many others had stood before this very stall today? It did not matter. Seth would own the horse by auctions end.

  Banshee reared up, snorted, then approached the gate, allowing Seth to reach in and run a hand down his nose. Judging by the horse’s well-muscled frame and feisty disposition, Seth had no doubt this creature could beat Merlin, as well as any other horse it went up against. He turned to Ramsbury. “Banshee will win at Epsom and I will be the proud owner.”

  “You get ahead of yourself, Your Grace. It is rumored a great many are interested in this particular bit of horseflesh.” Ramsbury studied the beast, one of his eyebrows arched slightly.

  “But few have my blunt.” Seth clapped Ramsbury on the shoulder.

  “Oh hell, perhaps I will bid on the beast if for no other reason than to take your arrogance down a notch.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Seth shot him a good-natured glare.

  Ramsbury chuckled. “Let us move to the auction space.”

  Tattersall’s fairly vibrated with excitement as the crowd gathered beneath the veranda in the yard. Gentleman stood in clusters, leaned against posts, and waved papers around with enthusiasm as all awaited the auctions start. Seth wove his way through the crowd, determined to find a good spot. He looked at Ramsbury. “Half of London must be here.”

  “I do hope none have more blunt than you,” Ramsbury called, then winked good-naturedly.

  “Bite your tongue.” Seth chuckled as he stepped around a group of gentlemen before stopping to lean against a pillar. A black barouche with silver joints and mountings was brought out for bidding and the auctioneer began.

  Bids started. Calls of ‘fifty guineas’ followed by ‘seventy-five guineas’ were yelled by gentlemen on opposite sides of the auction yard.

  “I have seventy-five guineas, do I hear one hundred? One hundred guineas,” the auctioneer called, brushing back a stray lock of hair.

  Seth looked around the space, wondering how many of these gentlemen had designs on Banshee. Tattersall’s was packed w
ith people from all walks of life, the upper crust of society and poor folk alike. Had he ever seen it so full?

  “Quite the turnout, I must say.” Ramsbury’s voice was laced with humor. “I do hope you brought a significant amount of coin.”

  “Leave off with your jesting. I’ve heard enough.” Seth crossed his arms over his chest. His friend was enjoying this entirely too much. He turned back to Ramsbury, about to shoot him a peering glance when his gaze caught on a nearby woman.

  Seth’s breath hitched as he studied the woman. “Bloody hell, what is she doing here?”

  Ramsbury turned in the direction of Seth’s gaze. “Who?”

  “Stop staring.” Seth’s tone rankled.

  Ramsbury turned back. “Very well, but do tell me who you are referring to.”

  “The she-devil over by the corner. The short brunet standing beside the blonde.” How the devil had she gained admittance in the first place? She’d not even had the decency to disguise herself in order to protect her reputation. Had she no care?

  Ramsbury glanced back at the women. “The one in the red riding habit?”

  Seth fought to keep control of his growing frustration. “Yes.”

  Ramsbury arched a brow. “What has the beauty done to have you so ruffled?”

  Bloody hell, he wished men would stop referring to her in such a way. “She bested me at Newmarket, then refused my offer for her to ride Highflier at Epsom. A bloody good offer I might add.”

  “I am not at all surprised. Lady Narissa is a renowned rider.”

  Seth scowled, his irritation increasing tenfold. “Why the deuce didn’t you come right out and say you knew her?”

  “I do not recall you having asked.” Ramsbury grinned, leaning back against a post and crossing his legs at the ankles.

  Maybe Ramsbury could satisfy his curiosity. Perhaps give him some useful morsel he could use to persuade the lady to change her mind. At the very least, he’d like her to explain how she got into the auction when women were not allowed. “I am asking now. Tell me what you know about the chit?”

  “I know she has your ire up.”

  Blast it all, he needed a stiff drink and Ramsbury wasn’t helping matters in the least. Seth closed his eyes, seeking a bit of calm. “Do not be addle-brained.”

  “Careful old chap, or I may decide you have designs on her.”

  A bloody ridiculous thing to think. Seth studied the woman. She was striking, but he’d never fancy a vixen like her. “Believe what you will. Now tell me what you know.”

  Seth kept his attention on the woman. She appeared to be just like any other, dressed fashionably, her hair styled in a proper way, fan and reticule in her hands. By looking at her now, one would never guess what a hellion she was. Except, of course, for the fact that she stood in the midst of a male-only auction.

  What cause could she have for being here? Did she intend to bid on Banshee? His muscles tensed as he continued to watch her. If she’d set her cap on the bloodhorse, she would not win. He would bid every farthing he had to make sure of it.

  “She is the only child of the late Earl of Haddington, Fredrick Goodwin, renowned gambler. As such, she moves in many male circles. No one seems to mind. I have met her a few times and assure you she is a lovely lady. Unconventional and charming.”

  Seth huffed. “If you like your women viper-tongued, I suppose you would find her pleasing. Now tell me something I did not already know about the little vixen.”

  Ramsbury chuckled. “I find her refreshing, as do many other gentlemen of the ton.”

  “Perhaps you should court her,” Seth said dryly.

  “I have considered it. Alas, the lady makes it clear to all that she has no wish to settle into matrimony. Nor is she amiable to having a love affair. Mores the pity.”

  Seth’s jaw ticked as he considered Ramsbury’s words. Very odd indeed, for what lady did not have designs on marriage? The more Seth heard about her, the more interested he became in Lady Narissa.

  Surely a lady who got away with behaving like a man had something to hide. The kind of secrets that begged one to keep the lights off. If he learned them, she would have to ride for him.

  Ramsbury continued. “She is very much like her father, having been raised by him without the benefit of female guidance. Lady Narissa is known for her skills on the turf as well as at the tables. She has amassed a fortune of her own through plying the skills she learned from the earl and is quite independent as a result.”

  “Now that was interesting.” The devil if he didn’t wish to know her better. Perhaps he should approach her again. Attempt a new tactic. Friendship? Seduction? She clearly had no need for his money.

  “She even trains her own thoroughbreds. Can you imagine?” Ramsbury shook his head. “She’s got some of the finest bloodhorses in England.”

  “No, I cannot fathom it,” Seth replied, more determined than ever to discover all there was to know about Lady Narissa.

  He started toward her but stopped when the auctioneer announced Banshee. Seth moved his attention to the horse being paraded around the yard. A fine specimen indeed. His attention went back to Lady Narissa. Bloody hell, she was watching the horse with the same intensity he felt.

  The auctioneer called out the opening bid for Banshee, ‘Twenty thousand guineas’.

  With his mind set on approaching Lady Narissa and his determination to have Banshee, Seth called out, “One hundred thousand guineas”. Surely no one, not even the she-devil, would counter his bid. He took another step in her direction.

  “One hundred and fifty thousand guineas,” Lady Narissa called, raising her gloved hand.

  So, the hellion had come after the same horse? Seth met her glare with his own stern countenance. “Two hundred thousand guineas.” He would not allow her to best him this time, or ever again for that matter.

  “Three hundred thousand guineas.” She grinned at him, offering a contrite wave of her hand.

  He increased his pace, determined to reach her as he called out, “Three hundred and fifty thousand guineas.”

  Lady Narissa notched her chin, determination burning in her golden eyes. “Four hundred thousand guineas.”

  Annoyance blazed within Seth. “Four hundred and fifty thousand guineas.” Seth took hold of Lady Narissa’s arm and leaned close. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  She peered up at him, jerking her arm free. “Four hundred and seventy thousand guineas,” she called before peering at Seth. “I am bidding on a horse I intend to win.”

  “The hell you will. Five hundred thousand guineas.” He increased his bid before staring down at her. “Not this time.”

  “Like you failed to secure a victory at Newmarket?” She gave a cocky grin before placing another bid. “Five hundred and twenty thousand guineas.”

  She must be running out of coin, for her increments were shrinking. Seth doubled the bid, hoping to put an end to their little game, “One million and forty guineas.”

  Lady Narissa’s eyes rounded. “Are you mad?”

  “Perhaps, or maybe I am simply more determined than you.”

  “I have one million and forty guineas, do I hear one million and fifty? One million and fifty guineas. Going once, going…” the auctioneer called out to the crowd.

  “Better hurry if you wish to own the stallion.” Seth smoothed his cravat, thoroughly enjoying the indigent stare she pinned on him.

  “…Twice, sold to His Grace, the Duke of Blackmore, for one million and forty guineas,” the auctioneer called.

  “Go to the devil.” Lady Narissa pivoted on her heels, her companion following as she stomped away.

  Seth hollered after her, “Let me know when you are ready to ride for me.”

  If she were a true horsewoman, the lure of riding such a bloodhorse would prove too much to ignore. He would see her again, and he’d wager sooner rather than later. He turned when he felt a hand come down on his shoulder.

  Ramsbury inclined his head. “Looks
like you got what you came for.”

  Seth would argue he got more than he’d intended. However, he had no wish to further discuss Lady Narissa. No desire to ponder how adorable she’d looked while engaging wills with him, nor the lack of enjoyment he gained from besting her.

  To the devil with her and the way she seemed to affect him. Now that he had Banshee, he was granted a win with or without her as his rider. He nodded at Ramsbury. “I am in want of a drink. Let us retire to the subscription room at once.”

  Chapter 4

  Narissa could scarcely believe the nerve of the duke. Even now, with the time that had elapsed since the auction, his actions, and more so his words, still grated on her. How dare he approach her again after Newmarket? And to add insult by tossing Banshee in her face. She ceased pacing her office and turned to Brooke. “Can you believe that scoundrel?”

  Brooke flicked a speck of lint from her dress sleeve. “Are we discussing the Duke of Blackmore?”

  Narissa sighed, reaching for the decanter. “Who else would I refer to in such a way?”

  The blasted man strolled through her thoughts at all hours of the day and night. She could scarcely do anything without him coming to mind. She loathed herself for finding him attractive, for enjoying their battles as much as they vexed her. A small part of her wished to accept his unspoken challenge. Most of her wanted to see him hanged.

  Her anger burned afresh as she recalled his words, ‘let me know when you are ready to ride Banshee’, indeed! It truly was more of a challenge than an offer. As if the pompous ass thought she wasn’t capable of refusing. She poured scotch into tumblers, handed one to Brooke and took the other to her desk. Once seated, she took a Long drink of the warm liquor.

  Her gaze settled on the letters resting on her polished desk near her tumbler. They’d come from the duke, two days apart, and only served to add fuel to her annoyance. The blasted scoundrel did not give up, hassling her to ride for him and making absurd offers as though she could be bought like a street trollop.