Save a Horse, Ride a Viscount

by Valerie Bowman

  Ewan set his glass on the desktop in front of him and threaded his fingers together. “It’s a long story and the details aren’t important, but Dr. Blanchard said she shouldn’t be moved so she stayed here for a bit.”

  “A bit?” Bell arched a brow.

  “A few weeks,” Ewan clarified.

  “Lovely young lady, simply lovely,” Phillip added, taking a sip from his glass.

  “But what does that have to do with the gossip pages of the Times?” Bell asked.

  “Oh, right. Well, the Times somehow got wind of the fact that Lady Theodora was staying here and published the rumor.”

  “Somehow got wind?” Bell arched a brow.

  “Yes, we’ve yet to discover how that happened but that’s not the point. The point is that I offered for Lady Thea, but I’m supposed to become engaged to Lady Lydia Malcolm one day.”

  Both of Bell’s brows shot up. “What? That’s the first I’ve heard of that.”

  Ewan shrugged. “Nothing official. Just some preliminary discussion with her father. It was to be—ahem, is to be— a politically advantageous marriage.”

  “All right,” Bell said. “But what does that have to do with Lady Theodora?”

  “Lady Thea showed up and broke her leg,” Phillip said, taking yet another sip of brandy.

  Bell swiveled his head back and forth between the two men. “Wait. Clayton, are you marrying Lady Thea?”

  “Not any longer,” Ewan said simply, picking up his glass once more.

  “What? Why?” Bell looked completely confused.

  “Suffice it to say the lady prefers to live down the scandal rather than to marry me,” Ewan replied with a sigh.

  “And Clayton here has been moping about it since she left,” Phillip interjected.

  Ewan drew his brows together in a sharp frown. “I do not mope.”

  “Oh? Pardon me. I must have mistaken your silence and unhappiness for moping,” Phillip replied with a laugh.

  Ewan groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. “Oh, God. Have I been moping?”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, old chap. I do believe you miss her,” Phillip said. “I miss her too.”

  “Do you miss Lydia?” Bell asked, his eyes narrowed on Ewan.

  Ewan thought about the question for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “I’ve never missed Lydia. I barely know her.”

  “But you do miss Thea?” Bell wanted to know.

  Ewan rubbed his face again. He rested his bended arm atop his head and leaned back in his chair. “If I’m being honest … yes.”

  Bell pursed his lips and finally took a sip from his own glass of brandy. “Well, well, well. Sounds to me as if someone may have fallen in love.”

  Ewan nearly spit the drink he’d just taken. “Love! Absolutely not, I simply—”

  “Miss her company and think of her constantly?” Phillip supplied helpfully, raising his glass as if in a toast.

  “I never said I think of her constantly,” Ewan shot back, frowning fiercely at his friend.

  “But you do, don’t you?” Phillip blinked at him and gave him a wholly innocent smile.

  Ewan sat silently stewing for a few moments. How the hell did Phillip know that he thought of Thea constantly? Was it that obvious? Was it written on his face? “It doesn’t matter,” Ewan replied, tossing a hand in the air. “She’s refused me and that’s the end to it.”

  “How do you know she’s not pining for you as well?” Bell asked.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Ewan shot back.

  “No more ridiculous than you pining for her,” Phillip replied.

  Ewan frowned. His friends were confusing him. This had all seemed so tidy before they began speaking. Thea had been at his house a few weeks, she’d left, she’d refused to marry him, he was bloody well getting his life back to normal. But now they were pointing out that he missed her, and the word ‘love’ had been bandied about, for Christ’s sake. It was far too much, too fast to think about.

  “I think you should pay her a visit,” Phillip said next. “See how she’s doing? Ask after her leg.”

  Ewan poked his tongue into his cheek and glared at his friend. “After the scandal in the papers, I hardly think paying her a call would be a good idea. Besides, who is to say she’d even accept a call from me?”

  Bell shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “No,” Ewan snapped. “Paying her a call is a very bad idea.”

  “Why don’t you invite her here to visit Alabaster, then?” Phillip asked.

  “Who’s Alabaster?” Bell asked.

  “A horse,” Phillip replied. “A horse Lady Thea loves very much.”

  “I’m certain she wouldn’t come,” Ewan replied. “She’d want to allow time for the scandal to die down.”

  “Well, there must be some way to visit her, to see her,” Bell said, plucking at his bottom lip.

  Ewan opened his mouth to reply just as a knock sounded on the study door. Humbolt opened the door and stepped inside. “My apologies, my lord, but you asked me to bring you any correspondence from Blackstone Hall immediately.”

  Ewan glanced at his friends who were both giving him knowing looks and waggling their eyebrows.

  The butler held out the silver salver with the letter atop and Ewan snatched it up. “Thank you, Humbolt.”

  Humbolt bowed and took his leave.

  Ewan ripped open the letter, ignoring the curious stares of both his friends.

  “Well, what does it say?” Bell finally asked after Ewan had had ample time to read it.

  Ewan tossed the letter onto the desktop and leaned back in his chair again. “It’s my invitation to the annual Christmastide ball at Blackstone Hall. I receive one every year. It’s nothing special.”

  “It may not be special, but it’s certainly convenient,” Phillip replied with a wide grin.

  “I never go to the Christmastide ball at Blackstone Hall. I’m usually in London,” Ewan replied.

  Setting his glass on the end of the desk, Bell stood. “First, I fully intend to investigate who shared the rumor of Lady Thea’s stay here with the Times.” The marquess walked around the desk, and slapped Ewan on the back. “Second, I’d say you should change your plans this year, old man.” He picked up the invitation and handed it back to Ewan. “You’re going to that ball.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Earl of Blackstone’s Estate, December 23, 1812

  The ballroom at Blackstone Hall was ablaze with the light of dozens of candles set in enormous chandeliers that hung above the large room. The entire ballroom was strung with evergreen and pine boughs and it smelled like a wintry forest inside. The ballroom was filled with all of Thea’s neighbors, gentry and aristocrats from all across Devon. The ladies were wearing their finest winter ballgowns, the gentlemen were wearing their best evening attire, and everyone appeared to be having a splendid time.

  Everyone except Thea.

  Despite the gossip, Father had insisted on hosting their annual party for their friends and neighbors. The talk had died down in the weeks since Thea had left Clayton’s house. Thea leg had healed, and she was walking again (thankfully sans limp).

  Tonight, she was dressed in a gown of white with a large green velvet bow around her waist and a white fur shrug around her shoulders. Her hair was piled atop her head and Maggie had stuck in a whimsical bit of mistletoe. Thea was smiling and nodding and pretending to be happy, but inside she was empty.

  She had been empty for weeks now. She’d told herself it was because of her ruined reputation, but given the fact that they’d received not so much as one regret to the ball on the basis of the so-called scandal, it seemed their little family had weathered the storm even more successfully than Anthony had predicted.

  The Times had never again mentioned a thing about her, and Lord Clayton hadn’t been mentioned either. The gossip may have died down, but that didn’t keep the partygoers from discussing the matter. Thea had heard the odd
whisper here and there throughout the night. Whispers that always seemed to die down when she walked past.

  Thea had just taken a break from standing near the double doors that led into the ballroom where she’d been greeting the guests as they entered. Father had taken over the task for the time being. They were still behaving like no more than polite strangers to one another, but at least they weren’t arguing.

  Thea had wandered to the refreshment table to fetch a glass of lemonade. She kept her most hostesslike smile pinned to her face, but the stares and raised brows that greeted her told her that she remained the object of gossip. To feel less conspicuous, she took her glass to stand beside a potted palm near the wall. She would have climbed behind the thing and disappeared if it were large enough. Moments later, to her immense relief, Anthony joined her.

  “You look beautiful this evening, Sister,” he said, bowing to her.

  Thea returned her brother’s wide smile and graced him with a curtsy. “And you look as handsome as usual,” she replied in kind.

  Anthony turned to stare at the crowd with her. Their backs to the wall. “Seems we have a fine turnout.”

  Thea nodded slowly. “Yes, but everyone is whispering behind their hands.”

  Anthony arched a brow. “Everyone? Are you quite certain? It doesn’t look like Lord Mayfeather is whispering.”

  Thea had to laugh when she looked at the curmudgeonly Lord Mayfeather. The man must have been nearing ninety years old and he was blind as a bat. “He can’t see me well enough to whisper,” Thea replied. “But I assure you, plenty of the other guests are whispering.”

  “Let them whisper,” Anthony replied. “Would you like me to spike your lemonade with something a bit more potent? Then you won’t care if they’re whispering.”

  “Please do,” Thea replied, handing him her glass.

  Anthony surreptitiously turned his back on the ballroom, retrieved a flask from one of the inner pockets of his evening coat, and poured some of its contents into her lemonade glass. “There you are, dear sister. Merry Christmastide.”

  “Thank you, Anthony. You are a kind brother,” she replied with a laugh, lifting her glass and taking a sip. She winced at the bitter contents, but continued to gamely sip. “Perhaps this will make my future conversation with Lady Hepplewhite less awful.” Lady Hepplewhite was the largest gossip in Devon, and everyone knew it. No doubt she was the one fueling the whispers.

  “Lady Hepplewhite is here?” Anthony glanced around the room sharply. “Where?”

  “She’s standing near the musicians’ dais,” Thea replied, refusing to look herself. “No doubt instructing them as to how to play their instruments.”

  Anthony chuckled. “Well, if you can withstand a conversation with her, that will be the worst of it, I’m afraid.”

  “I assure you, I don’t look forward to it.” Thea turned her attention toward the front of the ballroom to see who else had arrived. Her gaze roved around several new faces, until—

  She gasped. She froze. She clutched her brother’s arm.

  “Anthony,” she managed to choke out in a strangled whisper.

  Anthony bent down to hear her better, his brow furrowed. “Yes, what is it?”

  “Why is Lord Clayton here?” And it was indeed Clayton. He was standing near the entrance talking to Father, smiling and laughing. Clayton wore impeccable black evening attire with a white shirt, white cravat, and white satin waistcoat. He was so handsome she felt it in her knees, which trembled. She clutched at her brother’s strong arm for support.

  Anthony turned to follow her gaze. He expelled a sigh. “I was afraid he might come.”

  “What? You knew he was invited?” Thea tried to keep her rising panic from her voice, but she knew she had failed.

  “He’s invited every year, Thea. He’s our neighbor. He just doesn’t usually attend. He prefers to spend Christmastide in London. Or has in the past at least. I thought you knew. Didn’t you see the guest list this year?”

  “Father told me Mrs. Lowry was handling it. With my injury, he told me not to worry about the party this year other than playing hostess when the time came.” Thea was trying to get her breathing back to rights, but it was becoming more and more difficult as Clayton’s blue gaze swung around the ballroom and seemed to locate her immediately. Their eyes locked. Thea’s heart pounded in her chest so hard it hurt.

  “Why has he come this year?” she asked Anthony, unable to stop staring at Clayton.

  “I don’t know,” Anthony replied. “I am surprised to see him here. I do hope Father didn’t encourage it.”

  “I hope so too.” Thea downed the contents of her spiked lemonade and handed the empty glass to her brother. She waited for the drink to burn its way into her belly and for Ewan to move on from her father’s company near the door, then she made her move. Keeping a false smile plastered to her face, she trailed to where her father held court near entrance to the ballroom and touched his sleeve. “May I speak to you for a moment, Father,” she said in her most-pleasant voice, drawing her father away from the company.

  “Yes, of course, dear,” Father replied, his own false smile plastered to his face. In front of company, they were nothing but polite to each other.

  Thea drew her father out into the corridor and into the sitting room near the foyer before shutting the door behind them. Thankfully, the room was empty of guests. A few candles burned in candlesticks spaced throughout the room.

  “Lord Clayton is here,” she said simply to her father’s impatiently inquiring look.

  “Yes, I know. I invited him,” Father replied succinctly.

  Thea tried to keep her face blank and to remove the emotion from her voice. “Why could you possibly have thought it was a good idea to invite him after the scandal?”

  Her father gave her a long-suffering look. “Theodora, I honestly thought it would be more scandalous to choose not to invite him. He usually sends his regrets.”

  She swallowed the growing lump in her throat and pushed an errant curl behind her ear. “Did he say why he decided to come this year?”

  “He did not,” Father replied, giving her a tight smile. “And I did not ask him. However, given the assistance he’s been to our family this year, it would have been beyond rude of me to have left him off the guest list.”

  “I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” Thea allowed, running a gloved hand down her middle. It did nothing to quell the rioting nerves in her belly, however.

  “It’s the only way to look at it,” Father retorted. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I intend to return to my guests. I assume you’ll be able to gather yourself and return to the ballroom momentarily?”

  She nodded curtly. Once. “Yes. Of course. But I daresay Clayton’s presence here will only serve to stir up more gossip.”

  Her father paused with his fingers on the door handle. He did not look back at her. “I’ve no intention of asking him to leave, Theodora. If you don’t wish to stir up gossip, I suggest you steer clear of him.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  After her father left the drawing room, Thea spent the next few moments trying to gather her thoughts. She began by taking a deep breath and folding her hands together in front of her. She shook her head slightly. She mustn’t make a bigger deal about this than she already had. If she were to purposely steer clear of the viscount, it would seem as if she had something to hide. Instead, she would re-enter the ballroom, greet him as she would any other guest, and continue about her business. Yes, that was precisely how she should handle the fact that Lord Clayton was standing in her ballroom even now, looking more handsome than Adonis come to life.

  Good plan. Quite solid. She straightened her shoulders and ran a hand down the front of her gown once more. Then she poked the mistletoe back into her coiffure more tightly.

  She turned toward the door and began to walk toward it when it unexpectedly opened and Viscount Clayton himself slipped inside.

  “There you are,” he said,
expelling his breath.

  Thea swallowed hard. Up close, he was even more handsome than she remembered. His blond hair slicked back, one roguish lock left to hang over an eye. And heaven help a saint, those eyes. Blue, hooded, full of sin. She’d forgotten how compelling his eyes were.

  Instinctively, she took a step back. She was supposed to be avoiding him. This wasn’t good, and they certainly shouldn’t be alone together.

  “We must leave this room immediately,” she said, her voice growing high and thin.

  Ewan nodded. “I must talk to you first. Briefly. Alone.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Thea insisted.

  He reached out toward her. “Please, Thea. Just for a moment.”

  It was the use of her name that affected her the most. And the look in his eye, and the memory of the time they’d spent together, laughing and talking over dinner. And the scent of his spicy cologne. Oh, everything about him affected her. She couldn’t help it.

  All of it combined in an instant to make Thea glance behind him at the door and say, “Very well, but please make it quick. If we’re seen together alone, there will be no coming back from the gossip.”

  He nodded once and stepped toward her. She stepped back again.

  He wrinkled his brow. “Are you frightened of me?”

  “Of course not,” she said, but she was trembling. How could she tell him she was frightened of herself? Of her reaction to him? Of his nearness. She couldn’t trust herself. The memory of their kiss in the stables at Clayton Manor came flooding back, heating her cheeks. The alcohol she’d consumed wasn’t helping either. The man is engaged. The man is engaged. The man is engaged and always has been. If she could just keep that thought foremost in her mind, she might just escape this room with her heart intact. She shook her head and met his gaze. “What do you want to say to me?”

  Ewan gazed at Thea. It was so good to see her again. She was a vision come to life tonight. Her dark hair piled high atop her head. The gorgeous white gown flowing down her lithe body, her pink cheeks and red lips and flashing gray eyes. He’d missed her, he realized. Her company. The way she made everything more interesting simply by being present. What did he want to say to her? So many things he didn’t know where to begin. But he knew he must speak quickly. He was putting her reputation in danger being in here with her alone. He’d come here tonight for a reason.