“Why, Max, you have tamed man-eating mares,” she said lightly. “What woman alive would not be fond of you?”
He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to read whatever thoughts lay beyond her comment. He pulled his gaze from hers and they walked on in an uncomfortable silence.
“Does Miss Weatherly feel the way you do about marriage?”
Cynthia? Why was he concerned with Cynthia's feelings about marriage?
“Cynthia has always been more interested in marriage than I have.”
“I see,” he murmured.
Exactly what did he see? Not that his question bothered her in any way. Why, she'd have to be jealous for it to bother her and she absolutely refused to allow that.
Three more geese waddled past.
She glanced toward her mother. Grace still chatted with Abigail, but the duchess and Georgina were no longer with them. Good. Hopefully they had found something to discuss other than she and Max.
“Given your lack of interest in marriage, or your lack of interest in marriage with me,” a wry smile quirked his lips, “should I lose, which I won't--”
“Which you will.”
“Which I won't, how do you foresee spending the remainder of your life?”
“My life?” The question caught her by surprise. She had always known she didn't want a marriage without love, but had never particularly considered what she would do if she failed to find that.
She was well aware she could not blithely continue to go through season after season. She was already one of the oldest unmarried women at any social gathering. Another year or two and the appeal of her independent nature would fade. Gentlemen who had sought her for her beauty and her spirit would express interest only for her fortune. The possibility of love would vanish altogether.
She could see herself the object of tolerant affection but still the subject of whispered comments. “I hear she was a diamond of the first water once. What a shame she has come to such an end.”
Was there anything more pathetic than an aging hellion?
There were few opportunities for anything else. She could never find a position as a governess. Even if she was inclined in that direction, she had no particular skills. And while the life of a cyprian or courtesan or other ladies of a disreputable nature certainly had a bit more appeal, she was unskilled in that area as well. She suspected one had to have developed the talents needed for such positions at a much earlier age.
She knew enough about her parents’ studies to join in their work and did not doubt she would excel; still, it was not particularly what she wanted.
What did she want?
She wanted a hero. She wanted Max. But she wanted him on her terms. She'd rather become a withered old crone, a lonely, wretched creature to be pointed out to young women as an example of the dire fate that could befall them should they be too independent or high spirited and fail to wed than have a husband who did not love her.
“Pandora?”
Her gaze met his and she gave him a half-hearted smile. “I don't know.”
“Well, you needn't worry about it.” He grinned down at her. “When I win--”
She laughed, her pensive mood disappearing with the slight breeze. “If you win.”
“Did you enjoy the Ride, Lord Trent?”
Pandora and Max turned to greet the duchess and Georgina.
“I did indeed, Your Grace.” Max nodded. “I only regret my team did not win.”
“Oh, but your rescue of Miss Weatherly was far more impressive,” the duchess said. “Besides, there is always next year.”
“Next year?” Pandora raised a brow.
Georgina ignored her. “May we join you?”
“Of course,” Max said gallantly.
“It is such a lovely day and I do so enjoy strolling beside the lake. Pity,” the duchess waved toward the water, “they seem intent on spoiling it.”
“Who?” Pandora furrowed her brow.
“Why, the geese, of course,” the duchess said.
“There do seem to be an inordinate number this year.” Pandora hadn't really noticed just how many before now. They covered a good portion of the lake, their squawking a constant background noise. Obviously, her mind was too full of other matters to pay them much heed.
Georgina crossed her arms over her chest. “Someone should do something about them.”
The duchess nodded. “They are scaring the horses and terrorizing the dogs.”
Pandora glanced at the area where the horses from the Ride grazed in complete serenity. “The horses don't seem particularly overset to me. And there isn't a dog in sight.”
“Nonetheless,” the duchess said firmly, “they are a hazard.”
“Indeed they are.” Georgina bobbed her head in enthusiastic agreement. “Why, they are positively Stym…Stemp…”
“Stymphalian,” the Duchess supplied.
“Stymphalian?” Pandora laughed. “I daresay…” At once she understood. “Oh, I don't think--”
“Stymphalian. That's exactly what they are.” Georgina paused for emphasis. “And someone should do something.”
“Indeed, someone should.” The duchess gazed pointedly at Max. “Don't you agree?”
“I don't,” Pandora snapped.
“Indeed I do,” Max said slowly, then realization dawned on his face and he grinned. “Do you have any idea how someone would do that?”
Her aunts exchanged helpless glances.
The duchess shrugged. “Run at them, I suppose.”
“Yelling, perhaps, and waving one's arms?” Georgina added.
“This isn't in any way--” Pandora started.
“Would it be enough to do it from the banks, do you think,” Max said thoughtfully, “or would someone have to actually get in the lake itself?”
“I wouldn't think so,” Georgina said.
“Not at all,” the duchess agreed.
“Oh, but if these are truly Stymphalian birds…” Pandora's voice rang with annoyance. She could see any protest on her part was futile. But if he was going to gain a point in so ridiculous a manner, she very much wanted him to earn it. “It would be virtually impossible for someone to get rid of them without getting wet.”
“Very well.” Max's gaze meshed with hers and laughter shone in his eyes. The beast. He took off his coat and started to hand it to her, then apparently thought better of it. “Lady William?”
Georgina took the garment. “I'd be honored.”
Pandora folded her arms over her chest and glared.
Max leaned closer and spoke softly in her ear. “I believe this will be my eighth point.”
“If you don't drown,” she said through clenched teeth.
“A distinct possibility.” He sighed dramatically.
“Hah!” She scoffed. “It's a very shallow lake. You'd have to stand on your head to drown.”
“Don't you want to wish me well before I go off to do battle with Stymphalian birds?”
“They're geese,” she hissed. “I should wish them well.”
He straightened and shook his head in a manner of exaggerated regret. “Geese can be very difficult.”
“Then you shall have much in common!”
“If I do not return,” he grabbed her hand and pulled it to his lips, “your face shall linger always in my memory. Your voice shall accompany me to heaven, but even the angels will pale in comparison. And your name shall be the last thing on my lips.”
“Stop that!” She snatched her hand away and stifled a laugh. Blasted man. How could he make her laugh when she was so annoyed with him? If she did end up as his wife, if nothing else, it would be an amusing fate.
He grinned and turned toward her aunts, sweeping an exaggerated bow. “Ladies.”
They nodded in a regal manner, as if he was going off to do battle with a fire-eating dragon and not mere geese, but it was apparent they were just as close to laughter as she was.
Max walked along the path for several yards unti
l he reached a point where the fowl were thick on the bank and in the water. He flashed a grin at her, then squared his shoulders, raised his arms, and ran toward the birds, yelling in an unintelligible manner.
He flapped his arms and dodged this way and that. Some geese took to wing at once, others seemed stunned at the sight of him. He waded into the water, still shouting and waving as if he was about to take flight himself.
“I wonder that they don't think he's simply a very large featherless goose,” Georgina murmured.
“He looks like a complete fool.” Pandora huffed.
“Really,” the duchess said thoughtfully. “I think he looks more like a man in love.”
“Hardly,” Pandora said. “He's a man determined to win. Love has nothing to do with it.”
The duchess slanted her an amused glance. “There's little difference between the actions of a man in love and a fool.”
Max splashed about in hip-deep water, keeping up a steady stream of loud shouts and wild gestures.
Within minutes, most of the geese had abandoned the lake, probably off somewhere, laughing to themselves at the absurd creature that had invaded their domain. All the human observers had gathered on the banks to watch the spectacle and there was no question as to their laughter.
Max turned in her direction, spread his arms in a wide questioning gesture, and called out, “Well?”
The duchess raised her hands and clapped. Georgina joined her, and soon everyone was applauding except Pandora. Max bowed in an overdone theatrical manner.
“The geese will be back. Probably the moment he leaves,” Pandora said pointedly.
“It's my understanding he simply had to get rid of them,” the duchess said lightly. “I don't believe there's any stipulation about keeping them away. Is there?”
Pandora shook her head, her voice resigned. “Not at all.”
“Very well, then.” The duchess nodded at Georgina and they started toward the spot where Max was emerging into a crowd of laughing congratulants.
“I quite like him, you know,” Georgina said, her voice fading with every step. “Do you think she does?”
Pandora couldn't make out the answer. Of course she liked him. She more than liked him. The question was whether he more than liked her.
“Even wet, he is a remarkably attractive man.” A voice sounded behind her.
Pandora turned. “Gillian.” She embraced her favorite cousin. “When did you arrive?”
“Late last night. I was on the Ride this morning.” Gillian glanced at Max with an approving smile. “Not that I'm at all surprised you didn't notice.”
Pandora followed her gaze. “I've been rather busy.”
“So I hear.” Lady Gillian was the duke's daughter, and five years older than Pandora. A classic fair-haired blue-eyed English beauty, Gillian, now a widow, was well known in London's influential circles as a hostess for gatherings that attracted intellectuals, politicians, artists and writers.
“I suppose you know all about it?”
“My dear cousin, everyone in London knows about your bargain with Trent. It's the talk of the season. I gather the betting books at White's and elsewhere are full of wagers on both sides.”
“Not to mention those made among members of my own family,” Pandora said dryly. “And most of the money is on Max.”
“Max?” Gillian raised a brow.
“That's his name.” Pandora had the good grace to be chagrined over the improper and too familiar usage.
“Of course it is.” Gillian's gaze returned to Max, still surrounded by well-wishers. “How is he progressing?”
“He just earned his eighth point.”
“I see. Only what? Four left?”
Pandora nodded. London gossip was often erroneous, but in this case its accuracy was impressive.
“Do you love him?”
She started to tell her but even with Gillian, found she couldn't say the words aloud. Gillian would understand. She had married for love. Still…She shrugged. “Is it a completely unpleasant emotion?”
Gillian laughed. “It gets better.” She paused for a moment. “And what of the earl?”
Someone had handed Max a glass of wine and a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. She studied his tall figure for a long moment and that now familiar yearning welled up inside her. “I wish I knew.”
“You don't think this is an indication? After all, the man has put on a rather ridiculous, although vastly entertaining, public display. For you.”
“He's very competitive. He wants to win.”
“What he wants is you.”
“That much I know,” she said shortly. “What I don't know is why. Am I a reward for winning? Or does he truly care for me?”
“You could always ask him,” Gillian said casually, as if she was suggesting nothing more significant than which way he preferred to tie his cravat.
“I've tried.”
“Have you?”
“Well, I've never actually said, ‘Do you love me?’ But I have given him more than ample opportunity to tell me of his feelings. Whatever they may be.”
“Pandora,” Gillian said in a knowing tone, “men are truly charming creatures, relatively intelligent on occasion, and more than competent to choose a good horse or a fine brandy, but when it comes to things like love, they rarely seem to know what's in their own hearts.” She laid a hand on Pandora's arm. “Ask him. Trent will give you an honest answer, and honesty between a man and a woman is as important as trust. And love.”
“I can't.” Pandora shook her head emphatically.
“Because you're afraid of the answer?”
Was she? Her stomach twisted. “Perhaps. Besides, I don't want to force him into some kind of half-hearted admission. I want him to tell me how he feels.”
“Poor Trent. Effington stubbornness is always a force to be reckoned with.”
Pandora raised a brow. “You are scarcely one to point fingers.”
Her cousin laughed. “I'll grant you that.”
Pandora turned her gaze back to Max. “So what do I do? How am I to know how he feels?”
Gillian's brow pulled together and she was silent for a long moment. “It's always seemed to me, the relationship between men and women is very much like that of hounds and foxes.”
Pandora groaned. “So I've been told.”
“A very good hound will chase a fox until he drops from exhaustion. A lazy hound, a hound whose heart isn't in the hunt, will lose interest. But a hound who truly wants the fox will let nothing stop him. He'll follow the fox anywhere and follow him forever.” Gillian stared at Max thoughtfully. “That seems to be a rather determined hound.”
Pandora followed her gaze to a sodden, laughing Max. “As of today, the possibility of his winning our game are excellent, and I will not marry him unless he loves me.”
Gillian's gaze snapped to hers. “How will you avoid it?”
“I have no idea. But it does appear I have now become the fox, and the hound is gaining fast. I have to find a way both to elude the beast…” Max turned toward her direction, grinned, and raised his glass.
“And determine if his heart is truly in the hunt.”
Chapter 18
A Break in the Play
“What are you doing here?” Pandora planted her hands on her hips and glared.
Max lounged against a stall with a nonchalant air.
“Waiting for you. I must say, though, I am surprised.” His gaze traveled over her in an altogether too familiar manner that was at once annoying and exciting. “Here you are again in men's clothing. Twice in three days is rather impressive for something you ‘never’ do.”
“And I have you to thank. It was you who provided the clothes, you who encouraged me to wear them, you who failed to request their return.”
“How could I have been so thoughtless? I have led you to wreck and ruin. Is there any way I can make amends? Of course.” A wicked light shone in his eyes. He stepped toward her and reached
out. “Give me my clothes. Now. At once. Don't bother to protest, it would be best if you just do it.”
She slapped his hand away and tried not to laugh. “Do all those Effington women who have become so fond of you know what a true beast you are?”
His brow furrowed. “Let me think. Why yes, I'm certain they do. In fact, they insist a reformed rake makes the best husband, and I suspect they believe me ripe for reforming.”
“Not that they plan on taking on the task themselves.”
“They are giving you that honor.”
“How very thoughtful. I shall have to remember to thank them. How did you know I'd be here this morning?” She hadn't known herself until a long, restless night filled with disturbing dreams of heroes and searing embraces and the occasional goose forced her to abandon any hope of peaceful sleep and decide she might as well greet the dawn on horseback.
“Where else would you be?” he said, as if the answer was obvious. “After being forced to comply with society's edicts and endure a sidesaddle throughout the Ride yesterday--”
“I have used a sidesaddle since my first Ride,” she said in a lofty tone.
“Pity. I don't know how women manage to stay on the things. They look damned awkward.”
“They are rather. One does have to get used to them.”
“Still, a skilled rider such as yourself must be frustrated by its limitations, especially during anything as challenging as yesterday's competition.”
“I suppose, a bit…” Odd, it hadn't particularly bothered her before. It was only since she'd tasted the exhilaration of riding astride again for the first time since childhood that she'd given the restrictions of sidesaddles a second thought. And today it was that quest for freedom that had brought her here.
Exactly as Max had expected. Did he know her that well? And was that disquieting, or somehow pleasurable?
“Well, I am here to ride this morning.” She straightened and started down the aisle, glancing in one stall, then another, and yet another. “Max,” she said slowly, still moving from stall to stall. “Why are there no horses here?”
“Why?” An innocent note sounded in his voice.
“Max.” Suspicion underlay her words. “Where are the stable servants? I know it's early, but even the other day there were a few boys here. Where are they, Max?”
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