More or Less a Marchioness

by Anna Bradley

  Not by fair means.

  That was when he made his move.

  Iris’s first warning was the hiss of a riding crop slicing through the air, and then Chaos stumbled—just the tiniest hitch, no more than an instant’s break in his gait, so subtle a rider less attuned to her horse might not have even noticed it.

  But Iris did. She noticed it the first time Lord Claire brought his crop down in a brutal blow against Chaos’s flank, and again when he did it the second time.

  Another tiny stumble, and a shout, a voice raised in fury—

  Hers.

  If Chaos had been any other horse, or Iris any other woman, it would have been the end—of the race, the horse, and very likely the rider.

  But Chaos wasn’t any horse. He was this horse, and Iris knew him down to his very soul.

  As well as I know myself.

  Neither of them would ever surrender to a coward like Lord Claire, and neither of them would ever settle for less than they deserved.

  From the corner of her eye Iris saw Lord Claire raise his crop a third time, but he never had a chance to land the blow. She squeezed her knees around the massive body beneath her to steady herself, gripped the reins in her hands, and leaned so low over Chaos’s head she could hear each of his heaving breaths in her ear.

  Go, go, go…

  She might have shouted it. She might have whispered it. She might not have said it aloud at all, but it didn’t matter, because Chaos understood her, and in the next breath he plunged ahead in a powerful surge of clenched muscle and sheer stubborn will, out of the reach of Lord Claire’s vicious riding crop.

  One minute later, it was over.

  Chaos raced past the tree line, with Lord Claire so far behind them by the time he arrived, sweating and panting, he was no more than an afterthought. Lord Edgemont came in last, his horse lathered with sweat, and his lordship red-faced and cursing.

  It wasn’t until Iris brought Chaos down to a walk to cool him that she felt it.

  He was limping.

  Her heart filled with dread as she dropped the reins, scrambled down from the saddle and knelt on the ground next to Chaos’s right front leg. He was holding it aloft to keep his weight off it.

  Then she noticed the blood. “Oh, no. Please, no.”

  There was an ugly, ragged gash between his right hoof and his knee joint, and even through the smears of dark blood, Iris could see the white of Chaos’s bone.

  Panic slammed into her chest with such pitiless force it threatened to crush her flat to the ground. “Oh, please, no. Not this horse.”

  “What’s the matter, you silly chit?” Lord Claire snapped. He was still mounted and looming over her, his horse prancing nervously. “You won, didn’t you?”

  Tears burned Iris’s eyes, but she cradled Chaos’s leg injured leg in one hand and ran her fingers gently above and below the gash see if she could feel a break in the bone, her breath held, and broken pleas falling in whispers from her lips.

  Please, please…

  Chaos flinched, and Iris’s hand froze.

  There, on the front of his leg, midway between his pastern and knee joint, where the leg should be straight, was an asymmetry in the cannon bone.

  Iris’s heart gave a painful wrench and she stumbled back onto her heels, but even as despair gripped her, her mind was scrambling for a denial, a way to make it not be true.

  It wasn’t a bad break, was it? No, no, it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t, because she wouldn’t let it be. It was a minor fracture only, and Captain West would fix it. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Chaos. He’d know what to do. He’d fix it, and Chaos would be fine, and all would be well…

  Iris let her face fall into her hands as a deep, heaving sob wracked her chest.

  I’m tearing apart…

  “Iris!”

  A feminine cry, high with panic, and then a deeper one—Captain West, or Lord Derrick—then the confusing sound of multiple hooves coming toward her at once, and the rattle of carriage wheels over the rutted field.

  “My God, Iris.” Gentle hands reached for her, helped her to her feet, and then warm arms wrapped around her. “Iris, oh, thank goodness.” It was Violet’s voice, thick with tears. “When he struck Chaos, I was sure you’d fall. If you had, I can’t…I don’t want to think of it. Are you hurt?”

  Iris couldn’t speak, but she shook her head, then buried her face in Violet’s soft shoulder.

  Another set of thundering hooves approached. An ominous silence fell, then was broken by the sound of heavy boots hitting the ground as the rider dismounted.

  Violet stiffened against her. “Oh, dear God.”

  “Easy, Huntington.” It was Lord Derrick, his voice tight with warning.

  Iris jerked her head up and gasped at the stark fury on Finn’s face as he advanced on Lord Claire.

  Lord Claire paled. “Christ, Huntington. What’s the trouble? You can see she’s perfectly well, can’t you?”

  Finn didn’t say a word, but prowled toward Lord Claire, his body taut with menace, and murder in his eyes.

  Lord Claire gave his reins a desperate flick, but Finn got to him before he could flee and yanked the reins out of his hands.

  “Now, Huntington. Be reasonable. You don’t wish to do anything you’ll regret—”

  Lord Claire didn’t get any farther, because Finn seized him by the neck of his coat, jerked him from the saddle with a single powerful wrench, and threw him on his back onto the ground. Lord Claire tried to scramble upright, but Finn didn’t give him a chance to even twitch before he was over him, shoving his face into Lord Claire’s. “I should kill you.”

  Captain West and Lord Derrick leapt down from their mounts and moved toward the two men on the ground, both of them tensed to haul Finn away if it proved necessary, but otherwise not interfering. Neither Lord Wrexley nor Lord Edgemont came forward to defend Claire, either, or even bothered to dismount, but watched the scene unfold from a safe distance.

  “Julian?” Charlotte’s anxious gaze met her husband’s, but she fell silent when Captain West gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

  Finn twisted Lord Claire’s coat into a tight knot around his neck and kept twisting until Lord Claire’s eyes bulged with panic and his face turned a mottled red. “I could keep twisting, Claire, until the last miserable breath is choked from your body. It’s one way to be sure you never endanger another rider again.”

  A desperate gurgle bubbled from Lord Claire’s mouth. He clawed at Finn’s hands and kicked and writhed to be free, but he couldn’t tear himself loose from Finn’s grip.

  Finn jerked Lord Claire’s head off the ground. “If she’d fallen—if she’d suffered so much as a single scratch—you’d be drawing your last breath right now.” He slammed Lord Claire’s head back to the ground and rose, his lip curling with disgust as the man rolled to his side, coughing and gasping for breath.

  “Get out of my sight.” Finn jerked his gaze to Lord Wrexley and Lord Edgemont, who were gaping at Lord Claire’s prone body with open-mouthed horror. “All of you.”

  Lord Edgemont scrambled down from his horse, yanked Lord Claire to his feet and half-lifted, half-threw him onto his horse, and the three men disappeared in a flurry of pounding hooves.

  When they were gone, Finn turned to Iris, his chest still heaving.

  She stared at him for long moments, her face frozen, then she deliberately looked away from him. “Chaos is hurt. It’s his right front leg, Captain.”

  “Iris.” Finn stepped toward her, his voice pleading. “I—”

  “I want to go home.” Iris’s hands were shaking as she reached for Violet’s arm to steady herself.

  Charlotte took Iris’s other arm and led her toward the carriage. “Come, Annabel, Lady Honora. We’ll ride back to Hadley House in the carriage, and the gentlemen can follow
once they’ve—”

  “No.” Iris clutched at Violet and Charlotte as she stumbled on the carriage steps. “Not Hadley House. I want to go home to London.”

  * * * *

  Finn was standing in front of the cold fireplace in the drawing room, staring at the empty grate, when Derrick found him several hours later.

  “You’ll escort them back to London?” Finn asked, without turning around.

  Lord Derrick held his hat in his hands, his fingers worrying the brim. “Yes. Lady Honora goes, as well.”

  Finn nodded. “There’s an end to the house party, I guess.”

  Derrick hesitated, then said, “When will you return to London?”

  “Soon. Tomorrow, perhaps. I have a few things to discuss with Captain West first.” Finn braced his hand against the mantel and let his forehead rest on his forearm. “She won’t see me, Derrick.”

  “She’s upset, Huntington. Chaos…Captain West isn’t certain he can save him. Even if the bone can be set, there’s the question of infection.” Lord Derrick stepped toward Finn and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Miss Somerset blames herself for it. She’s saying she never should have raced at all. You simply need to give her some time. All may yet still come to rights.”

  “Yesterday afternoon, when she told me she intended to race, she begged for my understanding, and I…” Finn straightened and ran a weary hand down his face. “I denied her. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me, Derrick.”

  “You were there—when it mattered, you were there. As for the rest, get down on your knees and beg her pardon. The lady is in love with you. I feel certain she’ll forgive you.”

  “Perhaps I don’t deserve her forgiveness.”

  “There’s nothing unforgivable about being afraid for the woman you love, Huntington, but if you want her forgiveness, the best thing you can do is find a way to deserve it.” Lord Derrick shoved his hat onto his head and turned for the door. “I’ll see you back in London.”

  Finn stood still for a long time after Derrick left, thinking about what his friend had said, and about what Iris had tried to tell him yesterday, when he was too overwhelmed with his own fears to hear her.

  This is who I am. This is what you love about me.

  What he loved about her…

  Her eyes. Her laugh. That she knew herself, and understood how rare and precious that was. The way she challenged him. Her passion.

  Her courage.

  The answer came to him so easily then, almost as if Iris had whispered it in his ear.

  He found Captain West in the stables, his hands folded on the edge of Chaos’s stall, his chin resting on his hands and his face grim as he watched the horse move awkwardly inside. “Miss Somerset managed to calm him when we first brought him back to his stall, but he grew agitated again at once. I’m damn grateful Lord Derrick has taken the young ladies away.”

  Finn stiffened. “What can be done for him?”

  Captain West didn’t answer but reached for the rifle propped against the wall next to him and lifted the latch on Chaos’s stall door.

  Finn grabbed the stall door, pushed it closed again, and looked Captain West in the eye. “No, West. What can be done for him?”

  Captain West searched Finn’s face for a long moment. Finn held his breath, his chest tight as he waited for West to make up his mind.

  I’ll do anything, whatever it takes…

  At last the other man blew out a long sigh. “It looks like we’re going to find out.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Iris? It’s been four days, and I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense. Open this door at once.”

  Iris let out a low groan and threw her arm over her eyes. Had it really been four days since she’d locked herself in her bedchamber? One would think Violet would have given up and gone away by now.

  “Grandmother is threatening to send for Dr. Graham if you refuse another meal. Do you really want him here, prodding at you with his cold hands? At least open the door, if only to prove you’re still able to move.”

  Iris’s mouth pursed with self-righteous indignation. Violet might be terribly clever, but she didn’t know as much as she thought she did.

  Iris had moved. Not ten minutes ago, she’d rolled from her left side to her right.

  She sagged against her pillows and squeezed her eyes closed. If she’d spent most of the morning languishing in her bed—just as she’d done the day before, and the day before that—it was no one’s concern but her own.

  There was a faint thud, as if Violet had let her forehead fall against the door. “I know your heart is broken and you feel wretched, Iris, but you can’t hide in your bedchamber forever.”

  Certainly she could. If a lady couldn’t hide in her bedchamber when her heart was broken, then when could she? Heartbreak seemed a perfectly good reason to never rise from her bed again.

  And she was heartbroken. It had been two weeks since she’d fled Hadley House, and each moment of that time she’d thought of nothing but Finn. She woke every morning with her foolish heart leaping wildly in her chest, certain he’d call on her, and retired to her bedchamber every night with every hope dashed.

  Finn didn’t come.

  Her heart wasn’t just broken. It was shattered.

  She longed for him with a visceral ache that left her breathless and teetering on a precarious edge between hope and anguish. Each day he didn’t come another piece of her heart splintered loose with a dry crack, until she was left with nothing but thousands of tiny shards.

  So many shards there was no hope of it ever being whole again.

  But just when she’d thought there was nothing left of her heart to break, Honora had paid her a visit and given her some news that had toppled Iris into an abyss of misery the likes of which she’d never known before and despaired of ever escaping.

  Lord Derrick, who’d been paying Honora frequent calls since their return from Hampshire had told her Finn wasn’t even in London. Honora had pressed him, but Lord Derrick had been either unwilling or unable to say where Finn was, or when he intended to return.

  Or if he intended to return at all.

  That had been four days ago. Iris hadn’t left her bedchamber since.

  She tried not to think of Finn, but he invaded her every waking thought, and when she did manage to fall into an exhausted sleep he haunted her dreams. She was tormented by the memory of his cool gray eyes as they’d looked that day in Charlotte’s drawing room, when she’d told him she intended to race Chaos. He’d looked at her as he’d done early in their courtship, before he’d cared at all for her.

  Before he told her he loved her.

  The next day Chaos had been injured in the race, and she’d been so overwhelmed with guilt and grief she’d left Hampshire without a word to Finn. She’d fled like an overwrought child at the first sign of strife, and now, two weeks later, she bitterly regretted it.

  Hiding in her bedchamber was hardly the answer, but here she was nonetheless, staring at the ceiling, her heart as heavy as a stone in her chest.

  Her grandmother and sisters continued to lay siege to her locked door, but Iris had responded to Violet’s threats and Lady Chase’s scolding with a resounding silence. Even Hyacinth’s gentle pleas had failed to lure her out again.

  There was another quiet thud, and then Violet’s voice came through the closed door again, shakier this time. “You’re not the only one with a broken heart, Iris.”

  Iris’s eyes flew open, and she struggled upright. “I’m not?”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Lord Derrick had called on Lady Honora every day since their return…

  Oh, no. It couldn’t be. “Is it…it’s not Lord Derrick, is it?”

  There was a brief silence from the other side of the door, then Violet sighed. “If you don’t mind, Iris, I’d rath
er not stand in the hallway and shout about Lord Derrick through a closed door. Let me in.”

  Iris scrambled off the side of the bed and hastened to the door. As soon as she opened it and saw Violet’s ravaged face, her heart sank. “Oh, Violet. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize, but I should have. What kind of lady is so selfish she doesn’t notice her sister’s broken heart?”

  “A lady whose heart is also broken.” Violet came in and perched on the edge of Iris’s bed, her shoulders hunched in defeat. “Love makes us all selfish, I think. If it didn’t, I’d be happy for Honora and Lord Derrick, but I’m not, Iris. I’m not.”

  “Oh, my dear.” Iris sat next to Violet and opened her arms, and Violet fell into them.

  “I don’t know why I’m surprised at it. I’m not the type of lady a gentleman falls in love with. I’ve always known it, and I never expected to come to London and have some grand love affair. It’s just…I suppose I thought Lord Derrick was different than other gentlemen. He’s so kind, and…ah, well. It doesn’t matter now.”

  Tears pricked behind Iris’s eyes as she ran a soothing hand over her sister’s back. “Is it quite a settled thing between Honora and Lord Derrick?”

  “He’s courting her, and she confided in me she believes he’ll make an offer before long.”

  “She intends to accept him?”

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t she? He’s…well, he’s lovely, isn’t he? I wonder we didn’t foresee this would happen. I can’t think of two people who are better suited.”

  Iris wanted to deny it, to reassure Violet no one could ever suit Lord Derrick as well as she could, but the truth was she’d wondered more than once whether Lord Derrick’s easy calm was a good match for Violet’s sharp, restless inquisitiveness.

  Whereas Lady Honora and Lord Derrick…

  Well, Violet was right. One had only to look at them to see they were as ideally suited as two people could hope to be. “Does Honora know you’re—?”

  “In love with Lord Derrick? No, and you mustn’t tell her, Iris. If she knew, she’d likely try to discourage him, for my sake.” Violet attempted a laugh, but there was a trace of bitterness in it. “You see how well-matched they are? She’s every bit as lovely as he is.”