How To Marry a Rake

by Deb Marlowe

  Mae’s laughter pealed out across the glade. ‘Oh, to have a mirror right now, so that you could see your face,’ she said. She’d flushed red, but her eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘Stop, please, before you embarrass us both. I don’t mean marriage to you, Stephen. I did mean what I said last night. I’d prefer to leave the past where it lies and look to the future.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Papa would never countenance such a thing, in any case.’

  For the second time in as many minutes, relief swept through him. He couldn’t help grumbling a bit, though. ‘Well, glad as I am to hear it, I can’t help but wonder why your father holds me in such disregard. He never objected all those years we ran wild all over Welbourne Manor.’

  Mae’s smile grew reminiscent. ‘Did you know that he wasn’t aware of it, at first? He was always away in London on business, leaving Mama and me alone in Richmond. She wrote that I had befriended a duke’s daughter and he was content.’

  He had to suppress a laugh. ‘No, I didn’t know. Until he discovered which duke, I would guess?’

  ‘Precisely, and by then it was too late. He might have judged them to be fast, but he also knew better than to risk offending your parents.’ She shook her head. ‘I know he only wants what he thinks is best for me. I suppose one cannot fault him for entertaining higher aspirations for his only daughter.’ Her mouth turned down in a wry curve. ‘Unless you are the only daughter.’

  ‘Higher aspirations, is it?’ He ran an evaluating eye over her, but she waved her hand, dismissing the subject.

  ‘Let’s settle down to the business at hand.’ She eyed him, considering. ‘I have to say, I admire your thinking on this. Based on the gossip at breakfast, the people of Newmarket—and all of England, soon enough—can talk of nothing else but Pratchett’s kidnapping. Lord Toswick said that the London journalists are already swooping through the town.’ She sat back, a mischievous smile on her face. ‘Especially after your disagreement with Ryeton—can you imagine the fevered reaction of the crowd here at Newmarket should you be the one to return England’s most famous Thoroughbred? They’ll go mad with the delicious irony of it. You’ll be a hero, practically a legend, in a moment’s time. They’ll talk of it all over England.’

  Insidious, the notion wound its way inside of him again, caressing all of his weak spots. The idea of being lauded as a hero held an undeniable appeal—as Mae of all people would at least dimly understand. But the chance that such notoriety would give Fincote Park was what truly mattered.

  ‘You are right,’ she continued. ‘Ryeton will look like an ill-tempered fool should he continue to hold a grudge. And meanwhile, racing enthusiasts will be strewing a path of rose petals leading you straight to the Jockey Club.’

  Lord, she did know how to get a man stirred up.

  She frowned. ‘But finding Pratchett? That’s going to be the difficult part.’ Her brow furrowed, she heaved a great sigh.

  He wished she wouldn’t. He couldn’t recall that she had ever possessed such an inclination for deep breathing and gusty sighing. Surely he would have noticed, before now. He eyed her bosom with a considering stare. Or perhaps she just had not yet possessed the equipment to make the habit worthwhile.

  He shook his head to clear it. ‘It’s not going to be easy. There are plenty of experienced racing men who are already convinced that Pratchett will never be recovered—that he’s likely dead already.’

  ‘No, no!’ She waved an impatient hand. ‘Surely you know better than to listen to such idiocy.’ In the past, Stephen might have been irritated at her manner, but just now he found he did not mind seeing Mae worked into a state of agitation. It did lovely things to her colour and the brightness of her eyes. He glanced down once more. And the rate of her breathing. It also tipped the scales of justice slightly in his direction. Fate and all the heavens knew she’d agitated him often enough in the past.

  ‘You don’t go to all the trouble of kidnapping a horse if you want him dead. No, someone took that horse for a reason,’ she said. ‘Discover the reason and you’ll discover the horse.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘Surely it will have been someone involved in racing. But who? And why? A rival owner—someone tired of Pratchett stealing the limelight? Someone with a grudge?’

  ‘Or perhaps Ryeton owed someone money and they thought to get their return back,’ Stephen said thoughtfully. ‘Anyone could make a fortune siring foals by him, even off the Stud Book records. He could be on his way to a stud farm in Ireland as we speak.’

  ‘No.’ She frowned. ‘Too easy to be caught. That horse is still somewhere quite nearby. I’d bet on it. If the kidnapper does mean to keep him rather than return him, he’ll leave once the racing’s done, along with the hundreds of other horses that will be moving on the roads out of here.’

  She continued in that vein, musing or perhaps thinking aloud. And Stephen listened, following in the wake of her incredibly thorough mind. This was exactly why she was the person he needed at his side. When Mae Halford told you exactly how to get what you wanted, anyone acquainted with her knew to listen. But only half of his brain was truly engaged.

  The other half was being troublesome.

  Very busily, the other half was looking her over, measuring her up. There were new and deeper layers to her. Her enthusiasm and energy felt familiar, but they’d been enhanced with knowledge and a nascent sensuality. And somehow it all combined to form an ever-changing, irresistible whole.

  ‘We’ll need to move quickly. Have you any ideas on how you wish to proceed?’

  Her question jerked him back to the present. ‘Yes. I think that together we can cover a lot of ground, each of us investigating in our respective spheres to collect information.’

  She raised a brow, encouraging him to continue.

  ‘I can tell you what is happening in every stable in town, right now,’ he assured her. ‘Owners, black legs and jockeys, they are all pontificating right now, telling everyone who will listen what they know, what they think they know and why such a thing would never have happened to them. Somebody knows something—it’ll be my job to separate the wheat from the chaff.’

  She nodded, thinking it through. ‘And me?’

  He chuckled. ‘Well, you are just newly arrived back in England. Clearly you will need to be brought up to the minute on all the gossip. And the ladies, no doubt, will be thrilled to indulge you. Right now, all over Newmarket, women are delicately whispering of every social faux pas that Ryeton’s ever committed. If there are any jilted fiancés, family feuds, former lovers, any skeletons of any sort in Ryeton’s closet, they’ll be laid bare in the parlours and sitting rooms all over town.’

  Her mouth twisted into a grin. ‘I can hardly wait.’

  ‘As we’re both guests here, finding a way to come together to compare notes and put pieces together shouldn’t be too difficult.’

  She nodded again, but her gaze had grown unfocused and he could tell those indefatigable wheels were turning in her head. He held his breath and watched hers for a sign of what she was thinking. Or so he told himself.

  ‘I think we should add a third prong to your investigation,’ she said at last. ‘If you don’t mind my making a suggestion—I think we should use Josette.’

  ‘Josette?’

  ‘My maid.’ A wry twinkle showed in her expression. ‘Not even your thoroughbreds travel faster than servants’ gossip. And they are often privy to details to which ladies are not. Josette is a treasure—and a genius at sorting through to the heart of the matter.’

  ‘Then by all means, have her set her ear to catch what news she may.’

  ‘She’s also a very pretty girl. She might come in handy if you need to get information from your stable hands or grooms.’ Mae’s chuckle told him all he needed to know about the two of them and the sort of mischief they had likely got up to together.

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ He stood, eager to get started. ‘We can begin at once—’

  ‘Stephen.’ Mae stood t
oo. She watched him, hesitation in her manner and perhaps something … defensive, too?

  ‘There’s something else.’

  He waited.

  She turned away. ‘I’m not sure …’ Abruptly she spun around, her arms folded before her and a challenge in her eye. ‘I have some information, something that might be of even further use for you, but perhaps we had better just define my role in this right here and now.’ She lifted her chin. ‘If I have ideas, thoughts, then I want to know now that I can bring them up without recrimination or resentment—’

  ‘Have you forgotten whom it is you are talking to?’ he interrupted her, irritated. ‘I asked for your help! Do you think I’m going to suddenly act the snippy little girl if you give it?’

  They glared at each other a moment. It was as if a span of years had suddenly fallen away. Yet at the same time Stephen was aware of a newfound tension crackling in the air between them. He felt hot and edgy, entirely uncomfortable and incalculably curious.

  ‘Very well, then,’ she relented at last. ‘First, let me ask you a question. Have you heard about the filly my father brought over from France?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, she’s said to have deep hindquarters and a quick gait. But an unknown filly is not what I—’

  Her raised hand stopped him cold. ‘Do you know her name?’

  ‘I’m sure I’ve heard it, but I can’t quite recall it now.’

  ‘Barty’s Shill.’

  ‘Unusual.’

  ‘Apt is the word for it. My father’s little joke.’ She shook her head. ‘Really, we’ve only been abroad for two years, and already these racing men have forgotten who my father is. They are all agog over that pretty little filly, and they are ignoring the string of other horses he’s stabled here in Newmarket.’

  Stephen straightened. ‘And I gather that they should be paying attention?’

  She smiled. ‘Indeed they should. For mixed in with that group is Ornithopter, a high-necked bay that looks like he was put together from pieces from the knacker’s yard.’

  Mae leaned in and he tried to look more interested in her words than the view.

  ‘He can fly, Stephen. I’ve seen racehorses from Dublin to Deauville, but I’ve never seen anything like him. Papa meant for him to give Pratchett his first taste of track dust. That’s going to be the horse everyone’s talking about after the Guineas are run. You would do well to talk to Papa before then.’

  He felt some of his interest leached away. ‘Ah, but if your father doesn’t care to have me near his daughter, I doubt he’ll feel any differently about his prized horseflesh.’

  She gave a huff of exasperation. ‘Such a flattering correlation—and one Papa is likely to make as well. We’ll have to be careful. But as I said last night, Stephen, Papa taking us abroad had less to do with you than it had to do with me. He wasn’t angry with either of us, but he thought we would both be better for a bit of distance between us. As long as he believes my interests to lie elsewhere—and that I’m not making a nuisance of myself or harassing you—then he’ll be impressed that you have the superior understanding to see the potential in Ornithopter.’

  Stephen was relieved, but his mind was travelling further along the new path she had pointed out. ‘I see what you are saying. Even if we do return Pratchett quickly, it may be that the Jockey Club stewards will not allow him to race the Guineas. Without a true challenge from Pratchett, Ornithopter will win—’

  ‘He’ll make it look like child’s play,’ she said eagerly. ‘And afterwards, every racing man in the kingdom will be clamouring to see them matched against each other. It will be the most natural thing in the world! You must be the one to give it to them.’ She tilted her head, her smile a fascinating marriage of triumph and allure. ‘And when you do, Fincote Park’s future will be secured.’

  He stared at her. Such a familiar feeling, always being one step behind Mae Halford. Curious how it didn’t send him flying into fits of annoyance like it used to. Instead he had to curb the impulse to sweep her up, twirl her about the meadow and kiss her soundly. ‘This could work,’ he whispered instead. ‘This could be the making of Fincote, Mae!’ Jubilation and real hope surged in his veins. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, already thinking out a timetable in his head. ‘We an start now,’ he said with excitement. ‘I’ll head into town right away—’

  He stopped. Her arms were crossed again, and if he wasn’t mistaken then that pretty little kid boot was tapping in his direction.

  ‘Not so fast, Stephen.’ Yes, he definitely recalled that crotchety tone. ‘This is to be an exchange. Or had you forgotten already?’

  He deflated a little. ‘Oh, yes. No, of course I did not forget.’

  ‘I’ve agreed to help you. I’ve risked much, revealing my father’s secrets, against his express wishes. I think I more than deserve your help in return.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, my help. Regarding your marriage.’

  There it came again; another damned distracting deep breath. ‘Marriage is indeed in my future. Papa has decided it is time. But you know how he is.’ She glanced about the empty glade and lowered her voice. ‘He’s going to consider his balance sheets with at least as much attention as he will my inclinations. Or worse, he’ll choose somebody he thinks can shape me into the right sort of woman.’

  Stephen clamped firmly down on an inarticulate note of protest.

  Mae didn’t appear to notice. She was wrapped up in her own miserable view of such a future. ‘I can’t live like that, Stephen. I’ve fought this battle my entire life—tooth and nail I have resisted as people have tried to squeeze me into a mould that does not fit. I have no desire to spend the rest of my life fighting my husband’s efforts to do the same.’ She glanced away. ‘Perhaps I am not delicate and quiet and well trained, like a daughter or a wife should be. But I do possess a few good qualities. I should like to be appreciated for them.’

  ‘As you should.’ His voice had gone hoarse.

  ‘And so I need your help. I’ve been away, and even before we were never very active in the highest society. I need information. Your opinions, as well, if you would share them. Somewhere there is a gentleman, perhaps more than one, who’s strong enough, secure enough with his own quirks, so that mine won’t seem such an obstacle.’ She shrugged. ‘I just hope to find someone to accept me as I am. Will you help me?’

  Surely it was relief travelling in waves through his veins right now. Relief, pure and simple, unadulterated with anything as hypocritical as pique or resentment. That would be childish in the extreme and entirely too dog in the manger to contemplate.

  ‘What would you have me do?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing onerous, and nothing that will distract us from the job we have to do. Introduce me to the right people. Share what you know. Help me evaluate likely men based on the criteria I’ve come up with.’

  Criteria? He shuddered. But truly, this was the least he could do for her. ‘Of course. I will do whatever I can. There are always a few social entertainments to go along with the racing. We should make an inroad on quite a number of gentlemen.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Against all his expectations, her expression radiated gratitude and hope.

  Who are you? He prayed that this turn of events was genuine, that Mae had indeed moved past her girlish infatuation. But part of him could not forget that she was devilishly skilled at manoeuvring people and events to her satisfaction.

  ‘We’ve a bargain, then,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. And a great deal of work to do.’

  And then, just because he had to know, he did what he had never done with Mae Halford before. He summoned up his most devastating smile. With heat in his eyes and seduction in the low rasp of his voice, he rose and extended his hand. ‘Then shall we seal it?’

  Her mouth set primly, she stood as well and shook his hand. But she snatched her hand back as if his had burned.

  He took a step closer. ‘So formal? And we such old friends.’ He shook his head slowly, his gaz
e locked to hers. ‘Surely we can mark our agreement in a more memorable fashion. With a kiss, perhaps?’

  Perhaps it was cruel to test her this way. But he must know, in order to proceed with confidence. The Mae of old would leap at this chance. Hell, she’d likely leap into his arms, sure her tactics had been a success.

  Breath suspended, he waited.

  She stilled. He could see the pulse leaping in her throat, the rapid rise and fall of her breast.

  A little spike—mixed triumph and dismay—sent his pulse ratcheting.

  Her gaze broke free from his. Stepping back, she dusted off her hands. ‘Four days! That’s all we’ll have until the running of the Guineas.’ Her voice wasn’t even shaky. ‘Let’s get started, shall we? Lady Toswick is hosting a tea today for her guests and some of the ladies also in Newmarket. I will discover all that I can. Tonight she plans an evening of cards for her guests and a few others, but if you cannot return by then, we should be able to catch up at her party tomorrow here in the gardens.’

  He should be finding it reassuring, that air of indifference. Yes, of course he did.

  ‘Very well.’ And because whatever other feelings Mae might inspire, without a doubt she deserved his gratitude, he bent over her hand. ‘Thank you, Mae.’ Lightly, he brushed his lips over her knuckles.

  The scent of her skin caught him, holding him bowed before her for several seconds too long. Between them the very air flared and crackled into life. He dropped her hand. Only long years of training and practised smoothness kept him from rearing back.

  ‘Until tomorrow, then.’ She turned on her heel and spun away.

  He watched her leisurely retreat. So Mae Halford had indeed grown out of her schoolgirl crush. This was a cause for joy, not annoyance, he told himself firmly. She needed his help, just as he needed hers. He’d left the house this morning in a cloud of despair. She’d helped give him back purpose and hope.