The Training of a Marquess

by Sandra Owens

  Chase couldn’t find the words to respond. She had a sharp tongue and obviously blamed him for her circumstances. If she treated all men as she did him, it might not be as easy to find her a husband as he had thought. She had gone beyond the pale in insinuating he would be crass enough to take advantage of a grieving woman.

  “Well, have you nothing to say, my lord?”

  “Oh, I have much to say, Lady Derebourne,” he said, finding his voice. “You don’t know me, yet you feel free to malign my character. It is my understanding you have no family to turn to. I have no intention of showing you to the door without knowing you are safely settled elsewhere.”

  His anger was so great he carefully set his cup down lest he spill the contents. “As for considering you for my mistress, it never entered my mind, nor will it. You are not my type of woman, Lady Derebourne. Your tongue is too bitter for my taste. Have I said enough, my lady? Yes, I believe I have.”

  He stood. “I wish to spend some time with my boys and think it best if we continue this conversation tomorrow. Perhaps by then you will be in a better frame of mind.”

  “As you wish, my lord. We keep country hours. Dinner is served at six.”

  “Please have a tray sent to me and my sons. I find I prefer their company tonight.” He walked out of the room and asked the butler to direct him to the twins’ rooms.

  Claire fell back onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands. Bells in hell. She had handled that badly. From the moment the marquess entered the room her resentment had simmered. It wasn’t his fault she was going to lose her home and most likely her horses. It hadn’t helped that she had to force herself not to stare at him, and that had unnerved her. She had never met a man before that she would apply the word beautiful to. His hair was golden, his skin also golden as if he spent much time outdoors, and his eyes were the violet-blue of woodland bluebells.

  What had possessed her to suggest he might want her as his mistress? A man like him would never want someone as inexperienced as her. She had never learned to control what came out of her mouth when she was angry, but this time, she had gone too far.

  There was nothing for it. She would have to apologize. At least, he didn’t plan to immediately evict her. Had he meant it when he said he would see her safely settled somewhere? If she could work out an agreement with him allowing her to keep her horses, she could support herself and make a life that held some meaning.

  Claire had no intention of marrying again. She had been seven and ten when Thomas saw her walking down a lane in her village. Before she understood what was happening, she was married and carried off to Hillcrest. More of a child than a woman, she found herself living in a home she still sometimes got lost in, married to a man who could have been her grandfather and with nothing to do.

  The servants, long used to answering to Thomas, virtually ignored her. What they ate, when they ate, the activities of the household—all operated to the preferences of her husband. She only saw Thomas at dinner or when he visited her bed in the dark.

  One day, feeling miserable and sorry for herself, she wandered into the stables. The stable master and several grooms were gathered around a stall and she peered in to see what had caught their interest. They didn’t notice her, and she watched a mare deliver her colt.

  The miracle of the birth and the moment the baby horse stood on wobbly legs touched something deep inside her. From then on, at every opportunity, she went to the stables. In the beginning, the men were uncomfortable with her presence in their territory. She made sure not to get in their way, just listened and learned.

  When Thomas discovered where she spent her days, he had ordered her to stay away. She’d pleaded, begged, bargained and outright refused to obey. It was the only time in their marriage he had struck her. The force of his hand across her face had knocked her backwards.

  She had gathered herself and faced him. “Hit me a thousand times, sir, it will not change my mind on this.”

  His hand fisted as if he wished to do just that but then he’d stalked out of the room. No more was ever said on the subject. Eventually, she had taken over management of the horses and made a name for Hillcrest Stables.

  There came a time when Thomas realized what she had accomplished, but he never acknowledged her efforts, instead taking the credit. She didn’t care. Let him have the glory, she knew in her heart the truth.

  She would not allow the marquess to take away everything she had worked for. She had lost her son, endured a loveless marriage and was going to lose her home. As far as she was concerned, she had sacrificed more than any one person should.

  The sound of male voices floated into the room, drawing Claire to the window. Derebourne walked toward the stables, a son on each side holding his hand. Her gaze slid over the man’s back noting the difference in his long muscular legs, taut buttocks and broad shoulders from those of her husband’s. Her mouth turned down into a frown, an attempt to quell the pace her heart insisted on setting at the sight of him.

  She turned away and went to find Mrs. Smithfield to inform her of the change in dinner plans. Then she had better go see what Lord Derebourne was up to.

  Chapter Three

  “Why did the farmer get sent to the gaol?” Bensey asked.

  Chase, having heard the riddle before and knowing the answer, allowed his mind to drift to Lady Derebourne. His instincts said there was more to the woman than what he had expected. She had eyes a man could get lost in. She also had a temper and a biting tongue. Not at all the biddable mouse he had imagined. It would be best if he avoided her as much as possible until her mourning ended and he could proceed with his plan.

  “I give up,” Harry said.

  “He was caught beating an egg.”

  Harry roared with laughter, and Chase grinned upon seeing Bensey’s wide smile at besting his brother. It didn’t happen often.

  As they approached the stables, Chase studied the huge structure and was duly impressed. The building covered an acre of ground and was freshly painted white with forest green trim. High across the front, the letters Hillcrest Stables were painted in the same green color, and then outlined in gold. The wide, double doors were open and he let an eager Harry pull him inside.

  The floors were wood planks—scrubbed clean. The stalls on each side of the long aisle were generous in size and each had a wood plaque on the gate indicating the horse’s name. He inhaled, smelling hay, horse and leather. Several horses stuck their heads out and eyed the newcomers. From what he could see, they were prime horseflesh. Derebourne had certainly known his business.

  Next to him, a wide-eyed Harry giggled. “Is this all yours now, Father?”

  Chase feared he might giggle himself. “I suppose it is. What say you we find Mischief and Victory?”

  “Oh yes, please.”

  An older man approached, pulling on his forelock. “May I help you, my lord?”

  “Yes, young master Harry and I are looking for our horses.”

  An uncomfortable expression crossed the man’s face. “The black one won’t stay in his stall. He keeps turning up here and there.”

  Chase grinned. His horse hadn’t been named Mischief without reason. “A terrible habit of his, to be sure. Do not fret, my good man, he won’t run off. He’s a curious one and likes to poke his nose into things that do not concern him.”

  “As long as you don’t mind, my lord.”

  When they reached Mischief’s stall, it was—unsurprisingly—empty. Chase found his errant mount in Victory’s stall, contently munching Victory’s hay.

  “Mischief, you idiot,” Chase said. “What are you doing in here?” His horse trotted merrily back to his own stall.

  “An interesting stallion you have there, Lord Derebourne.”

  Her voice, coming from behind him, was unexpected and disconcerting. He turned and sketched a bow. “Yes, my lady, he is that, if nothing else.”

  She walked to Mischief’s stall, her black skirts swirling around her legs, and he thou
ght of the rose-colored gown she wore in the portrait. When they arrived in London, he’d make sure she ordered at least one rose-colored gown.

  He frowned. What the devil did he care about the color of her gown?

  Mischief stuck his head out—all innocence, as if to say, I’ve been here where I belong, all along. Lady Derebourne held out her hand offering her palm for Mischief to lick. She stepped closer. Horse and woman touched noses, inhaling each other’s scent.

  Chase narrowed his eyes. The lady knew horses.

  “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” she cooed. Mischief snuffled her neck, causing her to chuckle.

  Chase suddenly envied his horse. Watching her eyes slide closed as Mischief nuzzled that pale, smooth skin caused his blood to heat. He could imagine his lips on that very same soft, sweet spot.

  Bloody hell. “Harry, Bensey, come along. It’s almost time for dinner.”

  Bensey stood on his tiptoes and whispered into Chase’s ear.

  “Bensey would like to know if you have a conservatory, Lady Derebourne.”

  She smiled at Bensey. “We do. Would you like to see it?”

  Bensey nodded.

  “All right. Meet me tomorrow for breakfast. After we eat, I’ll show it to you.”

  Bensey once more stood on his toes and whispered to Chase.

  Chase relayed the message. “He would like to know what time you expect him.”

  Again addressing Bensey, she said, “What time would suit you?”

  Chase realized he hadn’t presented the boys to her. “I have been remiss in not introducing my sons, Lady Derebourne. The one so interested in your conservatory is Bensey and the horse mad one is Harry.” He liked that she acknowledged each boy personally.

  “What would be a good time for you, Bensey?” she asked again.

  “Oh no, my lady, you don’t wish to leave it to him,” Chase said. “He will have you agreeing to meet him long before the sun even considers rising. Would nine suffice?”

  She directed her answer at Bensey. “Perfectly.”

  His son gave her his sweet smile, and her eyes softened. Be warned, Lady Derebourne, you will be his slave if you are not careful.

  A young man hurried over. “Lady Derebourne, I have the report—”

  “Not now, Gordon. I’ll sit down with you later.”

  Chase’s curiosity kicked in. “If you have things you need to do, my lady, please feel free.”

  “No, it’s nothing important. If you have a moment, my lord, may I have a word with you?”

  “Of course. Harry, why don’t you take Bensey and say good night to Mischief and Victory.”

  They scampered off and he turned to Lady Derebourne. “You have my attention.”

  Her gaze skimmed across his face and settled on a spot over his shoulder. She seemed nervous, chewing on her bottom lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. And a very nice mouth it was. He jerked his eyes up to find her watching him. Her cheeks flushed pink, bringing color to her face. For some reason, it pleased him that he could unsettle her.

  “What is it you wish to say, my lady?”

  “Yes, well…I want to apologize for this afternoon,” she told his chest. “I was rude and you were right. I don’t know you and should not have said the things I did.”

  He had never been one to want to cause a lady discomfort. “Apology accepted. Perhaps we should take a few days to allow me to settle in before we continue any serious discussions.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  “I think I wish you would stop lording me. I suppose Chase is too familiar, but Derebourne should do for now. You can return my gesture of goodwill and give me leave to address you as Lady Claire.”

  “I wasn’t born a lady, so it doesn’t seem appropriate.”

  “Unless you’re agreeable to just Claire, I think we can dispense with the rules while at Hillcrest.”

  She studied him as if he were up to some kind of trick.

  “I only wish to ease the tension between us, my lady. It is difficult to hold resentment toward another when you think of that person as a friend.”

  “Are we friends, my lord?”

  “Not yet, but we could make an attempt.”

  She gave a curt nod. “Very well. Derebourne and Lady Claire it is.”

  The regret she hadn’t agreed to just Claire was disturbing. He needed to put some distance between him and those blue eyes. He called the boys.

  “Your sons are lovely. How old are they?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea, probably around nine.” He collected the twins and herded them into the house.

  ****

  Claire had started to think she had misjudged him until she asked the ages of the twins. What kind of father didn’t know the ages of his children? He probably saw very little of them, likely leaving them in the care of their tutor. Why couldn’t men be as easy to read as horses?

  Disappointed, she went to find Gordon. It was time to go to work. She spent two hours with him going over the breeding charts and the background reports he had prepared on two potential buyers. One she had no problem with, but the second concerned her. On the surface, the viscount seemed acceptable, but there were rumors of races where he had pushed his mount to near collapse.

  “Write Lord Daventry and arrange a visit, but I’m uneasy about the viscount. See if you can learn more about him before we respond to his request,” she told Gordon.

  It hadn’t taken her long to understand that the men who came looking for a horse were not comfortable doing business with a woman. Several outright refused. So, she had hired Gordon to act as her business manager and voice in all transactions. Through Gordon, she had cultivated several contacts, men who had purchased horses from them to whom they could ask for insight on potential buyers.

  Perhaps it wasn’t good business sense to not sell her horses to just anyone, but they were her babies and she had to know they were going to a good home.

  Walking out of the office, she came face to face with Mischief. “Silly horse, what are you doing out of your stall?”

  Her stable master came up beside her. “His lordship said he lets himself out and likes to nose around. I’ll take him back, but don’t think it will do much good.”

  Claire scratched Mischief’s nose. “So you like company, do you? Leave him be, Clyde. He can visit with me for a while.”

  She began preparations for feeding time and as she worked, Mischief followed her around. “So, Mischief, tell me what your master is truly like. He puzzles me and I don’t like puzzles.” She smiled at Mischief, who had his nose in a water trough, blowing bubbles. Claire didn’t know what she thought about his lordship, but she very much liked his horse.

  “Not talking then? You could at least give me a hint as to his true nature.” Mischief lifted his head, water dripping from his muzzle.

  “Obviously, you are loyal to your lord and your refusal to speak ill of him is admirable. I’ll reserve judgment, my friend, and give him time to show himself one way or the other.”

  Mischief shook his head as if agreeing with her good sense.

  ****

  Claire entered the breakfast room to find Bensey standing beside a chair, his eyes trained on her. “Hello, Bensey. Have you been waiting long?”

  The boy darted a glance to a far corner where Lord Derebourne leaned against the wall—a golden angel, impeccably dressed in fine English clothing. Or perhaps he was a devil in the disguise of an English lord.

  “Always assure a lady, Bensey, that she has not inconvenienced you.” When confusion crossed the boy’s face, he added, “The proper answer, son, is ‘No, my lady, I only just arrived’.” He grinned and added, “Even though you knocked on my door this morning before the cocks crowed and asked if it was time yet.”

  Bensey eyed to the floor. “No, my lady, I only just arrived.”

  “Splendid. Let’s you and I have some breakfast, and then off to the conservatory we will go.”

  She purposely left out
the angel holding up the wall, hoping he would take the hint and go away. He didn’t, pushing himself up and sauntering toward her. Her breathing changed it cadence.

  Bells in hell, what was wrong with her?

  Turning away from the man who currently overwhelmed her senses, she asked, “Why are you interested in my conservatory, Bensey. Do you like plants and flowers?”

  His eyes lit with a fervor she recognized. It was the same as the passion she felt for her horses. “I like plants and flowers very much.”

  “Then I think you will like my conservatory.”

  The devil lord settled beside her as if invited to this party. She almost giggled. Angel or devil? Make up your mind, she chided herself. She attempted to keep her attention on the boy. “What plants and flowers do you like best, Bensey?”

  Lord Derebourne groaned. “Now you’ve gone and done it,” he muttered.

  She learned what he meant when Bensey talked her through breakfast. He told her of his favorite plants—their Latin names flowing off his tongue like smooth running water. He told her of their origins, their life span and whether they attracted butterflies, bees or birds. He was animated and exuberant and charmed her down to her toes. There was such an otherworldly innocence to him that she wanted to touch him to see if he felt real.

  When he finally took a breath, she said, “I’m impressed with your knowledge. If you’re finished, let’s go see what you think of my indoor garden.”

  In the blink of an eye, he was up and around the table. She joined him and when they exited the room, he stopped to pick up a satchel from the hall table. She gave it a curious look.

  “His art supplies,” a deep male voice said from close behind her—too close. She could feel the heat from his body. Flustered, she quickened her pace.

  “Do you like to draw?” she asked Bensey.

  He bestowed a blissful smile on her and nodded. “Would you like to see my drawings?”

  “I would like that very much.”

  He came to a sudden halt and unlatched his satchel.

  “Not here, Bensey,” Lord Derebourne said, coming up beside the boy and placing his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You can show her when we reach the conservatory.” He grinned. “You have shown an interest in his plants and his art. He is now your devoted servant.”