by Regina Scott
Geoffrey turned from her, eyeing the trees beside them. “I am no expert in love, Allison. For some, I believe, love bursts into bloom suddenly, as it did for Genevieve and Alan last Christmas. For others, it seems to grow over time, strong and sure. I take it you have met no one who has made you feel as you wish?”
“No one,” she admitted.
He flinched and turned to her, his manner as withdrawn as the marquis’. “Pity. I suppose you’ll simply have to wait.”
Even in the distance he had put between them, she could feel the tension growing, like a serpent beneath the unruffled surface of a pond, set to strike. “Are you sure you’re all right, Geoffrey?”
He laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. “Me? Why do you ask?”
“You seem…” She struggled to find the right word. “Angry? Disappointed? Frustrated with me? I just wanted you to understand that I remembered what you said before you left London.”
“Did you?” he murmured.
“Yes, of course. You asked me to wait. And I did, only Mother didn’t.”
“That wasn’t all I said.”
She frowned, thinking back. The tension, his response to her thoughts, all suddenly made sense, and she felt herself blushing again. “Oh, yes,” she replied, unable to meet his gaze. “You said when I returned, you would stand your ground on your suit.”
“My suit.” The words sounded bitter. “Tell me, Allison, is that what you want? Another unloved suitor to deal with?”
She winced. “Not unloved, Geoffrey. I’m quite fond of you; you know that.”
“And I think we just agreed that fondness is not the basis you want for marriage.”
“I’m sorry.” The sentiment sounded trite, and the guilt she had shed moments ago returned only stronger. She forced herself to straighten. “I’m sorry, Geoffrey,” she repeated firmly. “I can’t be something I’m not. You wouldn’t want me to lie.”
“Wouldn’t I?” he demanded. Then he sighed. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t. But I’ll tell you one thing, moonling, it’s my turn to wait. You see, my love for you has only grown stronger and surer. I only hope I have the patience and courage to wait for yours to bloom.”
Chapter Twelve
Geoffrey needed both patience and courage over the next few weeks. He needed patience to continue showing Allison, Mrs. Munroe, and his family that he did indeed know how to behave like a gentleman. When Mrs. Munroe said unthinking cruelties that brought tears to Allison’s eyes, Geoffrey wanted nothing so much as to throttle her. On the other hand, when Perkins so plainly tried to ingratiate himself to Mrs. Munroe in order to gain Chimes’s rightful place, he wanted to drive the fellow out of Wenwood. In both situations, he was forced to smile and turn aside any faux pas with a witty comment. Twice his attempts earned him a smile from Allison, and several times he caught the marquis eyeing him in silent approval. Surprisingly, both responses helped to ease his temper.
It took considerable courage to watch the marquis court Allison, even if it was in his own quiet style. Several times Geoffrey arrived for a morning call to find that they had already been out on a constitutional around the grounds together. Allison always seemed to look pleased and bubbly after such walks, her mood fading when she saw Geoffrey watching. Geoffrey had to watch silently while the marquis turned the pages of her music when she played to entertain their guests one night after dinner. He had to make conversation with the Widow Munroe while DeGuis held yarn for Allison while they all sat chatting by the fire one rainy day. He had to pretend to enjoy himself when the man read aloud from Shakespeare as they ate a picnic lunch on the knoll, his eyes lingering on Allison as he recited one love sonnet after another.
“He has every advantage,” Geoffrey complained to Alan and Gen that night at the Manor. “With the Widow Munroe’s penchant for quiet amusements, he is bound to come out better than I do.”
“Allison must be bored beyond tears,” Gen mused. “Quiet amusements are no more her cup of tea than yours.”
Geoffrey stared at her for a moment, then sprang across the distance to give her a hug. “Sister Genevieve, that’s it!”
“What’s it?” she asked, laughingly fending him off, obviously mindful of her belly.
Geoffrey grinned at her, hopeful for the first time in days. “Allison would be much happier with more lively amusements, and lively amusements are my specialty.”
Genevieve eyed him. “And what about how you’ve changed?”
“In other words,” Alan put in, “I sincerely hope there are no ferrets involved.”
Geoffrey laughed. “No ferrets, but I cannot say the same for other animals.” When both his brother and sister-in-law looked aghast, he could not help but laugh again. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll be a complete gentleman. I’ll simply work harder at finding a way to turn the situation to my advantage.”
His chance came the very next day. He was to accompany Alan, Allison, and the marquis on an early morning ride around both estates. He had borrowed a snow white gelding from Enoch the day before when he had gone up to fetch the bay foal to the Manor. The gelding looked quiet and well-mannered, but Enoch had been unable to sell him because he had a regrettable tendency to want to race. Alan’s horse was a slug, but he knew Allison’s Blackie was always up for a run. He just wasn’t sure about that dun Arabian gelding the marquis rode. He could only hope to outshine the man, once and for all.
Allison eyed the white horse as Geoffrey and Alan rode up that morning. He knew against the snowy hide his riding outfit must look as red as blood. He hoped against Alan’s green riding coat and the marquis’ black one, Geoffrey’s would seem more vibrant. Allison beamed at him as she let the groom assist her into the side saddle. She looked ready for anything in her royal blue velvet riding habit. She seized the end of the white silk scarf that held the jaunty top hat on her flaxen curls and tossed it over one shoulder. Geoffrey grinned at her, and the marquis smiled his approval. Surrounded by the gentlemen, she set off.
They started off at a docile pace with Alan in the lead. Allison rode with the marquis on her right and Geoffrey on her left. She looked satisfied, but Geoffrey couldn’t help wondering if she ever felt as if she were a bone being eyed by two dogs. He noticed the marquis watching him and quickly looked away.
They rode in quiet decorum down the way from the Abbey, pausing where it joined the main drive to the Manor. Leaves were falling from the trees, speckling the lane with bright spots of gold and russet. Geoffrey eyed the drive thoughtfully, then winked conspiratorially at Allison, who brightened immediately.
“The last time we rode here, you beat me in a race to the Manor,” he accused her. “Are you game to try again?”
Allison returned his grin eagerly, and his heart soared. “Always!” Then she glanced guiltily at the marquis. “Will you join us, my lord?”
The gentleman offered her a regretful smile, and Geoffrey hid a grin of triumph. “I think not, Miss Munroe. I want to see the track before I race my horse. I wouldn’t want to risk Nicodemus here on faulty ground.”
“Wise choice,” Alan put in, frowning at Geoffrey, who ignored him.
Allison eyed the graceful gelding. “Yes, I suppose it is wise.” Geoffrey watched as she obviously wrestled with the feasibility of leaving the marquis and Alan alone while she pelted off ahead. She sighed. “You’re right. It has been months since I rode this way. Perhaps I’d better make sure it’s safe as you suggest.”
Geoffrey grit his teeth at how easily he had been thwarted, but he offered them a bow. “Very practical, to be sure.” His mind whirled, trying to think of some way to get them back onto the subject. He brightened. “Perhaps if we determine the way to be decent, we can race on the way back.”
Allison brightened as well, casting a look at the marquis out of the corner of her eye. “Would that suit you, my lord?”
Geoffrey wanted to shout at her for letting the man’s whims dictate her actions, especially when she had claimed no allegiance to him, but he
kept a polite smile on his face as the marquis’ blue-eyed gaze swept his way. “Excellent suggestion, Pentercast. Let us proceed.”
Allison settled back in the saddle, obviously satisfied.
They rode on up the lane, Geoffrey working at hiding his impatience, until the road opened in front of the Manor.
Alan shaded his eyes with his hand, gazing about with a frown.
“I don’t see Genevieve on the porch as she promised. Perhaps I’d better check on her. Excuse me, gentlemen, Miss Allison. Don’t let me stop you from your race.”
Geoffrey grinned at him. “Don’t worry, we won’t.” He turned to Allison and DeGuis. “Well, my lord, was the track to your satisfaction?”
He nodded, blue eyes gleaming bright. She looked at him in obvious surprise. She must have seen determination in his heightened color, for she tightened the grip on her reins. This was going to be a race after all.
“The road was quite good, Pentercast,” the marquis said. “I say, let’s do it.”
“Excellent!” Geoffrey crowed, not caring if he sounded too enthusiastic for a man about town. “Will you give the word, my lord?”
DeGuis turned to Allison, touching his crop to his top hat. “It appears we are off. See you at the Abbey, my dear.”
Allison smiled so sweetly at him that Geoffrey gaped and the marquis paused, eyes widening in surprise. With a laugh of triumph, she kicked Blackie into a gallop and left them in the dust. As one, Geoffrey and the marquis set off after her.
Down the tree-lined lane they thundered. Geoffrey was aware that Allison knew the way as well as he did, and she had ridden Blackie for several years. Knowing both the territory and her mount so well, she easily kept the lead. She glanced back at the men galloping behind her and grinned saucily at them.
Geoffrey bent low over his horse’s neck. He didn’t have the mighty Samson beneath him, but the white gelding was nearly as swift for the short run. Murmuring encouragement, he felt the beast stretch out, moving to the rhythm, flying down the lane and leaving dust in his wake. He could feel DeGuis at his heels and tried to focus only on catching Allison.
They neared the fork in the road. Allison slowed and took the turn with no more trouble than a slight leaning to one side. She glanced back again just as Geoffrey paused only long enough to make sure the gelding knew his business before galloping after her. The marquis’ Arabian took the corner as if it were born to it. Allison laughed and pressed her heels into Blackie’s flanks.
Geoffrey urged his gelding faster. Trees whipped past on either side in a golden blur. The dust from Allison’s passing parted to let him through. Beneath him, the gelding shuddered and struggled to keep the pace.
Something white fluttered toward him, spooking the gelding for a moment. Geoffrey realized at the last second that it was the scarf that held Allison’s riding hat in place. Then it was past, and he was galloping on. A moment later and he passed the blue velvet hat at the side of the road. This was his Allison, flying all out, the trappings of a lady forgotten in the joy of the moment.
He bent low again, stroking the horse’s neck and crooning encouragement. The gelding burst forward, steadily closing the distance between them and the flying black horse. They were ten yards behind, five yards, two yards. She must have felt them closing, for Allison glanced back as the gelding’s head drew level with Blackie’s flanks. Like him, she had bent as well as she could in a side saddle. Her hair had come loose from its pins and streamed behind her in a banner of pale gold, bright against the black of the horse’s coat. She gave him an audacious grin and, with a cry, urged Blackie on.
They pounded into the clearing in front of the Abbey side by side, each turning in the opposite direction to slow their lathered mounts. He could see the grooms rushing from the stables and leapt from the saddle before the gelding had completely stopped. He hurried to Allison’s side, and she beamed down at him.
“You are bested, sir!” she declared, eyes glowing and cheeks wind-whipped.
“I confess myself laid low,” he agreed, raising his arms to her. “May I assist the winner?”
“You may.” Allison laughed, gathering her skirts together. She slid out of the side saddle, and Geoffrey caught her waist, lowering her to the ground beside him. Her bosom heaved, her lips were pursed, begging to be kissed. He lowered his head without thinking. She closed her eyes and waited, head upturned, as if granting him everything he had ever dreamed.
The marquis’ horse galloped into the clearing, and Geoffrey froze scant inches from his goal. Blackie shied, and he pulled Allison out of the way as she opened her eyes in surprise. She frowned at him, and he wondered if she realized how close he had come to losing control. The grooms dashed up to take the horses.
DeGuis stepped forward, and Geoffrey belatedly realized he still held Allison by the waist. He let go and moved back. The marquis bowed to her and held out her hat and scarf.
“Exceptional riding, my dear,” he said with a smile. “If you have another such victory, we are undone.”
Allison accepted the hat and scarf with a nervous giggle. “You are too kind, my lord,” she murmured.
“Kind, but last,” he allowed. “Pentercast, that was an interesting move you made toward the end. I wonder if you could explain it to me while I check my horse?”
It was a command, not a request. Geoffrey had done nothing different, he was sure. But he couldn’t very well call the man a liar in front of Allison. “With pleasure, my lord,” he agreed.
“Excuse us, my dear.” The marquis bowed to Allison, who watched them wide-eyed as if she had never heard him use that tone before.
Geoffrey fell into step beside him. “Was it the race or my treatment of Allison you found offensive?”
“Blunt and to the point,” the marquis commented. “Very well, since you do not seem to value subtlety. You must have heard by now that Miss Munroe and I are engaged.”
“I heard her mother agreed to the match,” Geoffrey replied, struggling not the sound belligerent.
DeGuis spared him a quick look. “And you do not think Miss Munroe favors my suit.”
It was not his place to say so, even if he was sure it was still true. “You will have to ask Allison.”
“Ah, yes, Allison. Allison is very lovely, very spirited, and very young. Do you think it fair to ask her to make such a momentous decision?”
“Who are you protecting?” Geoffrey jeered. “Allison or yourself?”
The marquis went so far as to frown. “May I remind you that I am the injured party here? It was my fiancée you were attempting to kiss.”
“And it was my love you got yourself affianced to,” Geoffrey countered.
The marquis stopped. “You fancy yourself in love with her?”
“With all my heart,” Geoffrey declared, deciding he had nothing to lose.
“And I imagine you love as you ride—full of passion and recklessness.”
“I would imagine,” Geoffrey replied with no little pride.
DeGuis nodded. “Excellent. It appears we shall have a noble battle then, and the winner shall have Miss Allison’s heart.”
Geoffrey frowned. “This isn’t a contest.”
“Isn’t it?” the marquis asked. “You seemed to have made it so. Please don’t think I mind, old fellow. I thrive on a good competition. But be advised. I rarely lose.”
“Neither do I,” Geoffrey assured him. “Neither do I.”
Chapter Thirteen
From considering herself or everyone else mad, Allison quickly moved to annoyance. The last few days had been suffocatingly staid. The marquis had been attentive, to be sure. In fact, most of the time she quite enjoyed his company. He had a unique way of making her smile. In the quiet of the country, she had finally gotten him to converse on something more personal than the weather, including his hopes to enclose the largest of his estates and his fondness for his younger sister, whom she found she was eager to meet. In fact, they were getting along better than she would hav
e imagined, and all without the man raising so much as a finger to court her, in her opinion. But then Geoffrey had to call for a race and try to kiss her, and everything had changed.
After the race, she was sure that Geoffrey was going to show his true stripes, but he returned to his cool civility almost immediately. True, it always seemed a bit strained now, particularly in front of the marquis. But that was only to be expected, because the marquis’ reticent demeanor seemed to have disappeared beneath a wave of competitiveness whose focus was Geoffrey Pentercast. She would have liked to return to some of her old past times with Geoffrey—riding, driving, helping some of the elderly parishioners. She wouldn’t have minded if the marquis had wanted to continue his quiet courting. She could do none of those things. Geoffrey and the marquis were far too busy with each other to bother about her.
That it was jealousy was all too obvious, and that was perhaps what annoyed her most. She hadn’t promised her heart to either of them, yet they both acted as if they were intent on protecting a particularly good hunting ground. Geoffrey practically ran down the poor footman one afternoon in his attempt to reach her chair first and pull it out for her to sit. The marquis insisted on holding each platter of food as it was brought to her and picking out the delicacies that she might eat. He resorted to reading the most suggestive of Shakespeare’s love sonnets, but only if Geoffrey was in hearing distance. His impassioned reading only made her blush furiously and even succeeded in raising her mother’s eyebrow.
Geoffrey tried serenading her in the moonlight outside her bedroom window, even though his bass voice was not at all suited for the melody he chose. The marquis countered with bringing her armloads of roses he had had his gardener send from the greenhouse of one of his estates. Geoffrey hadn’t been able to top that right away, but what he chose to do instead was far worse in her mind. He had actually allowed her to win a horse race, obviously holding back Samson so that Blackie, who was less than half the horse, might win.