To Wed a Wild Lord

by Sabrina Jeffries

  A blush rose in her cheeks. Sweet Lord, she was as wicked as he. She did not want that man to kiss her again. He was awful. Detestable. Despicable.

  Unfortunately, that argument grew weaker by the day. Ever since Poppy had put doubts in her head about what had happened at Turnham Green, she’d been thrown off-balance.

  But even if Gabriel wasn’t entirely at fault for Roger’s death, he was still an arrogant rogue who thought she should leap at the chance to marry him. She hated it when men thought they knew what was best for her, and how it should be accomplished.

  By the time they arrived at the course, she’d worked herself up into a fine temper. Just let Gabriel attempt to kiss her today! She would give him a piece of her mind. She would tell him in no uncertain terms that she was not the sort of fool to fall for his fine muscles and gorgeous green eyes and cocky smile. No, indeed.

  Then she spotted him on the course, dressed in his characteristic black and his shining boots, and her stomach did a little flip. Perish the man. Why must he affect her like this?

  “Remember what I told you about feeling the horses’ mouths lightly,” Poppy said as they drew up beside her curricle. “You don’t want to chafe their mouths.”

  “Yes, Poppy, I know. I’ve done this before.”

  “And keep the outside wheeler well in check while making the turns, or she’ll scuttle the curricle.”

  “Or perhaps I should just give the horses their heads and see if they can run the race on their own,” she said lightly.

  He started, then scowled. “This is serious business, girl.”

  She patted his hand. “I realize that. But it’s time for you to give me my head, and see what I can do.”

  “I don’t like this,” he grumbled. “Not one bit.”

  “You think I can’t win?”

  He shot her a long look. “If anyone can beat Sharpe, it’s you.”

  “But . . .”

  “But you don’t have his reckless spirit. That might keep you from winning. You’re sane. He’s not.”

  She stifled a hot retort. How was it that Poppy never saw the real her? She wasn’t always sane, and sometimes she was reckless. Or at least she yearned to be, though she got few chances of it.

  But she had one now, and she was going to make good use of it. “He’s not unbeatable, and I mean to prove it.”

  Poppy glanced out. “There’s a crowd. Do you think you can handle that?”

  She followed his gaze out the window. Good gracious, he was right. People lined either side of the course, leaning in to watch her descend from the carriage. “I understand why Lord Gabriel’s family is here, but who are the others?”

  “Are you joking?” Pierce said. “All it took was Chetwin spreading the word to have half of society trotting out here. There’s nothing the ton loves more than a juicy, scandalous race.”

  For a moment, her heart failed her. She’d wanted Gabriel humiliated before his friends, but she’d also wanted a straightforward race. With so many people crowding in and no rails to restrain them, the race would not be straightforward.

  Suddenly she felt Poppy’s hand squeeze her shoulder. “Go give him hell, lambkin.”

  That bolstered her courage. “I will. Don’t you worry.”

  Pierce leapt out to hand her down, then bent to kiss her forehead. “Time to beat the trousers off Sharpe, cuz. I’ve got twenty pounds riding on you.”

  She laughed shakily but noticed that Gabriel was glaring at Pierce. Had he overheard their conversation? Surely he didn’t expect her cousin to bet on him.

  As her grandfather and Pierce drove off toward the finish line where they would wait for her, she strolled up to her curricle, positioned to the right of Gabriel’s phaeton.

  When she climbed up and took the reins from the groom, Gabriel looked over and tipped his hat. “It’s not too late to forfeit,” he said with a smug smile that set her teeth on edge.

  “Oh, did you want to forfeit?” she said sweetly. “I’m more than happy to accept.”

  That wiped the grin from his face. He picked up his reins, his eyes glinting at her in challenge. “May the best driver win.”

  “She will,” she countered.

  “Bravo!” cried a female voice, and Virginia turned to see a woman standing nearby with his family. It was the recently married Lady Minerva, who’d been at the race with Gabriel the day Virginia had challenged him. What was her name now? Oh yes, Mrs. Giles Masters.

  “Good luck to you, Miss Waverly,” Mrs. Masters called out. “If you beat my brother, I’ll give you a whole set of my novels.”

  “Thank you for offering her an incentive to lose, Minerva,” Gabriel said good-naturedly, apparently not the least concerned that his sister was encouraging his competition.

  “Careful, little brother,” his sister countered, “or I’ll put you in one of my books. Just ask Oliver how he likes that.”

  “Ah, but then you’ll finally have a hero worth his salt,” Gabriel said gamely.

  “What makes you think you’d be a hero?” Mrs. Masters said with a smug grin.

  Virginia watched them, envious of their ribbing. She’d forgotten how comfortable it was to have a brother. Pierce was a good friend, of course, but it wasn’t the same. There was something special about having a sibling around who shared a bond of blood with you and understood you when no one else could.

  Gabriel had taken that away from her, she reminded herself, and she would make him pay.

  The Duke of Lyons came to stand before their rigs. Gabriel explained that Lyons was not only a member of the Jockey Club, but also of the old Four-in-Hand Club. So he was perfectly suited to lay out the rules for the race. His fellow members of the Jockey Club were going to act as judges, if she was amenable.

  Of course she was amenable. These men might be Gabriel’s friends, but they were also gentlemen with a well-known, ironclad code of honor. They wouldn’t judge a race unfairly.

  “First rule,” the duke said. “There will be no attempts to force the other carriage from the road, at risk of forfeiting the race.”

  As if she would ever do something like that. She wasn’t one of these fool lords who would risk another person’s life and limb to win.

  “Second rule. Drivers must be bareheaded. We don’t want to chance spooking the horses with a flying hat or bonnet.”

  As Gabriel tossed his hat to one of his brothers, she removed her bonnet. She loved feeling the wind in her hair, anyway.

  “Third rule. No whipping of each other’s horses, at risk of forfeiting the race.”

  Did people really do such things? Good gracious, that was beyond unfair.

  “Fourth rule. If you fall from the carriage, you forfeit the race. If your carriage loses a wheel, you forfeit the race. If your horses collide—”

  “You forfeit the race,” Gabriel finished irritably. “Get on with it, Lyons.”

  The duke flashed him a smooth smile. “Very well. The starter from the Jockey Club will signal the beginning of the race with a flag.” He glanced to Virginia. “Are you ready, madam?”

  “Of course.”

  She noticed he didn’t ask the same of Gabriel—whose manner had shifted most disturbingly. He looked remote, intent, and cold. The embodiment of the Angel of Death.

  With a shiver, she returned her attention to the course.

  The duke motioned to the starter, who stepped to the edge of the course and lifted his flag. “Prepare!” the starter shouted.

  Virginia tensed and tightened her grip on the reins.

  The starter dropped the flag, and they were off.

  The course was two miles long, a good test of a pair, but after a few furlongs of flat terrain, it ran around half of a hill before finishing in another furlong that led to the finish line. So the part that skirted the hill would be tricky. As the challenger, she’d been given the less advantageous position at the start. If they remained neck and neck, Gabriel would have the inside track. She had to pass him before they reached the
hill so she could take the inside track.

  But the wind was so high, it whipped her hair from its pins and unsettled her horses. They pulled against the reins, tugging at her hands until her shoulders ached from the effort of controlling them. A glance at Gabriel showed him perfectly at ease. His attention seemed narrowed to the course and his pair.

  He didn’t seem to notice the people edging in from either side so tightly that the two rigs were soon barreling along a narrow lane scarcely big enough for both teams. Though she urged hers on, she knew she was holding back a little.

  What if they struck someone in the crowd? She couldn’t put that fear from her head. This was utterly different from the many times she’d raced the grooms or Roger.

  And the horses seemed to sense her reluctance, for they weren’t running full out. Apparently, his horses were more used to crowds—she could see them straining at their bits, their coats well lathered, their eyes fierce.

  He was almost a full horse’s length ahead, and she gritted her teeth. She couldn’t let him win! Urging her team on with a flick of the whip and a “Hi yah!” she made herself ignore the crowd. And her pair began to gain on his.

  Yes! She could do this. She could beat him.

  Exultant, she leaned halfway out of her seat, the thrill of the race firing her blood. She had to win. She must!

  The two pairs thundered down the track, hooves flying, heads bobbing. She was edging ahead now; even the dust stinging her eyes couldn’t keep her from her purpose.

  Unfortunately, they were nearing the hill, and she couldn’t pass him to take the inside track. She was only ahead by half a horse’s length. She urged her pair on, but the increase in speed wasn’t enough. So as they headed into the curve around the hill, she was still in the outside lane.

  To the right of her, people crowded as near as they dared. To the left of Gabriel was the hill. She was halfway around it, managing to maintain her slight lead, when an onlooker fell into her path. She had only a second to choose between swerving into the crowd and swerving toward Gabriel. Hoping that he’d seen what happened and would rein in to let her pull into his path, she chose the latter.

  But instead, he drove his team up onto the steep hill. As she passed the fallen man who was being pulled out of her path by other onlookers, Gabriel’s rig teetered on its side next to her.

  If his phaeton rolled, he could kill them both! With a curse, she slowed, praying she could control her pair when his rig tumbled over, taking him and his horses with it.

  But it didn’t roll. Miraculously, he maintained his speed and still managed to wrench his rig back down onto the track . . . and well ahead of hers.

  Admiration at his deft driving rapidly twisted into anger. What was he thinking, to risk such a stunt? The man was mad! And dangerous and careless and a thousand things, none of them good!

  She urged her team into a sprint that would have left anyone else in the dust, but Gabriel seemed to have heaven on his side, for his horses ran fleeter than the wind. By the time they reached the finish line, he was still a full yard or more ahead of her.

  He’d won, the scoundrel! And nearly killed himself as well!

  Seething with righteous fury, she reined in, jumped down, and handed the reins off to the grooms who came running. Then she marched over to where Gabriel was leaping down from his phaeton.

  Ignoring her grandfather and Pierce, who were headed toward her, she walked up to Gabriel. “Are you insane? Only you could turn a tame course into a death trap!”

  He blinked, then shrugged. “I’m the Angel of Death. What do you expect?”

  Oh, that was too much! She slapped him across the face, hard. “I expect you to have some respect for human life!” Her blood still thundered in her ears. “You could have injured us both, and our horses, too!”

  Eyes gleaming, he rubbed his jaw where she’d struck him. “Ah, but I didn’t.”

  “Only because you have the devil’s own luck!”

  His gaze narrowed on her. “And because I know how to handle a team. You’re merely angry that I won.”

  Ooh, that really took the cake. “I’m angry that you took such an enormous risk! If your phaeton had rolled over at that speed, you would have broken your neck!”

  He arched one insidious brow. “So you were worried about me?”

  The rotten devil would look at it that way. “I was worried about myself and my horses. I don’t give a fig if you want to murder yourself racing, but I’d thank you not to kill me in the bargain!”

  That finally cracked his uncanny reserve, for anger flared in his features. “I wouldn’t have risked it if I’d thought you’d be hurt. In truth, I didn’t think at all—I barely had time to react. You veered, and I veered. Realizing I was going up the hill, I figured the best thing to do was play it out.”

  That mollified her temper only a little. “You should have reined in. But you never do, do you?” she snapped, thinking of Roger. “You couldn’t bear not to win.”

  “No, I couldn’t.” He was nose to nose with her now, his eyes alight. “Since winning was the only way to gain a chance of courting you, I had no choice.”

  As the crowd strained to hear every delicious word, she could only gape at him. He wanted to court her that badly? Really?

  “Court you?” Poppy asked.

  “Court you!” Pierce echoed.

  Sweet Lord, she’d forgotten them entirely. So much for keeping the true stakes hidden from her family. And half the gossips in London.

  By that point, the entire Sharpe clan had shown up and were encircling them like spectators at a boxing match.

  “They made a wager,” Mrs. Plumtree explained to Poppy. “If she won, he was to race her at Turnham Green. If he won, she was to let him court her.”

  “And you kept that information from me?” Poppy snapped at Mrs. Plumtree.

  “I did not learn of it myself until after you left,” the woman countered.

  “I don’t care what arrangement they made,” Poppy shot back, “your grandson is not courting my granddaughter!”

  Gabriel glowered at Virginia. “Do you mean to renege on our wager?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Certainly not,” she said, ignoring Poppy’s roar of outrage. “But courting me will do you little good if you mean to keep up such displays. I will never marry a man so reckless.”

  A grim smile touched Gabriel’s lips. “Never say never, sweetheart.”

  Frowning to hear his granddaughter called “sweetheart,” Poppy shoved between them. “I don’t care what wager my granddaughter made with you, sir. I’m not letting you court her.”

  “Leave them be, General Waverly,” Mrs. Plumtree said stoutly. “You should let them sort it out.”

  He rounded on her with a foul look. “That’s what you said before. You convinced me to let them do this by telling me it would put an end to their association. But you knew it wouldn’t. You’re a devious, manipulative she-devil with a—”

  “Watch it, sir,” Gabriel cut in. “That’s my grandmother you’re maligning.”

  “And that’s my granddaughter you’re trying to seduce!”

  “Poppy!” Virginia cried, as a blush rose in her cheeks.

  “Enough!” The Marquess of Stoneville stepped into the fray and everyone fell silent.

  Lord Stoneville strode up to stand between Poppy and Gabriel. “Tempers are understandably high at the moment. So before everyone starts slinging public accusations, it would be best if all the parties have the facts of the situation.” He glanced about at the eager crowd beyond. “And such discussions are better accomplished in private.”

  He cast her grandfather a thin smile. “General, if you’ll please accompany Miss Waverly to Halstead Hall, my grandmother has had a fine repast prepared for you and your family. On the way there, you can ask the young woman herself about what agreement she has made with my brother.”

  The marquess then turned to Gabriel, and his gaze turned colder. “In the meantime, brother,
you will ride with me and explain why you arranged a wager with a respectable lady without telling her family of it.” He shot Mrs. Plumtree a glance. “And Gran can explain why she kept it secret from both families.”

  Mrs. Plumtree merely sniffed.

  Poppy stared down the marquess. “I’ll do as you say, sir—but only because I don’t enjoy supplying entertainment for your friends. Come, Virginia.” He grabbed her by the arm and urged her toward the carriage.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, he said, “You’re in a great deal of trouble, young lady.”

  Why? Because I did something to satisfy my own needs for once? But that would only hurt his feelings, and he still wouldn’t understand.

  The minute that she, her cousin, and her grandfather were headed for Halstead Hall, Poppy began his lecture. “What do you think you’re doing, making wagers with scandalous gentlemen and challenging them to races? You’ve lost your mind.” He scowled at her. “Did you really agree to let that ass court you if he won?”

  “I did,” she answered as she repaired her coiffure. “But—”

  “And you,” her grandfather went on, turning his anger on Pierce. “Did you know about this?”

  “Poppy, it isn’t—” she began.

  “Of course not,” Pierce snapped. “She must have made the wager while she was dancing with Sharpe at that ball.”

  “I sent her off with you, thinking you’d look out for her. The next thing I know, she’s embroiled in a wager that is sure to end in scandal and ruin her chances for marriage once and for—”

  “Poppy!” she cried.

  That finally got his attention. “What? What can you possibly say to make this any better?”

  “I seriously doubt that Lord Gabriel genuinely wants to marry me.” When she had both men’s full attention, she added, “He probably just intends to court the woman whose family he wronged so everyone will like him better.”

  “Everyone already likes him just fine,” Poppy gritted out. “You and I are the only people who blame him.”

  He had a point. “Well then, perhaps he has some other ulterior motive that doesn’t come readily to mind. Or perhaps he really does want to make amends for what he did to Roger. That’s what he says is the reason. And I begin to believe that he means it.”