He seemed to do that a great deal with his lambkin. “I’m used to giving orders, even with my granddaughter, and she bears it well. But you were right—love isn’t something even a general can dictate.”
“She loves Gabriel?” Hetty asked, her voice quavering.
“She says she does. But she thinks his guilt will keep him from loving her in return.”
“It might.” Hetty sighed. “I’m sorry for what I said to you last night about Roger lying. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“No, you were right to say it.” He dragged in a heavy breath. “I’ve had plenty of time to think since then. Virginia has always put Roger on a pedestal, and I had sanctified his memory fairly well myself. Roger liked to gamble and drink, and he lied to me about both on occasion. He was troubled, and I knew that. But I couldn’t do anything about it, so after his death, it was just easier . . .”
He swallowed hard. This was difficult to say, especially to her.
“To blame Gabe,” she murmured.
He nodded. Briefly, he related what he’d told Virginia about his conversation with Roger that night. “Roger said naught about being bullied or forced. That was my own contribution. But you were right, damn it. The fact that Roger rousted your grandson from bed for the race says much about who was at fault. I tried to tell myself Sharpe lied about that, but if he were lying, why not just claim that Roger laid down the challenge? Why admit to being so drunk?”
“Why tell Virginia he didn’t deserve her?” Hetty pointed out.
“He doesn’t,” Isaac bit out. When he saw her bristle, he added, “But no one does, in my estimation.”
A smile touched Hetty’s lips. “Perhaps you’re right. But I still say Gabe will make her a good husband.”
Sharpe married to his granddaughter. It griped him to think of it, but if she wanted him so very badly . . . He sighed. “Every general recognizes when he’s outgunned and outmaneuvered. Between you and Virginia . . .” He cast her a serious glance. “I only want her happiness, you know.”
“I know. I want that, too. For both of them.” She walked up close to him. “Thank you, Isaac, for keeping an open mind about it.”
She stretched up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, but before she could draw back, he caught her chin in his hand and kissed her squarely on the lips. When he lifted his head, she was staring up at him, eyes wide, with a blush turning her papery cheeks a youthful, rosy hue.
There was surprise in her gaze, and womanly awareness, as well.
He slipped his arm about her waist to steady her against him, then gave her a more thorough kiss. She melted, as he’d known she would, for Hetty was old enough to know how the battle was waged—and it wasn’t with words.
Surrender had never tasted so sweet.
A knock at the door made him release her regretfully. Especially when she slid a soft half-smile up at him before going to open the door.
Lady Celia hurried in. “Gran, I’ve been searching for you everywhere! I just saw Gabe—”
“He’s returned?” said Virginia as she came out of her bedroom, looking dazed. She was still wearing her clothes from yesterday, though they were rumpled as if she’d slept in them. “He’s here?”
“Not anymore. I couldn’t make him stay. He was headed out to race somewhere, but he gave me this to give to you.” She held up a sealed letter, but when Virginia hurried over to get it, she added, “I should warn you that he made me promise not to give it to you—unless something happened to him.”
As Hetty cursed, the blood drained from Virginia’s face.
“He’s never left a letter for anyone before,” Celia said, “so knowing what that might mean, I figured you’d better take a look at it. Perhaps it will say where he’s racing.”
As Virginia tore open the envelope and read, Isaac cursed under his breath. Sharpe was making it awfully hard to forgive him anything right now.
Virginia lifted her gaze to them, looking as if she might faint. Hetty took the letter from her, and read it aloud for his and Lady Celia’s benefit.
Dearest Virginia,
If you’re reading this, then the unthinkable has happened. I’ve lost the race and my life. I couldn’t bear to leave you wondering how it came about, the way you were left wondering about my race against Roger, so this is to explain.
Chetwin claims to know someone who can tell me what happened that night seven years ago. He won’t reveal the name unless I race him at Turnham Green, so I agreed.
Do not blame yourself for it. I did it so you would know exactly what sort of man you were marrying. Just make sure that Chetwin meets the terms of our wager, which is that he give me (or my representative should I die) the person’s name, regardless of who wins. If you finally learn the truth, my life won’t be in vain.
I only wish I could be there to give the truth to you myself. I would do anything to make that right for you.
“Anything except not race at Turnham Green,” Virginia said bitterly. She cast Poppy an urgent glance. “We have to stop him. If something happens to him . . .” Her voice broke.
“Of course.” He turned to Lady Celia. “How long ago did he leave?”
“Fifteen minutes or so.”
He glanced at Hetty. “We should take my gig. I already sent down to have it readied. But only three of us will squeeze into it.”
“I’ll stay here,” Lady Celia said.
Isaac nodded. “If we leave now, we ought to reach Turnham Green before the race begins. They won’t jump to it immediately upon his arrival, I imagine.” Turning to Virginia, he added, “And if we don’t make it, my dear, the lad has run that race three times now—surely he can escape it unscathed again.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Oh no, he can’t. Because he’ll have to face me afterward. And he will not escape me unscathed, I assure you.”
WITH HIS BLOOD pumping and sweat beading his brow, Gabe stood watching for Chetwin.
Lyons frowned as he studied his pocket watch. “It’s ten after.”
“He’s playing with me,” Gabe bit out. “Trying to rattle me, that’s all.” Worse yet, it was working.
Never had a race meant so much to him. And that worried him. It meant he couldn’t get to that place of cold control that he needed in order to win.
He stared down the course to where the boulders loomed large. The last two times he was here, there had been so many people that the memory of his race with Roger had receded before the roar of the spectacle. And the time of day had been different, the season different. Nor had Lyons been present. He’d been abroad for the other two races with Chetwin.
But today was just like that day seven years ago. Summer. Noon. Nobody around but him and Lyons. Gabe was even suffering the effects of a night spent drinking. Everything was eerily the same.
A shudder wracked him. That shouldn’t bother him, but it did.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lyons asked.
That was different—Lyons hadn’t asked him a damned thing before his race against Roger. Back then they’d all been far more foolish.
“I have no choice. It’s the only way to know what happened.”
“I always assumed that you did, that you were keeping silent because you didn’t want to tarnish his memory.”
“I know.” He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All these people attributing such noble motives to him, when all the while—
“I’m sorry I never questioned you both myself,” Lyons said. “I was half-asleep when we came out here. It was just another race; I didn’t care who’d laid down the challenge.” His voice held an edge. “For years I thought that if I had questioned it, if I’d just said something . . . But of course I didn’t, and you didn’t, and there you have it.”
A chill swept over Gabe. It had never occurred to him that Lyons might feel guilt over it, too. Given that, it was surprising that he’d come today.
“So this time I shall satisfy my conscience by asking again,” Lyons went on. “Are you sure you want
to do this?”
Before Gabe could answer, the sound of hoofbeats came to them. He turned to see Chetwin driving his rig toward them with a soldier sitting next to him. Briefly, Gabe wondered if that might be the man Chetwin had mentioned. But his mysterious informant hadn’t been a friend—or so Chetwin claimed.
Chetwin reined in next to his rig.
“You’re late,” Gabe said as Chetwin’s friend got down and went to stand beside Lyons.
The smug smile Chetwin shot him confirmed his suspicions. “Worried I wouldn’t show up?”
“And lose a chance at making an arse of yourself?” Gabe gathered up his reins. “Not damned likely.”
That banished Chetwin’s smile. “We’ll see who’s the arse when this is over, and I’ve won.”
“Just remember what we agreed to,” Gabe drawled. “This is the last time you plague me to race you here, regardless of whether your horse picks up a stone or your axle breaks or any number of freak occurrences keep you from winning.”
That really got Chetwin’s goat. “Watch it, Sharpe, or I’ll change my mind about racing you, and you’ll never know the name.”
Gabe gritted his teeth. Baiting Chetwin was no fun when the man had something he wanted.
“Shall I recite the rules so we can get on with this?” Lyons asked.
“We know the rules,” Gabe said.
With a nod, Lyons took up the flag and went to stand between them.
Then Gabe heard more hoofbeats coming from behind him. With a scowl, he glared over at Chetwin. “Damn it, you said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”
“They’re not friends of mine, I swear,” Chetwin retorted.
Gabe shifted in his seat to look back, then cursed. Gran. Celia must have broken her promise, damn her.
Then his heart skipped a beat. Not just Gran. Virginia.
At the sight of her, his heart began to pound. She’d come to stop him. She’d cared enough to try to stop him—even after what he’d told her.
That made it imperative that he run this race. Because no matter how much she worried about him, she deserved the truth. And now he was certain he could do it.
For her. Only for her.
“Drop the damned flag, Lyons!”
Chapter Twenty-two
As the gig halted, Virginia heard Gabriel’s command. Jumping down and breaking into a run, she shouted at the duke, “If you drop that flag, Your Grace, I will shove it down your throat!”
Lyons blinked, no doubt unused to being threatened with violence by a woman. Then he broke into a smug grin and raised the flag higher.
She reached Gabriel in moments. “Don’t you dare run this race, Gabriel Sharpe, or I swear I will not marry you!”
“Lyons, you bloody arse,” Chetwin snapped, “if you don’t drop that flag, I’ll run it without him and declare that he forfeited!”
“Poppy!” she called.
She held Gabriel’s gaze as Poppy hurried to stand at the head of Chetwin’s team, grabbing the harness of the lead horse.
“Damn it, get out of the way!” Chetwin cried.
“Not till my granddaughter is done,” Poppy said, easily keeping control of Chetwin’s team.
Gabriel scowled at Chetwin. “Give me a few minutes, will you? We’ll have our race. Just let me talk to her.” He leaped down from his perch, caught her by the arm, and led her away from the rest of them.
“Virginia, sweetheart—” he began.
“Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me!” she cried. “You can’t run this race. I’ll throw myself in front of the rig before I let you.”
That seemed to startle him. “You don’t understand—”
“I do understand. I read the letter you left for me.”
Beyond them, his grandmother climbed down from the carriage, but thankfully kept her distance.
“If you did,” he said in the patient tone one uses with children or fools, “then you know this is the only way to learn the truth.”
“I don’t care about the truth! I don’t care what happened that night, or the next day or the years between then and now. I know that you’re a good man, Gabriel—a fine man.” Her voice broke. “I fell in love with that man.”
The leap of joy in his face made her think that all he’d needed was to hear those words. Until a sad smile touched his lips. “Then you should understand even more why I must race Chetwin.”
She swallowed her disappointment. “Why?”
“Because I can’t marry you without knowing if I have any right to that love. I know you don’t think the past matters now, but down the road it will poison whatever you feel for me at the moment. I’m doing this for us.”
“No,” she said, grabbing his arms. “You’re doing it for you.”
He stared at her, and she could see him withdrawing into himself, into that cold, wary creature—
Not this time, drat it. “Listen to me,” she said urgently. “You told me that you kept on playing the Angel of Death because you figured you might as well make it pay. And your grandmother said you kept on with it because it was your way of fighting your fears. But we both know it’s something more.”
He tensed, sinking further into the icy detachment that frightened her more than any race he could ever run. But at least he didn’t pull away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You said it yourself: ‘I cheat Death. It’s what I do.’ ” She dug her fingers into his arms, determined to make him see. “You think somehow you cheated Death that day with Roger. You think Death should have taken you instead of him.”
When a muscle flicked in his jaw, she knew she’d struck home. She pressed her advantage ruthlessly.
“Since then, you’ve been challenging Death over and over, sure that one day it will come for you. You figure that it might as well be at a time of your choosing, right? But what you can’t accept is that sometimes people just die. They strike out in a moment of passion, like your parents, or they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, like your friend Benny. Or they run foolish races, like Roger.”
Anger shone in his gaze now, which was better than the detachment. “You don’t understand. If I had just—”
“It had naught to do with you!” she cried. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t call off the race. He wouldn’t have done it, either. Or Lyons. And neither you nor Lyons made him run it. Neither of you made him take a risk and not rein in when he should have.”
She swallowed, realizing she would have to expose her own vulnerabilities if she was to win this. “I should never have blamed you for it; I had no right. I was angry and hurt, and I missed my brother. But I realize now that he ran the race the way he chose to. He always made his own choices.”
She cupped his face between her hands. “You want to believe you have some sort of power over Death, that every time you race and don’t die, you’ve cheated it out of its rightful prize. But the truth is, Death has had you in its grip for seven years.”
Gabe wanted to ignore the truth in her words, but they resonated too deeply for him to do so. He felt rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze from her desperate one. If only he could take refuge in the blessed numbness that had kept him sane for the past seven years . . .
But that had grown less and less possible from the moment he’d met her. Every time he was with her she showered him with warmth and feeling, no matter how much he fought it.
And she was still doing it, his fierce enchantress, still fighting. “The clothes and the phaeton and the endless races are all your dance with Death. If you keep them up, you will die. But you won’t win anything, except what you foolishly think you deserved to have won seven years ago—your place in the grave, instead of Roger.”
The words pounded in his ears. Oh, God, it was true. How many times had he wished he hadn’t survived that day?
The pain he always avoided surged through him, staggering him, until he finally admitted the truth that had scored his soul all these years. “It should have been me.�
�� Unshed tears clogged his throat. “Then you wouldn’t have been left with no one to take care of you. It’s not right that he died. He didn’t deserve—”
“Neither of you deserved it.” Her hands gripped him tightly, so tightly. “I wish to God that you had both come home hale and hearty, but since you didn’t, there’s nothing wrong with being happy that you’re still here, with me, alive. Lord knows, I’m happy that you are.”
“How can you say that?” he said hoarsely. “Roger lies in the grave while I get to have a life.”
“He wouldn’t begrudge you that. And I don’t, either.” The healing words dove straight into his heart, planting a seed of hope.
She smoothed back a lock of his hair. “Nothing you do can change what happened, Gabriel. Getting the truth from Chetwin or racing this course over and over certainly won’t, nor even marrying me as a sort of penance. There’s no dishonor in bowing out of a battle with Death. It’s not a battle you can win. And it’s time you accept that.”
The seed of hope took root and blossomed. He’d been slamming his head against the past ever since Roger’s death, and for what? Nothing but a sore head. Perhaps it was time he took the love she offered—without questioning, without remorse.
“All right.”
She froze. “All right, what?”
“All right, I won’t race Chetwin.” As she sagged against him in relief, he brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. “After all, I can’t have the woman I love refusing to marry me over some foolish race.”
Her eyes began to shimmer with tears. “You . . . you love me?”
His heart seemed permanently lodged in his throat. “More than life. God only knows why you love me, because I sure as hell don’t, but I know why I love you. You’re my beacon in the darkness, and my compass on a night sea. When I’m with you, I don’t want to dance with Death. I want to dance with Life. I want to dance with you. And whatever it takes, I mean to spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you.”
She began to cry, sobbing and clinging to him. He didn’t know what to do, so he went on instinct and lifted her tear-drenched face for a long, tender kiss that he hoped showed her just how much he loved her.
To Wed a Wild Lord Page 26