Scandal at the Midsummer Ball

by Marguerite Kaye

  They approached the third obstacle, a brick fence. It was high and Zara’s grip tightened on the spyglass. Kennedy was slowing, checking his mount’s paces to make sure the horse took the wall safely, but Kael was barrelling towards it heedless of finesse, caring only for speed, relying only on his horse’s strength, his face a study of grim determination as he cleared the wall.

  He was riding neck or nothing now. A man only rode that way if he had something to lose. Or something to win. This was about more than the breeding rights offered as a prize. And then she knew. Somehow, this was about her. He wanted to win her, whatever that meant, and in those moments she wanted it too, as if victory could bind them together, as if failure to achieve that victory would keep them apart.

  The riders were nearing the finish line. She no longer needed the spyglass. The crowd rose. Around her, people began to cheer, urging their favourites on. Hooves thundered as they came. Markham, who had been riding a very close third, made a last-minute surge, his expensive thoroughbred lathered but thriving on the eighth-of-a-mile flat sprint before the finish. What the horse lacked in jumping strength, he made up for it in speed. Her breath caught. Not Markham! It was suddenly vital that Markham not win. For a moment he pulled alongside Kennedy and Kael, but Kael would not tolerate the challenge. The grey surged once more, shaking Markham for the last time, but not Kennedy. How to shake Kennedy?

  In a last-minute miracle, the grey’s stride lengthened, his head extended, his neck long. It was enough. Kael had won. Zara exhaled, wiping sudden tears from her eyes. It was silly to be emotional over a country race, but in her heart she knew it was much more than that. Kael’s gaze found her in the crowd of people exiting the stands. Their eyes held, she smiled and his face split into a grin. She could not go to him, as much as she wished it. She could not stand by his side like Verity Fairholme or Catherine Downing, who was clutching Jeremy Giltner’s arm and beaming as if he’d come in first, not fourth. No, this gaze would be their celebration and in those fleeting moments, the race became a metaphor for everything that mattered.

  Well-wishers surged around Merlin, reaching up to shake his hand. He didn’t dare dismount. He would be mobbed. In the excited press, Kael was grateful for the stable boys that held Merlin’s bridle. He returned the congratulations, adrenaline rocketing through him, what a race! But his eyes were on the watch for Zara. There! He caught her stare, revelled in the wide, exuberant smile that took her mouth. In that gaze he saw what he was looking for: she understood. She knew this victory was more than crossing the finish line first.

  The duke came forward with the large, silver cup, making a speech about breeding rights before the trophy presentation and reminding everyone to enjoy the box-lunch auction on the village green in half an hour. ‘All proceeds go to our church to support the vicar’s nephew’s mission in Africa, so bid big. Now, on to what matters,’ the duke joked, raising the cup up. ‘This year’s winner of the Brockmore Midsummer Ride is Mr Kael Gage.’

  Kael took the cup and held it high over his head, his legs tight around Merlin as the crowd roared its approval. Just this once, he was a king and his kingdom was within his grasp.

  The crowd dispersed gradually. Kennedy, with Verity Fairholme on his arm, came over to congratulate him, followed by Markham, who looked at him with sharp eyes. ‘I want to offer my compliments now. I won’t be staying for the lunch, as entertaining as it appears. I have business to discuss with the duke.’

  A little of his kingliness slipped away. Markham was warning him. He might have beaten Markham to this finish line, but there was another finish line Markham had in mind. For that matter, so did he. This was an important victory, but it was not the only victory he had to claim.

  ‘You were brilliant. Crazy, but brilliant.’ Zara settled herself on a blanket beneath a spreading oak tree, his at last although it had cost him a pretty penny. This would be the most expensive lunch he’d ever eaten. But it would be worth it, to have Zara to himself even if his bid had earned him a look of censure from her mother and another look from the Countess of Monteith, Ariana Falk’s mother. He was used to it. In general, mothers didn’t like him much. Today, though, he could get away with it. He was the champion and he’d won the bid on the lunch fair and square.

  The auction lunch was ingenious and he clearly saw the duke’s hand in it. It was quite a democratic move, a chance for men to declare themselves publicly for their choice, or for the more daring, a last-ditch effort to stake a claim. That had been the case for Addington and Colter in their squabbling bid over Florence Canby’s lunch. Addington had won. For his sake, Kael hoped the lunch included champagne. For the price he’d paid, he deserved a few kisses. From the pleased blush on Florence’s cheeks, he’d probably get them too.

  ‘I think the vicar will be able to convert the whole of Africa from the money raised on your lunch and Florence’s alone,’ Kael joked, sitting down beside her. It was hard not to stretch out and recline, but they were surrounded by the crowd even if they were alone on their blanket. It was another ingenious arrangement on the duke’s behalf. Last-minute claimants could certainly announce their intentions, but there would be no opportunity for stealing a march on other competitors by compromising one’s prize.

  ‘You’re avoiding the topic,’ Zara scolded him, opening the picnic hamper and pulling out ham sandwiches. ‘You were brilliant and crazy. You still are.’ She was serious.

  He didn’t pretend ignorance. His own tones modelled hers, solemn and quiet. This was the next step. He’d rehearsed this over and over in his head while he’d lain awake last night anticipating today on all fronts, not just the race. ‘I think you and I disagree in our definition of “crazy”. Is it crazy to wear my lady’s token? Kennedy had one, Giltner wore Catherine’s ribbon. I was not alone. Or do you mean it is crazy to bid on my lady’s lunch? I thought that was the purpose of the game.’

  Her green eyes flashed. She leaned forward, her voice hushed. ‘Am I your lady, then, Kael?’

  ‘Are you, Zara? I have declared myself privately and publicly. Now it’s your turn.’

  She turned stony. He felt her withdraw from him, saw the polite cool mask she wore so often in public. ‘Forgive me if I am confused. You were the one turning me down last night in the pinery. I’m not sure I know what it means to be your lady.’

  He held her eyes, his hand reaching out for hers where it lay in her lap. He wanted to touch her when he asked, wanted to remember this moment for ever, for better or for worse. ‘Last night, I turned you down because I wanted to be sure I could offer you more than a few nights of pleasure without any promises.’ He’d taken women to bed without promises before, but Zara was different. She deserved to know that now. ‘You make me want to be different, not just a man who loves and leaves, but a man who can invest in a relationship in all ways.’ He hadn’t been that man for a long time, if ever. ‘When I’m with you, I feel like I’m worth something. I want to feel that always, so I’m asking you to marry me, Zara Titus. To be my lady for ever, publicly, not just in the night.’ He squeezed her hand, stalling her answer. ‘But hear me out. You need to know what I can offer you and what I can’t. I don’t want your answer right now. Think about it because it is the rest of your life and mine.’

  She was utterly still as he began. ‘I have a twelve-room home in Sussex, a minor gentleman’s home. My sister lives with me. She is blind. She may live with me for ever.’ He was not offering for Zara because of the duke’s deal. Neither would he throw his sister at the first suitor the duke arranged, because her happiness, his happiness, and Zara’s happiness was not for sale to the Duke of Brockmore or anyone. He’d been very clear with himself on this point in the wee hours of the night.

  ‘In addition to the house, there is a stable and there are some tenants from whom I collect modest rents. We are self-sufficient. I can afford some time in London every year. You needn’t fear that we’re paupers. But
we are not wealthy, not like you are. I have hopes for the stable. I have good horses, two mares especially, that I can now breed to the duke’s stallion next year.’

  He stopped. There was something unreadable in her eyes. ‘Is that all you can offer me, Kael?’ she said quietly.

  A chasm opened beneath him. Was she refusing him or prompting him? But to what? To where? His voice was hoarse. ‘Those are things that I can offer you. I’ve told you we are not rich.’ This couldn’t be happening, rejection all over again when he’d convinced himself this time would be different.

  Her free hand covered his, her voice far steadier than his. ‘Yes, Kael, those are things you can give me. They are acceptable to me in their own right. What else can you offer me? What can you offer me of yourself?’

  Kael swallowed, the knot in his stomach releasing. He smiled just for her. ‘I will give you my affections, my love, my loyalty and my fidelity for the rest of your life. I would give you my very soul, Zara, except you already possess it.’

  Her eyes were shining now and he hated the next part, but he couldn’t let her romanticise their future. ‘There will not be yearly instalments of new gowns sewn in the fashionable style. There will be no jewels. There is no money for excessive luxury or servants. I have four servants, two of whom work out of doors. My butler is my valet. The housekeeper handles the cooking and the house.’ It was a far cry from Brockmore or her family home where there was never a shortage of footmen to wait on the table or to fetch a shawl.

  He feared she would simply shove his concerns away, tell him it didn’t matter. But it would matter, a year from now, ten years from now. To her credit, Zara nodded. ‘I understand. You do me a great honour in proposing, in wanting me to be your wife, your partner. But you do me an even greater honour in respecting my choice and in giving me the information with which to make that choice. I will take it all under advisement.’

  He’d stripped himself naked emotionally for her. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

  Chapter Ten

  Kael Gage slept entirely naked. It was the first fact that registered when Zara stepped into the last room on the left side of the corridor. Either out of habit or out of deference for the heat, Kael lay on his side atop the sheets, curved buttocks on display in glorious repose. Zara’s breathing hitched, realisation hitting for the first time as to how momentous her decision was. This was the point of no return and she’d been moving towards it all week. These last steps were not taken with recklessness or rebellion, but with her future in mind.

  She should be nervous; she was slipping into a man’s room at a house party to answer his marriage proposal in the most sensual of manners possible and without parental approval. This was not a decision her father and another man had made for her, or a decision that her mother had coached her towards. What she was about to do was all the more momentous for it and yet all she felt was a great sense of calm. This was Kael and this was right. It was one in the morning, thirteen hours since Kael’s proposal, and her answer was yes. It had been yes the minute Kael had finished asking. But he’d never believe it or accept it if she didn’t follow his rules on this.

  Zara stepped towards the bed, a smile on her face. This glorious man was all hers. She let her robe fall and slid beneath the covers beside him, as naked as he.

  * * *

  Kael was having the most delightful dream. Zara was beside him in bed, her hand on his phallus warm and inviting as her body stretched out alongside him. Best of all, she was naked. He had no idea what had happened to her nightgown, but he didn’t care. One didn’t have to care in dreams. She stroked him, her mouth on his in a sweet, tempting kiss, her words soft. ‘Kael, wake up.’ Not a chance. He didn’t want to wake up, but the sweet siren beside him was insistent. In the end, he could deny her nothing. His eyes opened in the dark and he grinned. ‘You’re here after all. I feared I would wake aching and alone I’m only half-right.’ He drew a deep, satisfied breath and sighed, savouring the sight of her beside him in bed before he had to play the gentleman. ‘But this is considerably more dangerous than a dream, Zara. Dreams have no consequences.’

  She leaned into him and kissed him, on the cheek, the brow, the nose. ‘I am ready for them, all of them, Kael. I’ve come with my answer to your question. It is “yes”, and I mean to seal our deal with something more than a kiss tonight.’

  There was no doubt she was in earnest. Every inch of her naked body pressed up against his attested to it. It would be easy to simply accept what her body and her words offered. Normally he would, but this was Zara and there was too much at stake. ‘Did you tell your mother?’

  ‘No. Did you tell your sister?’ Her hand slid up his phallus, making him shudder.

  ‘No, but it’s not the same. She’s not here, for one. Besides, it’s not her decision.’ He ground the words out, but barely.

  ‘Exactly. Whether she’s here or not, it’s not her decision any more than it’s my mother’s decision,’ Zara argued, her thumb teasing his tip in a delicious, languid caress. It was becoming less important that her family like him by the moment. He wouldn’t hold out long against these rebuttal techniques.

  ‘I don’t want to alienate you from your family.’ It would be bad enough that he was taking her from the life she knew. There was nothing he could do about that. He could not preserve her lifestyle.

  ‘Are you doubting my judgement?’ She propped her head on her hand, all her glorious hair falling to one side, her eyes glinting like sharp green shards in the lamplight. ‘It very much sounds as if you are.’

  ‘No, I’m questioning mine. I never dreamed a woman like you would want a man like me.’

  ‘That is a very dangerous statement, Kael Gage. What sort of man is that? Do you mean to tell me you go around proposing to high-bred virgins all the time?’ She was not entirely joking and his answer was serious.

  ‘No, you’re the first. The only,’ he clarified. Ella Davison had not let him get that far. There would be no one after Zara. He’d never wanted a woman this way before—to possess her body and soul, to know that she was his. How was it possible she’d got to him so fast? When he’d seen her in the drawing room, restless and defiant, when he’d rowed her to the lake island, he’d merely meant to awaken her, to give her what she hungered for. Perhaps there was truth to the adage to let sleeping dogs lie. But then, he would have missed so much. He would have missed her.

  ‘And the rest? A woman like me?’ She was half-flirt, half-offended lover. ‘What is that exactly?’ She squeezed his balls. Oh, she was making him pay, exacting exquisite retribution for his caution.

  ‘Lucifer’s stones, Zara, you’re going to kill me!’ He groaned, arching slightly against her. ‘You know what I mean: beautiful, stunning, from a high-born family, wealthy,’ But it was more than that. He’d had a hundred women or more from genteel families, but none of them possessed any real moral quality or demanded anything from him beyond physical excellence. He whispered the last, hoarse with need. ‘Untouched, pure, for me alone.’ Would she understand how much that meant to him? Zara had chosen him, she, who could have chosen anyone, a man like Lord Markham who possessed noble qualities and a fortune to go with them.

  ‘I want you to touch me...’ she breathed against his neck ‘...I want you to be the only one who touches me, for ever, for always, Kael.’

  He couldn’t fight his body and her logic. He’d asked, she’d accepted. Why did he resist? Why did some part of him hold back as he rolled her beneath him? But he knew—he’d never allowed himself to be completely happy and it was hard to start now. He knew how to live with regret and incomplete dreams. He didn’t know how to live with perfection. He would have to take this new world one night at a time. That he could do.

  He kissed her hard to banish doubt, to affirm their decision. This was not a choice for one night of pleasure, but for a lifetime of them. His hand
lifted a breast to his mouth and he took it, his tongue laving her nipple, his teeth nipping until she moaned.

  Her legs opened about him, letting him lever himself between them, letting him come home. He belonged here with her like this, they fit so wonderfully together. He pressed himself to her entrance, teasing her, feeling her. She was wet. He pursued, thrusting in, wanting to be gentle, but finding no need. She was ready in both mind and body. She responded, pressing her hips against him, inviting him, taking him. He wanted to be taken, wanted to be sheathed. He felt her stretch and give, and he was there at last, completely within. He stilled and waited for her to adjust, physically, mentally to his presence. Then they began again, together this time, picking up a rhythm all their own.

  She arched against him and he grunted, swept up in her unbridled enthusiasm as much as he was carried away by his own physical response. This was wild, uncharted passion and his body revelled in it, driving him onward. He felt her body tighten, felt the approach of his own point of no return, unsure he could wait for her, he was too far gone, blissfully and uncontrollably so. He tried to warn her, prepare her in incoherent words as his body gathered and exploded. He needn’t have worried, she was there with him at the end, her legs wrapped fiercely around him, holding him close as the climax rocked them.

  Her eyes were wide, her breathing fast as she looked up at him. ‘Oh, God, Kael, what was that?’