In the surrounding haze Beatrice no longer saw anyone but him. Her attention was focused entirely on him. She looked at him fixedly. Had she wanted to look away, she could not have done. She was not even conscious that people were watching her, feeling they were about to witness something surprising.
Never had Beatrice seen such a figure of masculine elegance. Lord Julius Chadwick looked so poised, so debonair. His movements, his habitual air of languid indolence, hung about him like a cloak. With his dark hair tousled by the breeze, he looked every inch the well-heeled businessman and landowner—and a great deal more dangerous than the average country gentleman.
The perfect fit of his coat and the tapering trousers accentuated the long lines of his body. It was impossible not to respond to this man as his masculine magnetism dominated the scene. A slow half-smile curved his lips and she saw him give a careless shrug. He raised his fine, dark eyebrows at some remark. She completely ignored the young women in the knot eyeing him with encouraging, flirtatious glances over their fans, tittering and giggling. Where other women might have succumbed to the irresistible pull to see behind the cool façade and start uncovering the man beneath, Beatrice could feel the palpable danger around him. She was never a rational person, but this time she knew she should have the good sense to heed the warning and turn and walk away. But her mind was made up. Too much was at stake.
Lord Chadwick cast a pair of laughing eyes over those around him; his gaze came to rest on a pair of jade-green eyes in which gold-and-brown flecks blazed, a sure sign that their owner was under some urgent compulsion, staring at him with a fixed intensity. He stood watching her in silent fascination, then he smiled slowly. Julius was easily moved by the beauty of a woman and the calm boldness with which this one was looking at him intrigued him.
He saw a sculpted face of unforgettable beauty, with high, delicately moulded cheekbones, a perfect nose and generous lips. It was a strong face, but essentially feminine. Her hair was burnished gold by the sun. Bright curls clustered in artful disarray on the top of her head, a few gilded wisps wreathed about her delicate ears and nape, drawing attention to her slender neck. There was something unusual in her attitude. A strange sense of shock quivered through him when he recognised her as the woman he had seen at Larkhill some days past, and again today when instinct had drawn his gaze to an upstairs window of the house. Who was she and why did she watch him so intently?
Beatrice faced him with outward calm. She looked at him for a long, thoughtful moment, as though estimating her chances. The corner of her mouth rose insensibly as her eyes narrowed. Now that the moment of confrontation had arrived she was strangely relieved.
‘I hear you have offered a wager to anyone who believes their horse can beat yours. I will accept your challenge,’ she announced clearly. A loud gasp ran through the guests as they gathered about, parting for her to pass through. At the sight of Beatrice Fanshaw the frosty eyes of the hopeful young ladies pierced her back with a thousand darts; those young ladies fanned themselves with growing annoyance.
Lord Chadwick excused himself and came forwards to meet her. Her face was uptilted; as he looked at her, deep inside, he felt something tighten, harden, clarifying and coalescing into one crystal-clear emotion. Taking her gloved hand, he gallantly bowed over it. As she lightly rested her fingers in his, he brushed them with a kiss.
‘Whoever you are, you look extremely beautiful, a rare jewel adorning the garden.’
How dashing he is, Beatrice thought, smiling triumphantly at him as he looked at her searchingly. The warm liquid of his amber gaze missed nothing as he became caught up in the excitement of her presence. She totally ignored the other women struggling to maintain their composure as they tried to hide their hostility towards her.
‘What it is to be so popular, sir. I thank you for the compliment,’ she said coolly, lightly, withdrawing her hand, as if his compliment meant nothing to her at all while secretly feeling a trifle flattered that a man should find her attractive, ‘but I have an aversion to flattery.’
His eyebrows lifted at her forthright remark. ‘Really? I am surprised to hear that since every female of my acquaintance welcomes adulation from the opposite sex.’
‘Do they?’ she replied airily. ‘Flattery and false praise are much the same in my book.’
Curious about her casual, cool manner, yet undaunted, his smile was humorous. ‘I assure you that my flattery was genuine and well meant. It is not flattery to tell the truth.’
Beatrice glanced around. ‘You appear to have attracted a great deal of attention yourself. Why, ladies surround you like moths around a candle.’
He tilted his eyebrows with amusement and leaned forwards so that only she might hear his words. ‘Many moths, but only one rare butterfly. Besides, I have never been partial to moths,’ he murmured, and Beatrice read in his face such evident desire that heat flamed for a moment in her cheeks. A curious sharp thrill ran through her as the force between them seemed to explode wordlessly, but she did not forget who he was or why she was here.
He took a step back from her. ‘So, who have we here?’ he asked, regarding her down the length of his aristocratic nose. Her body was slender but rounded in all the right places and disturbing in its femininity. The swell of her hips was outlined softly beneath the soft folds of her gown and her breasts, exposed just enough above the low neckline, hinted at their firm shapeliness. He had not been so intrigued by a woman in a long time. ‘Will someone not introduce us?’
Beatrice stiffened as his challenging and impertinent eyes sharpened and narrowed in amusement. And did his gaze actually linger on her breasts pushing their way up out of her bodice, or was it only her confused imagination that made it seem that way?
With Henry Talbot by her side, Astrid glanced up at him shyly and said breathlessly, ‘Oh, this is Beatrice, my cousin, Lord Chadwick. She is quite mad about horses. Indeed, she can think and talk of nothing else from morning till night. It comes as no surprise that she is interested in taking you up on your wager.’
Julius arched a brow, smiling. ‘Beatrice?’
‘I am Beatrice Fanshaw,’ Beatrice provided, lifting her chin proudly and looking directly into his narrowed amber eyes. Her own were glowing with brilliance and fire, her gaze never wavering from his face as she awaited his reaction to her announcement.
In a split second his smile was wiped clean from his face and his eyes were now sharp and penetrating with interest and something that resembled shock. The young lady who had so intrigued him a moment before had suddenly taken on a whole new identity. ‘Ah! Fanshaw! Of course. How very interesting. I do recall the name.’
‘You should. My father was Sir James Fanshaw.’
‘I remember your father. However, I was not aware that he had a daughter.’ Already nettled by her cool attitude, Julius delivered his reply with a small bow and an exaggerated show of disdain. ‘It is obvious you know who I am, Miss Fanshaw.’
‘You are Julius Chadwick.’ Her words were firm and measured as she failed to address him with the courtesy of his title. ‘The same man who ruined my father.’
‘And is that what all this is about? You are here to beg me to retrieve all that he lost?’
Something welled up in Beatrice, a powerful surge of emotion to which she had no alternative but to give full rein. It was as if she had suddenly become someone else, someone bigger and much stronger than the woman who had joined the party. Her eyes flashed as cold fury drained her face of colour and added a steely edge to her voice.
‘Those who know me know that I never beg, Lord Chadwick, and by my oath I intend to take more from you than an old man’s loss.’ Her promise was made with an icy, threatening calmness.
Julius looked at her, his face a mask of indignation, but then he was so taken aback by her outburst that his superiority evaporated. He stared down at the lovely young woman whose fury turned her eyes to a darker green.
‘Dear me, Miss Fanshaw. I can see I will have to watch
my step.’
‘More than that, my lord. You are the man directly responsible for my father’s death.’
Her attack took him so completely by surprise that he looked startled for a moment and more than a little uneasy, then a hard gleam entered his eyes, for his conscience was sore with the irony of trying to protect the reputation of his own undeserving father while—at least where Miss Fanshaw was concerned—damaging his own. ‘I don’t think so,’ he replied, aware that those around them had fallen silent and were watching and listening with an uneasy, open curiosity. ‘Your father brought about his own death.’ He smiled. ‘It was easy to beat him. He had no skill when it came to cards.’
‘Then why did you allow him to stake Larkhill? You certainly didn’t want it—indeed, you have not spent a penny piece on it since, for it is crumbling with neglect. Do you enjoy taking things from people who are weaker than you—humbling people? In my opinion that is the mark of a coward.’ She took a step towards him and was pleased to see him take a step back.
Not discouraged and ignoring the gasp that went up from the crowd, he gave a bark of laughter. ‘You call me a coward?’
She smiled. ‘Only a coward would do what you did. You knew he couldn’t win. You knew his loss would destroy him. Didn’t that worry you?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Not unduly. He was a grown man. He knew perfectly well what he was doing when he staked a house and estate that was already mortgaged up to the hilt.’
Beatrice stared at him in disbelief. ‘I might have known you would say something like that to discredit my father, but I do not believe you.’
He shrugged. ‘You may believe what you like, but it is true. I do not lie. I did not find out myself until later—when I had to find the finance to pay off the mortgage.’
Beatrice looked at him directly, finding what he said hard to believe and wondering what sort of man this Julius Chadwick actually was. ‘My father was a man without deceit, a man you could trust, who had fallen on hard times. And you, Lord Chadwick, took advantage of his weakened state. Larkhill meant more to me and my mother than to be put on a gambling table in a seedy gentleman’s club.’
‘It was a private gentleman’s club,’ he countered, needlessly provocative. ‘There was nothing seedy about it.’
‘A gambler would say that. So now you have two homes.’
‘Three, actually.’
Momentarily thrown, she stared at him in amazement. ‘Three? How can one person live in three places at once?’
‘I don’t. I travel a lot,’ he stated by way of explanation. ‘Miss Fanshaw, must I remind you that we have an audience. Might I suggest that you lower your tone? You embarrass us both with your show of emotion. I understand your antagonism towards me, which must have increased a thousandfold as you have allowed it to fester over the years. Indeed, I would feel very much the same were the situation reversed.’
‘I’m glad you understand,’ she uttered scathingly, ‘although it doesn’t alter the way I feel. I am not like my father. If you are a courageous man, you will allow me to accept your wager.’
‘If nothing else, you are forward and recklessly bold, Miss Fanshaw.’
‘I always believe in being direct and I enjoy walking on the wild side. I am sure you find it shocking and unfeminine that I have interest in things beyond petit point and fashion, but that’s the way I am.’
‘I do, but in your case I will overlook your unfeminine interests—but will your aunt, Lady Standish?’
‘I don’t doubt she will flay me alive for daring to intimate that I am anything less than a perfect lady. But a perfect lady I am not and never will be. You are staying at Larkhill?’
‘I am. I’ve been out of the country for several months; now I’m back I intend spending more time in London. I found the time was ripe to visit Larkhill, to look over the property and decide what is to be done.’ A subtle smile curved his lips. ‘There are many factors which might influence how long I stay.’
‘Then I hope you enjoy your stay. So, Lord Chadwick, what do you say? Will you accept my challenge?’
‘I am a huntsman, Miss Fanshaw. I enjoy the chase.’
‘Aye, and once the prey is caught, the sport is over. You should know better than to gamble against my good friend Julius at any game of skill,’ Lord Roderick Caruthers warned. Like everyone else he had been listening to the interesting altercation between these two.
Beatrice looked at Lord Caruthers coolly. ‘Lord Chadwick and I are not acquainted, sir, so how could I possibly know that? But I am sure that if he is as skilled as you say he is, then he will have no qualms about me taking him up on his challenge.’
Chapter Two
Julius smiled at her words. His smile was the same smile that caused Astrid to flush and tremble—but it would take more than a smile from Julius Chadwick to have the same effect on Beatrice.
‘So, Miss Fanshaw, are you really serious about taking me up on my wager?’
‘I would not have put myself forward if I wasn’t—unless you have an aversion to accepting a challenge from a woman, afraid of how it will look should I win.’
‘Win?’ His lips curved in mockery. ‘Do you seriously think you can beat me?’
‘I stand as good a chance as anyone else.’
‘I see. Then the answer is, no, I do not have an aversion to a race between us.’
Common sense told Julius not to encourage her, and yet, confronted by her challenge, he was intrigued and was unable to resist the temptation. He was compelled to take her on, merely to see how well she could ride. He stared at her profile as she turned her head slightly, tracing with his gaze the beautiful lines of her face, the curved brush of her lustrous dark eyelashes. Yes, Miss Fanshaw was quite extraordinarily lovely. She had an untamed quality running in dangerous undercurrents just below the surface and a wild freedom of spirit that found its counterpart in his own hot-blooded, temperamental nature.
‘The place and the distance will be of your choosing and we shall meet at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’ He turned to George. ‘Arrange it, will you, George? Who will you place your bets on?’
George laughed. ‘Now there’s a challenge in itself. Were it anyone else, Julius, I would certainly back you, but be warned. My cousin has a special affinity with the equine species, preferring them to people. She would rather throw a saddle over a horse than attend a ball. She’ll do anything for a dare and is a demon on a horse. Her own is no dainty mare, but a brute of an animal—a gelding. On such an impressive mount she stands to win.’
Beatrice threw Lord Chadwick a challenging look. ‘Perhaps Lord Chadwick considers it most improper for a young lady to ride a gelding.’
An eyebrow jutted upwards. ‘Young lady? My dear Miss Fanshaw, you are the most controversial and exciting woman I have ever met in my life; I suspect that your vitality is such that you are a menace to everyone you meet. It does not surprise me in the least that you ride a gelding.’ A roguish grin tugged at his lips. ‘If you told me you rode an elephant, I would believe you. As it is I shall take my chance.’
The wager had attracted a good deal of attention and others began to place their bets.
‘I’ll back you, Chadwick,’ someone shouted. ‘Fifty guineas you win.’
Julius turned and grinned as interest in the race began to mount. ‘See what is happening, Miss Fanshaw. You have fallen among desperate gamblers.’
‘I already knew that before I accepted your challenge,’ she uttered, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. He gave her a cold look, but chose not to comment on her provocative remark.
‘Seventy-five guineas,’ another voice shouted.
‘A hundred.’
‘My diamond necklace,’ a lady from the back of the crowd piped up.
And so it went on until the stakes reached heady proportions. But neither participant was listening as they continued to watch each other warily. Beatrice’s gaze was ensnared by the glittering sheen of the amber eyes.
‘
And us, Miss Fanshaw?’ Julius murmured. ‘What will we forfeit?’
There was a deathly hush. From beneath the gazebo Lady Standish watched what was happening in appalled, stony silence, unable to believe her niece’s shocking behaviour. The look in her eyes was as potent as a spoken curse.
‘I say the winner names the forfeit,’ Beatrice suggested.
Julius nodded. ‘I think you have planned this, Miss Fanshaw.’
Beatrice raised her chin a notch. ‘You don’t have to agree to race against me, Lord Chadwick. Indeed, I don’t know why I entertained such a notion.’
He looked at her directly and she felt her breath come a little short. ‘Oh, I think you do,’ he said quietly. ‘I think you know exactly what you want and you will stop at nothing to get it. I read people well, Miss Fanshaw, and I think you have the ability to be absolutely single minded. You know very well why you entertained this notion.’
Her smile was one of thin sarcasm. ‘You do a lot of thinking, Lord Chadwick.’
‘All the time.’
‘If I am as you say, then indirectly it is your doing.’
‘I am sorry to find that after all these years you still carry a grudge. And now all I need to do is discover what forfeit you will ask of me, and the only way I can do that is to race against you—unless you will indulge me and tell me now.’
She tossed her head haughtily. To forgo propriety and do what one wished was quite liberating. ‘No, not before the end of the race.’
‘Very well. Until after the race.’
There were loud guffaws from the crowd. ‘Careful, Julius,’ Roderick Caruthers shouted. ‘Be careful what you commit yourself to. You are a gentleman, remember, and gentlemen never renege on their word.’
He grinned. ‘I’d better win, then.’
‘And should I win, you will give me your word to honour the forfeit?’ Beatrice asked, holding his gaze. ‘I do.’
Beauty in Breeches Page 3