The Duke’s Wicked Wager - Lady Evelyn Evering: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 2)

by Isabella Thorne

  “What is this?” Frederic had returned.

  “I thought you had gone to bed,” said Evelyn.

  “As you can plainly see, I did not. What is it you two were discussing?”

  Evelyn shifted. “It is not your business.”

  “You are embarrassed about it. Look at her, red as an apple!” Frederic hooted in delight. “Have you been flirting with my sister, Pemberton?”

  “We have arranged a little race for tomorrow,” The Duke said. “With a small wager, just for the excitement.”

  Frederic tutted. “My pristine sister, placing bets? Naughty. Well, I want in as well.”

  “Absolutely not,” Evelyn said, even as The Duke said. “On who?”

  “Your horse, of course,” Frederic replied to The Duke. “I am not a fool.”

  “Good chap.” Pemberton clapped Frederic on the shoulder.

  “No!” Evelyn cried. Frederic betting would offset her own and it all would be for nothing.

  “Off to bed now, or you will be sleeping through the race,” Pemberton urged her brother.

  Frederic, to Evelyn’s surprise, did as The Duke suggested and retired to his rooms.

  “Why did you do that? He has not got a coin to spend! You bring out the very worst in him.”

  “Cheer up. Now you have a chance to win twice what you had before, both from me and your brother.”

  “As if my brother would pay me a cent of it, and he is already in debt. And I cannot afford to pay him out if I lose!”

  “If you lose, I shall pay him off myself. Let him have his fun, Lady Evelyn, he has little enough of it in his life.”

  Evelyn threw her hands in the air at that. “Yes, poor Frederic. But I do not want your charity.”

  “Every kindness is not charity,” said The Duke.

  “I do not know you well, not even at all, in fact, but I suspect your kindness comes with many strings attached.” Evelyn stepped close, and this time she did not tremble at the nearness of him. “I do not like strings, but will not matter. My horse will win. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

  His eyes followed her as she swept out of the room and she wished it did not feel so much like fleeing.

  ~.~

  Chapter Four

  Evelyn buried her face in her pillows. Why was she dreaming of The Duke of Pemberton? George Pender was a terrible rake, a senseless man. He also was a terribly handsome, and his deep laugh, cut through her and made her flustered. At least she was aware how foolish her desires were and therefore would not succumb to them. There were more important things to worry about today and her nerves were alight with anticipation. Bess helped Evelyn dress in a somber charcoal grey dress and pulled her hair into a tight chignon.

  Dawn was just beginning to bloom on the horizon as she went down to breakfast. Always an early riser, she enjoyed the quiet solitude of breakfast, alone in the parlor with birdsong for company. This morning, however, The Duke was already seated at the table. He was reading a book; the title obscured by his hand. He did not stand. He did not even look up as she entered.

  “Good morning, Lady Evelyn.”

  Realizing she was standing stupefied in the doorway, she hurried inside the breakfast parlor and hesitated before she took a seat. He was sitting in her usual chair.

  “Good morning.”

  Evelyn fidgeted. She could hardly see the sunrise from her seat. “I confess I did not expect to see you awake so early, given your indulgences at dinner.”

  “I prefer early mornings to late nights.”

  “I would not have guessed that,” she said, pouring herself a cup of tea from the steaming pot.

  “We hardly know each other,” he said, looking up from his book at last. “You may assume any manner of things about me, and I about you, but that does not make any of them true.”

  “Oh. Hmm, indeed.” She was caught off guard by the whole encounter and annoyed by the disruption to her routine.

  They said no more, eating breakfast in silence – he with his book and she with her thoughts. Frederic would not arise for hours yet, of that much she could be certain. Evelyn had just finished her plate of cut fruit when a horse’s shrill whinny split the silence, a stallion giving challenge to the other stallion in the yard.

  “Ah, Kingston has arrived.” Pemberton dog-eared the page and set the book down.

  At the window, he pulled the curtain back and smiled at the sight. She reached over and unfolded the abused page, sliding a napkin between to hold his place, then rose to see the horse for herself. Kingston was tall, a full hand taller than her pick for the race. His tail flagged as he pranced and snorted.

  “Grey is my favorite color.” He was looking at her as he said it. “Steady. Quiet grace. I sent one of your footmen to my estate last night, to alert the grooms and bring Kingston here this morning. I hope you do not mind.”

  “Not at all,” she said. “He looks young.”

  “Just three. I find they are full of spirit at that age.”

  She made a skeptical sound. “I prefer them older. More time to mature. A muscular horse is a faster horse, and the training time is important as well. An older steadier horse will be more responsive to the rider.”

  “Is that so?” he asked and she blushed, feeling as if he was not talking about horses. “Personally, I trust in instinct and blood,” he continued. “The blood will out. Horses who want to run, run, and they run faster than the horse beside them when they are given a challenge. They have no need for human instruction, which will only impede their natural inclination.”

  “Instinct only takes them so far.”

  “That is the most splendid thing about these sorts of contests. We will be able to prove this very afternoon which one of our philosophies is the most successful.”

  “Indeed, Your Grace.”

  “Are you not the slightest bit concerned, Lady Evelyn? It is your future we are betting on.”

  Evelyn folded her hands just before her waist. She would not waver now.

  “Shall we head to the barns? I confess, I am anxious to get on.”

  Pemberton offered his arm, and she accepted with a tight nod. Kingston and his entourage of three, a rider and two grooms, followed them to the stables where she had one of her staff show them to the empty wing. The Duke went with his horse while Evelyn sought her stable master.

  “Is Diadem ready, then?” Evelyn asked Stanton.

  His balding head was dipping low over the page before him. He looked up in surprise when Evelyn entered the room.

  “Oh yes, My Lady. I believe young Thomas is with her now.” He got up from his chair and followed her out into the barn. “She knows something exciting is happening today. I’ve never seen her so worked up!”

  “Have you marked the track with a flag for the finish and the start?”

  “Not yet. Care for a walk?”

  When they returned from their walk of the race’s course, Frederic was waiting in the stable. He had bathed and dressed, but the drink from last night had not yet worn off or he was already in his cups at breakfast.

  “Is it starting?” he asked Evelyn as she walked past him.

  He would not follow her into the stables, not with his absurd fear of horses.

  Over her shoulder she replied, “In a moment. But hurry along to the track or you might be trampled.”

  She had Diadem brought out well in advance of Kingston. The stallion’s prancing would upset the more delicate mare and she wanted her calm and collected. Despite The Duke’s insistence, pure adrenaline was not enough to make a fine racehorse.

  “Hold her back at the start, Charles,” she instructed Diadem’s rider as she glanced at Kingston’s sweat covered flanks. “She will want to keep stride with Kingston, but let the colt burn himself out, then strike.”

  Evelyn gave the horse a final pat and went to take her place on the rail beside Pemberton and Frederic.

  “Are you certain you want to continue with this wager,” The Duke asked, giving her one last chance to bo
w out gracefully. “A mare against a stallion is a poor choice.”

  “I am certain,” she said.

  A moment later, Stanton began the race with a shot from his pistol.

  Kingston broke from the start with all the exuberance she had expected. He tossed his head at the lightest touch on the rein from the rider’s hands, refusing to listen to any instruction. The horse wanted only to run. He was fast, she had to give him that, but he was also covered in sweat, his gray coat, almost black with it. Diadem was four lengths back. Her ears were flat along her neck, pricked to listen to her rider. She was waiting, biding her time until she was asked to fly.

  “Not yet,” Evelyn whispered. Pemberton glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing, Your Grace.”

  The horses rounded the bend and Kingston was beginning to flag or Diadem’s rider gave the mare her head, and the mare’s heart nearly burst for the speed she poured on. The distance between the two was closing rapidly. Diadem stretched her neck out, arrow straight over the turf. Evelyn could almost feel the violent lurching of the horse beneath her, the thud of her hooves, the clumps of grass flying up beside her face. The Duke leaned against the rail beside her, as if he could will his horse forward. Frederic chanted Kingston’s name behind them.

  Diadem was neck and neck with Kingston now. The stallion was covered in sweat as the jockey urged him on. The mare was straining, veins popping out on her neck as she fought to pass the stallion, but once she caught up, Evelyn knew then she had won it. Once Diadem was side by side with the other horse, there was no stopping her. She hated being second and in a moment she had pulled ahead by a nose. Then by a neck.

  “What a fine mare she is!” Pemberton cheered, with no hint of anger. “And I had thought the big gray was your best.”

  “Bellona,” Evelyn said with a smile. The gray filly was one of her favorites too.

  Then, it happened. Diadem stumbled. It all happened in a flash, the jockey flying over the mare’s ears and Diadem crashing to the ground, unable to catch herself at the incredible speed she had built.

  “No!” Evelyn ducked beneath the fence, picked up her skirts and ran to the mare.

  “Lady Evelyn, wait!” The Duke ran after her.

  Diadem was on the ground, struggling to rise. Charles, blessedly, was unharmed. His clothes were streaked with grass and dirt stains but he was more concerned for the mare. Kingston continued to run on in the distance, fighting against his rider’s attempts to pull him up. The race was finished, regardless. He had won. The Duke caught hold of Evelyn’s hand.

  “Let me go!” She yanked away from him; all thought of the bet had flown from her mind when Diadem went down.

  “She may thrash and kick out. Let me help her,” he said, with a voice that brooked no arguments. “Mind for once, Lady Evelyn. You are not the only one here who cares.”

  But Evelyn shook off his hand and ran for her mare. By the time Evelyn reached her, Diadem was on her feet. She shook with pain and tossed her head. She refused to put weight on her front right leg and Evelyn felt for heat running a hand down the leg. The Duke scowled at Evelyn, but she ignored the glare and continued to feel Diadem’s leg, searching for the problem.

  “She is quite calm now, Your Grace, I hardly think she will kick out when she is tired and hurt. The leg was hot to touch due to the race itself and Diadem tossed her head, annoyed with Evelyn’s prodding. She was unable to tell what if anything had caused the fall.

  “We should take her to the stable.” Pemberton took the mare by the reins and led her away from the track.

  Kingston had pulled up at last and his rider dismounted. He was having a devil of a time dealing with the unruly stallion on the ground as well, and The Duke sent a second groom off to help him. Frederic stepped back as they passed as if the limping mare would run him down. Evelyn walked by her man Charles without a word.

  In the barn, Stanton was waiting with two of the grooms.

  “Hold her steady now, she may not like this.” The old man bent to feel her leg, then coaxed the mare to bend it and allow him to look at her hoof. “Oy!”

  Evelyn and The Duke peered over Stanton’s considerable form.

  “Is that a nail in the poor girl’s frog?” The Duke stroked Diadem’s neck and scratched her head.

  “Good heavens!” Evelyn cried. “How? She was checked over this morning, was she not? The blacksmith has not been here in weeks, where could she have picked it up?”

  Stanton straightened with a wince. “Looks intentional, My Lady. Hammered in partway, perhaps, so she would not show lameness until the nail was pounded in by the race. Give me the pincers,” he told one of the grooms.

  Evelyn’s mind did not take long to put it all together, and she whirled on The Duke of Pemberton.

  “You scoundrel! You rake! You cad! You would ruin a horse for your own gain! You are despicable.”

  Diadem pinned her ears at the outburst and puffed a nervous snort from her nostrils.

  “Begging your pardon?” Pemberton was torn between soothing the mare and the upset young woman. He did a half job on both. “I had nothing to do with this, Lady Evelyn. I am a sportsman, and I enjoy a fair sport, not one I win by default.”

  “And with so much on the line, you did not think this might tip the scales in your favor?” Evelyn attempted to wrench the reins from his grip and stabbed a finger toward the door. “Go! At once!”

  The Duke handed the mare off to the groom to cool her. “I will not be ordered about like a hound,” he said, quietly. “I understand you are distraught. I will do everything in my power to get to the bottom of this matter, but I am not at fault and I will not tolerate your accusations.”

  They faced off. Evelyn’s nostrils flared like one of her horses and The Duke’s stare was hard and cool, the faint twitch of his scarred eyebrow the only sign of his agitation.

  “Very well,” she said, looking away.

  “Did you see anyone in the barn earlier?” The Duke asked Stanton. “Someone who does not belong here?”

  “Your men, of course, Your Grace.” Stanton rubbed his bald patch nervously. “The grooms for Kingston and the rider as well.”

  “My men have no reason to do such a thing. I pay them a fair wage whether the horse wins or not.”

  “Of course, I did not mean to imply they would,” said Stanton, ducking his head and tending to the mare. He pulled out the nail with the pincers and held it up for inspection. “But no, other than The Lord Evermont and my own staff, no one was here this morning.”

  “Frederic?” Evelyn and The Duke said in unison.

  Frederic hated riding. He was awful at it, and had taken a very nasty spill as a young boy that had left him fearful of horses ever since. Though it was most unbecoming in a gentleman.

  “I thought it strange, for I cannot say he has come to the stables since your father’s passing, but aye. He was here, and being The Lord of the estate, I did not question his reasons.” Stanton pursed his lips. “I should walk Diadem to cool,” he said “regardless of her foot. I will soak it afterwards.”

  ‘Yes. Yes of course, Stanton,” Evelyn said. “Will you be able to care for her on your own or should I send for aid?”

  “We can manage this, My Lady. Get some salts ready,” he told the groom. “We will soak the hoof as soon as she is cool. She’ll be right as rain soon.”

  He led the mare away with tender words and Evelyn felt one of the many weights upon her lift. Diadem was in good hands. Now it was time to find the wretch who had harmed her horse and cost her a fortune she could not afford to pay. She wanted to tug at her hair and rip the gloves from her hands. She scowled at The Duke.

  “You still believe this is my doing. I can see it plain on your face,” Pemberton said. “Not much of a card player, are you?”

  “My brother plays enough for the both of us, I think.”

  The Duke responded only with a grunt. It rankled, the way he brushed a
side her concerns. She fell in stride beside him, letting him lead the way out of the barn and down the loose stone path toward the house. The heat of summer was upon them, and in spite of her bonnet she was half-blinded by the intensity of the sun’s light. The Duke paid it no mind, as he seemed to disregard any matter that did not interest or benefit him.

  Evelyn scowled at his back. His stride was strong, confident, shoulders straight and blond hair brilliant as gold in the sun.

  “Do you disagree?” Evelyn asked. She hurried to keep pace with him. “He tosses away our family’s future for an actress and other cheap thrills. He has no regard for me or my prospects, and I cannot change his behavior nor distance myself from him. Is that fair?”

  He stopped and spun in a sudden, violent way that drew her up short.

  “In truth, I thought your brother’s company nothing more than an amusing distraction, and his downward spiral added to the entertainment.” The Duke held up a hand to stop her outraged reply. “I see now the destruction it has wrought, for it is hard to turn a blind eye.”

  “Then why do you enable him so?”

  “I thought I was being a friend, a shoulder to lean on in his time of grief. I believed that when his grief lessened, he would bounce back.” The Duke tapped his leg in a staccato beat. “It is clear now that is not the case. It was my mistake, and I will do what I can to repair it. Your brother is truly my friend despite what you may believe, Lady Evelyn.”

  ~.~

  Chapter Five

  They found Frederic in the dining room. His jacket hung on the back of his chair and sweat had soaked through his shirt, revealing the pink of his skin underneath.

  “Evermont,” The Duke said, with all the disappointment of a father. “Why did you do it?”

  Evelyn gasped. It clicked then, why The Duke had brought them straight to Frederic. He must have put two and two together the moment Stanton had mentioned Frederic’s presence in the stable. She was, once again, caught by surprise at the depths of her brother’s depravity.