Marrying the Marquis

by Patricia Grasso

  “Ye look peachy and good enough to eat,” Ross said, his smile charming. “I bet ye taste sweet, too.”

  Attitude, Blaze reminded herself.

  “I’m as sweet as lemons,” she said, making the majordomo chuckle.

  Blaze passed him her bonnet. “Tinker, hide this until I return.”

  “I understand, Miss Blaze.” Tinker opened the door. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

  Ross escorted her to his phaeton, its hood folded down. He helped her onto the seat and climbed up beside her. “Shall I put the hood up?”

  Blaze shook her head. “I love feeling breezes and the sun’s warmth.”

  “In that case”—Ross plucked the pins from her hair, letting the fiery mane cascade around her—“enjoy the ride.”

  Blaze felt uncomfortable sitting so close to him and wished the marquis had arrived with a coach and a driver instead of the two-seater phaeton. His thigh flirted with her skirt, and she caught his mountain heather scent.

  Intelligent conversation eluded her. She had never been completely alone with any gentleman except Alexander Blake, and he was more brother than gentleman. Though born on the wrong side of the blanket, she and her sisters had been sheltered as befitted a duke’s daughters.

  At the end of the private lane, Ross steered the phaeton onto Bury Road. He turned onto Fordham Road before reaching Newmarket proper.

  Blaze peeked at the marquis and caught him smiling at her. She averted her gaze and concentrated on the passing scenery. Various wildflowers were blooming along the roadside, and lilacs scented the air. An occasional robin darted past, carrying grass for its nest.

  “Pleasant small talk makes a coach ride more enjoyable,” Ross said, “like when yer waltzin’.”

  Blaze looked at him. “I never engage in pleasant small talk.”

  “Ye had plenty to say this mornin’,” he teased her.

  “How far is the MacArthur estate from my father’s?” she asked. “Is that talk small enough for you?”

  Ross laughed out loud, making her smile. “I do believe the only thin’ smaller would be aboot the weather. To answer yer question, MacArthur House lies two miles or so from yers, shorter as the crow flies.”

  “Your house is beyond the woods on the far side of my father’s track?” Blaze asked.

  “Ye’ve a keen sense of direction,” Ross said, steering the phaeton onto a private lane. “We’ll visit the stables and then stop at the house for refreshment.”

  Blaze noted several enclosures. Foals frolicked beneath their mother’s supervision in the pens closest to the stables. In the distance, a lone horse grazed in its own enclosure.

  “Why is that horse alone?” She pointed toward the enclosure.

  “We keep the barrens separated from the others,” he told her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A mare that hasna delivered a foal in three years is considered barren,” he answered. “We’ll be sellin’ her.”

  His cool detachment surprised Blaze. “Who will purchase a barren mare?”

  Ross shrugged. “The knackers will give us the best offer, most likely.”

  “You mean to slaughter her?” Her surprise became horror. “That’s cruel and unfair.”

  God’s balls, Ross thought, honesty is overrated. He’d really stepped in dung this time and should have known better. A woman who held funerals for furs was bound to object to selling a horse to the knackers.

  “Drive to that pasture,” Blaze said.

  Was she ordering him again? Ross managed a conciliatory smile. “We’ll stop to visit her another day.”

  She arched a copper brow at him. “I won’t forget.”

  “I know ye willna forget.” The lass had a mind like a steel trap.

  “I can never marry a man who sells a horse to the slaughterhouse.”

  “I dinna recall askin’ to marry ye.”

  Blaze blushed, her gaze skittering away. She’d walked into that. Would she never learn to keep her thoughts to herself? On the other hand, why would he waste his time if he wasn’t intending an offer of marriage? She resolved to keep her mouth shut until Pegasus won the Triple Crown. If the marquis sent the mare to the slaughterhouse, his offer of marriage would go the same way.

  Ross halted the phaeton in the stableyard and stepped down. By the time he circled the phaeton to assist her, Blaze had already climbed down.

  “Ladies always wait for a gentleman’s assistance,” Ross told her.

  “A true gentleman does not send horses to the slaughter,” Blaze countered.

  Ross ignored her comment and gestured to the stables. “I want to show ye Hercules, my best hope for winnin’ this year’s Crown.”

  The MacArthur stables resembled her father’s stables. The lighting was dim but sufficient, and the straw-covered floorboards muffled the sounds of their boots. The scents of hay and musky horses hung in the air along with a faint dung odor.

  Hercules, a powerfully-built chestnut colt, stood proudly in his stall as if he’d already won the Triple Crown. He snorted a greeting at his owner and then turned doleful eyes on his owner’s companion.

  Blaze touched the colt’s face and gazed for a long moment into his eyes. “Juno is the barren mare and Hercules is her son.”

  Ross stared at her in surprise. “How do ye know?”

  “Banishing Juno has upset Hercules,” Blaze told him. “He worries about your selling his mother to the knackers.”

  Ross smiled at that. “How can Hercules know what I plan?”

  “He hears talk around the stables.”

  “She’s got the gift.”

  A stocky, middle-aged man stood a few feet away. His clothing and leather apron proclaimed him the farrier.

  “You believe in such thin’s?” Ross asked him.

  The man nodded. “I do.”

  “Meet Duncan MacArthur,” Ross introduced them. “Duncan, this is Miss Blaze Flambeau, Inverary’s daughter.”

  “Hercules’s left shoe is loose,” Blaze told the farrier.

  “I know aboot the shoe,” Duncan said, “but the forge is already dark. I’m plannin’ to fix it in the mornin’.”

  Ross could not credit what he was hearing. He watched Blaze press her hand against the colt’s cheek. Then she closed her eyes.

  “What’s he tellin’ ye?” Ross asked.

  “Hercules thanks me in advance for saving his mother from the knackers.” Blaze gave him a flirtatious smile. “Will you give me Juno?”

  “I dinna give horses away,” Ross refused her.

  “Will you sell me Juno?”

  “A useless mare wastes food and stable space,” Ross said, gesturing to the door.

  “I plan to mate Juno with my father’s Zeus.”

  Ross laughed. “Yer father willna agree to that.”

  “Apparently, you understand nothing about fathers and daughters.” Blaze lifted her nose into the air and walked out of the stable.

  Tidy lawns and dark green manicured shrubs led to the MacArthur House. Its understated opulence and serene atmosphere came from decades of social and financial security.

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” the MacArthur majordomo greeted them, opening the door before they reached it.

  Blaze wondered if the man lived in anticipation of guests coming and going. He reminded her of Tinker, who always knew when to open the door.

  “We’ll take tea in the dinin’ room,” Ross instructed his man.

  “Yes, my lord.” The majordomo gave her a speculative glance and then shifted his gaze to the marquis. “Ahem.”

  “Pardon my lapse in manners,” Ross said, his tone dry. “Blaze, I present Dodger. Dodger, meet Miss Flambeau, Inverary’s daughter.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Dodger.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Miss Flambeau.” The majordomo headed down the corridor to fetch their tea.

  “The dinin’ room is this way,” Ross said, leading her in the direction the majordomo had gone.

  “Do you
usually introduce guests to Dodger?” Blaze asked.

  “Dodger has never requested an introduction before,” Ross answered. “The old sneak usually eavesdrops on conversations.”

  “Tinker knows more than anyone else what is happening at home,” Blaze said. “I swear that man would be richer than my father if he resorted to blackmail.”

  The MacArthur dining room reminded her of her father’s. The rectangular mahogany table with matching chairs stood in the middle of the dining room. Overhead hung a crystal chandelier. Even the blue and white porcelain Worcester service in the center of the table seemed eerily familiar.

  Blaze thought the social elite were monkeys mimicking one another. No one dared to be different in words, deeds, or possessions.

  “Hercules will win no races if you send Juno to the slaughterhouse,” Blaze said, sitting beside the marquis.

  A smile touched his lips. “He told ye so.”

  Dodger arrived with the tea and pastries, saving her from answering. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

  “Privacy.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The majordomo started to leave.

  “Close the doors, Dodger.”

  “Leave the doors open,” Blaze countermanded the order.

  “Yes, Miss Flambeau.”

  Ross winked at her and whispered, “Ye do realize Dodger will be eavesdroppin’ on our conversation.”

  “No eavesdropping, Dodger,” she called.

  “Yes, Miss Flambeau.”

  “Tomorrow mornin’ after practice, I’ll take ye to the Rowley Mile,” Ross said, his voice low. “Pegasus must pick up speed before the Devil’s Ditch because the race ends uphill.”

  “Peg’s problem is not speed.”

  “There’s a copse of trees beyond the finish,” Ross told her. “If ye win, ride straight into the path to switch places with Rooney.”

  “Why do we need to switch places?”

  “Ye canna take yer place in the winner’s circle if yer ridin’ her,” Ross answered. “I’ll be waitin’ with Rooney and hurry ye back to the winner’s circle. Wearin’ yer gown beneath breeches and racin’ silks will even the weight between Rooney and ye.”

  Blaze could not suppress her doubts. “Do you think this will work?” She believed in her horse but not their ability to succeed in deception.

  Ross shrugged, his black gaze holding hers captive. “Do ye believe Pegasus can win?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation there.

  With their tea finished, Ross rose from his chair. “I’ll take ye home now.”

  Blaze stood when he did, her thoughts on the lonely mare in the pasture. “Will you please sell me Juno?”

  “I’ll consider yer offer,” Ross said, stepping closer, “if ye allow me a kiss.”

  Staring into his dark eyes, Blaze remained silent for a long moment. Surely, one kiss was a small price to pay to save the mare’s life.

  “What should I do?” she whispered.

  The innocence of her question brought a lazy smile to his lips. “Close yer eyes, darlin’.”

  When she did, Blaze felt his fingers caress her cheek. She heard him murmur, “Soft and sweet.”

  And then their lips touched.

  His lips were warm and firm, his scent reminding her of mountain heather. The muscular planes of his body pressed against her, his warmth heating her, and Blaze relaxed against his powerful frame.

  “Are you bringing your doxy into my home?”

  “Mind yer manners, Celeste.”

  Blaze leaped away from the marquis and whirled toward the intruders. The image of Ross as an older man stood there. Beside him was a middle-aged woman.

  The Duke of Kilchurn possessed the same black hair and rugged good looks as his son. And he was smiling at her, warmly, as if he knew her.

  The Duchess of Kilchurn was an attractive blonde, graying at the temples. And she was definitely not smiling at her. In fact, the duchess appeared hostile.

  “Yer Graces, I present Miss Blaze Flambeau,” Ross said, holding her hand. “Blaze, the Duke and Duchess of Kilchurn.”

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintances,” Blaze said, managing an ambiguous smile.

  “We’re happy to meet ye,” the duke said. “Celeste?”

  “Ecstatic.” The duchess’s frigid gaze shrieked the word bastard at Blaze.

  “Child, ye resemble yer father’s aunt Bedelia,” the duke told her. “We shared high times with Bedelia and her long-sufferin’ husband, Colin.”

  “My father told me.” Blaze smiled at the duke, adding, “I wish his aunt Bedelia hadn’t given me her freckles, though.”

  “Freckles do handicap to a young lady’s appearance,” the duchess agreed, and then looked at Ross. “You will dine with us this evening?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Ross ushered Blaze toward the door. “I will be movin’ my belongin’s into the Rowley Lodge.”

  “The girls want to visit with you,” the duchess said.

  “I’ll see them before leavin’. By the way, where is the Feathered Flock?”

  “The flock is soarin’ in the village,” the duke answered, and then looked at Blaze. “Tell yer father I’ll see him soon.”

  “I will, Your Grace.” Blaze smiled with genuine pleasure at the Duke of Kilchurn. She flicked the duchess a frigid glance and then walked out of the dining room.

  Standing in the foyer, Dodger opened the door for them. “Enjoy your ride home, Miss Flambeau.”

  “Thank you, Dodger.”

  Climbing into the phaeton beside her, Ross asked, “Well, did ye enjoy the tour?”

  “I never appreciated my own wonderful stepmother until I met yours.”

  “In a bygone era, the villagers would have burned Celeste as a witch,” he agreed.

  Ross drove the phaeton down the private lane leading to Fordham Road. They retraced the route taken earlier.

  “What is a Feathered Flock?” Blaze asked.

  “The flock consists of my sister Mairi, my stepsister Amanda, and their friends,” Ross answered, steering the phaeton onto Bury Road. “I dubbed them the flock cuz of all their preenin’ and twitterin’.”

  “Preening and twittering like canaries?” Blaze giggled at the provoking picture. “Your stepmother doesn’t like me.”

  “What makes ye say so?” Ross gave her a sidelong smile. “Did Hercules tell ye?”

  “Very funny.” Blaze was silent for a moment and then told him, “I saw hostility in her eyes.”

  “Celeste dislikes everyone,” he said. “Besides, she was hopin’ for a match between Amanda and me.”

  Ross halted the phaeton in the Inverary courtyard. “I’ll see ye at the track in the mornin’.”

  “I need to ask you something.” Blaze stared into his black eyes, hoping to discern the truth in his answer. “Did you ever kill an animal?”

  “I canna lie to ye,” Ross said, his expression serious. “I’ve stepped on my share of ants.”

  “I knew I heard screams coming from the direction of MacArthur House.” Blaze smiled at him and walked away.

  His laughter followed her into Inverary House.

  Chapter Four

  “Hello, Tinker.” Blaze held her hand out.

  The majordomo passed her the bonnet. “I trust you enjoyed your outing.”

  “I did enjoy myself,” Blaze told him, “but the marquis’s stepmother makes mine seem like Little Bo Peep.”

  “Her Grace prays only for your happiness,” Tinker said, smiling.

  “Do you know my father’s whereabouts?” she asked.

  “His Grace is meeting with business associates,” the majordomo answered. “He has another meeting scheduled afterwards.”

  “Thank you, Tinker.”

  Blaze climbed the stairs to the second floor, her thoughts on her mission of mercy. This scenario was better than she could have hoped. Her father’s business meeting was divine intervention. He could not refuse her request in front of others. Doing so would show him in a bad l
ight. After all, no gentleman would conduct business with a man who refused to rescue a defenseless animal from certain death.

  Pausing outside the office’s closed door, Blaze took a deep breath. She needed to appeal to his kind heart and logical business mind, and she needed her wits.

  Dealing with her father could sometimes prove difficult. He resisted rebellious challenges but appreciated mental agility and boldness. Like all men, her father caved when faced with feminine tears, but she would save that as her last resort. For once in her life, resembling his adored aunt Bedelia could prove useful.

  Blaze tapped on the door, opened it without waiting for permission, and stepped inside. Princes Rudolf and Lykos Kazanov glanced over their shoulders. Her father raised his gaze to her.

  “I apologize for interrupting,” Blaze said, her smile sheepish, “but I must speak with you, Papa.”

  The Duke of Inverary gestured to the princes. “We are discussing business, and I have scheduled another meeting directly afterwards.”

  “My emergency cannot wait,” she told him.

  “In my vast experience, women scream during an emergency,” Prince Rudolf teased her. “Why are you not screaming?”

  Blaze narrowed her gaze on him, her expression warning him to silence. “You have never experienced me in an emergency.”

  Prince Rudolf grinned. “True enough.”

  “Can this emergency wait?” her father asked her.

  “This concerns life or death,” Blaze answered, “and I will take only a few minutes.”

  The duke rolled his eyes at the smiling princes. When Lykos started to rise from his chair, the duke gestured him to remain where he was and then beckoned her forward.

  “Do you need privacy?”

  “No, Papa.”

  Blaze sat in the vacant chair between the princes. She paused before speaking to acknowledge Prince Lykos with a smile.

  The duke cleared his throat.

  Blaze shifted her attention to him. Her gaze touched the glasses of whisky and vodka on his desk, reminding her of her mother.

  “What is the emergency?” the duke prompted her.

  “I need money,” Blaze blurted out.

  The Russian princes burst into laughter, which made her father smile. She hadn’t meant to speak so abruptly and definitely needed her stepmother’s instruction concerning feminine wiles.