Marrying the Marquis

by Patricia Grasso

  “Pay attention,” Ross said. “The spectator stands are on yer right.”

  Blaze rolled her eyes. “I have attended the races many times.”

  “Comin’ on yer left are the judges’ boxes,” Ross said, ignoring her comment. “The last judge will wave the colors of whichever rider wins for the spectators who canna see.”

  Ross halted his horse when they neared the last part of the mile. “Ye need to quicken yer pace at this point before crossin’ the Devil’s Ditch. Ye can see the race ends uphill.”

  “Once Peg gets through the holes,” Blaze said, “no one will catch her.”

  Ross nudged the horse down the Devil’s Ditch and through the Running Gap. With Blaze clinging to him, they climbed the uphill side and rode across the clearing beyond the finish line.

  “Bunbury Farm is on yer left,” Ross said, “and Burwell is on yer right beyond that copse of trees. If ye win, ride down the path over there. Rooney and I will be waitin’ just out of sight.”

  “I understand.”

  Ross glanced over his shoulder at her for the first time. “I admire yer determination and spunk.”

  “That’s high praise coming from a Highlander.”

  He smiled at her.

  She returned his smile.

  “What will ye do with the coin ye win?”

  “I’m saving to buy land for an animal refuge.”

  “God in heaven canna refuse such a worthy cause,” Ross said. “Why dinna ye ask His Grace for the funds?”

  “No practical businessman like my father would invest in a profitless project,” Blaze answered, and then sighed. “God save the world from practical people.”

  “Do ye count me among the practical?”

  “Have you considered selling me Juno?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  Ross winked at her. “I havena made a decision.”

  Blaze studied her reflection in the cheval mirror. She wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but her appearance would not induce vomiting or incite screams of terror.

  Hopefully, her Nanny Smudge had been correct. A pleasing personality was better than beauty, which always faded in time.

  Unfortunately, she had never been known for her sweet disposition. She had more in common with a cantankerous camel than a lap dog.

  Blaze turned this way and that, studying herself from all possible angles. She wore a violet daygown with matching slippers and white stockings embroidered with butterflies.

  After dressing like a jockey every morning, Blaze wanted to look pretty for the marquis. That realization created a melting sensation in the bottom of her belly. Whatever the reason, she wanted him to think her more appealing than the stepsister who’d been offered to him in marriage.

  Blaze had brushed her fiery hair back, allowing it to cascade almost to her waist. The marquis liked her hair loose. Something was missing, though.

  Crossing the chamber, Blaze yanked the highboy’s drawer open and reached inside for the jeweled, butterfly hair clasp that had once belonged to her mother. In fact, her mother was wearing the butterfly ornament when she’d posed for the portrait hanging in her father’s drawing room.

  Blaze lifted a length of blue ribbon off the bedside table and looked at the mastiff. Puddles raised his head, his eyes fixed on the ribbon, and then scurried behind the privacy screen.

  “Come, Puddles.”

  Nothing.

  “You must dress for our guests.”

  Nothing again.

  “Do you want a cinnamon cookie?”

  With his tail between his legs, Puddles appeared from behind the privacy screen and sat in front of her. Blaze attached the blue ribbon to his collar and tied it in a bow.

  Cookie?

  “Eat cookies later.”

  With a few minutes to spare, Blaze sat on the chaise to practice distance communication. She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to even. In her mind’s eye, she pictured herself standing in front of her horse’s stall.

  Love Peg.

  No answer.

  Love Peg.

  No answer.

  Love Peg.

  “Are you ready?”

  Blaze glanced over her shoulder. Raven stood in the open doorway.

  “Are you and Alex taking tea?” Blaze rose from the chaise.

  “I am taking tea,” her sister answered, “while Alex and the constable interview the tavern’s customers the night of the murder.”

  “Where are Bliss, Sophia, and Serena?”

  “The cowards have taken themselves into the village,” Raven answered. “I suspect they will return after the bachelors have gone.”

  “The marquis knows nothing about the murder,” Blaze told her. “Watch the bone sucker. I feel he may be involved.”

  Raven raised her left hand to wiggle her fingers in front of her sister’s face. “My star ruby will warn me of danger.”

  “Come, Puddles.” Blaze walked out of the bedchamber, asking, “How does the ruby do that? Do you hear the word danger in your mind?”

  “Stones cannot speak,” Raven said. “The ruby darkens to blood red.”

  “When I communicate with animals,” Blaze said, “I hear words or see images in my mind.”

  With the mastiff between them, the sisters walked down the corridor to the main staircase. The drawing room was located on the second floor.

  “Here you are, my darlings,” the duchess greeted them from her chair near the hearth. “Blaze dear, violet whisper is a superb shade on you.”

  “I thought the gown was purple,” Blaze said, sitting on the settee opposite her stepmother’s chair.

  The Duchess of Inverary dropped her gaze to Puddles, wagging his tail. “The dog does not belong at afternoon tea.”

  “Whoever marries me will also be marrying Puddles,” Blaze told her. “If Puddles leaves, so do I.”

  “Then your dog must stay, of course.”

  “Sister, sit beside me,” Blaze said.

  “Raven, sit on the sofa,” the duchess ordered. “One of the gentlemen may wish to sit on the settee.”

  “That’s the reason I want Raven beside me.”

  “Yes, I know.” The Duchess of Inverary gave her a serene smile. “I must warn you that some in Society may remember the details of your mother’s tragic ending.”

  “Mother passed away five years ago,” Raven said.

  “Why would anyone mention it now?” Blaze asked, glancing at her mother’s portrait.

  “Society mamas envy my matchmaking successes,” the duchess answered. “I did engineer royal husbands for Fancy and Belle. Anyway, if anyone references your mother’s death, you will tell me the person’s identity, and I will deal with her.”

  Blaze prayed no one would mention her mother’s death. Doing so would be unhealthy for that person. Nanny Smudge had taught them to fight their own battles and she refused to relinquish that pleasure to her stepmother.

  Puddles lifted his massive head and looked toward the door. Cookie man come.

  Tinker walked into the drawing room. “The Marquis of Awe has arrived.”

  “I told ye, man, there’s no need to announce me.”

  “I enjoy announcing guests.”

  Blaze smiled at the exchange. MacArthur looked breathtakingly handsome in his customed-tailored jacket, waistcoat, and trousers. She couldn’t decide whether she preferred him dressed roughly for working with horses or the more sophisticated marquis.

  She felt the butterflies winging and the melting sensation. Did the sight of him make her ill? Or was the cause something more dangerous…like desire? She’d never felt desire or even a fondness for any gentleman.

  Ross MacArthur looked at her and caught her smile. He greeted the duchess first, nodded at Raven, and then sat on the settee beside Blaze.

  The Duchess glanced in the direction of the empty doorway. “Tinker, you may begin serving.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the majordomo answered from the hallway.
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br />   Ross turned to Blaze. “Ye look lovely like the butterfly in yer hair, but”—he reached down to remove the bow from the dog’s collar—“but men dinna wear ribbons.”

  “I chose a blue ribbon.”

  Ross reached into his pocket to produce a napkin with three cinnamon cookies. He set the cookies on the floor for Puddles.

  “You know the way to win my stepdaughter’s regard,” the duchess teased him.

  “Bribery comes easily to us Highlanders,” Ross said with a smile. “The lass willna care for any gentleman her dog dislikes.”

  Blaze would have spoken, but four footmen arrived at that moment. One carried a silver tea service while a second brought the tray with tea’s accoutrements. The other two had trays of refreshments, one platter with dainty cucumber sandwiches and the other with tiny pastries.

  The duchess gestured the footmen out and poured the tea herself, serving the marquis first and then the girls. “Sugar?” she asked. “Lemon?”

  “I drink mine plain,” Ross answered.

  “So do I,” Blaze said.

  “What a happy coincidence,” he teased her. “The best part is no meat, no fish, no poultry.”

  Tinker walked into the drawing room. “His Highness, Prince Lykos Kazanov.”

  The prince brushed past the majordomo to greet the duchess first, bowing over her hand. He acknowledged Ross with a nod and offered Blaze a package tied with a pink ribbon.

  “I ventured into Newmarket yesterday,” Lykos said, “and seeing this in a shop window, I thought of you.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “Lykos, remember?”

  Blaze blushed and cradled the gift on her lap. She didn’t know what to do since no gentleman had ever given her a gift.

  “Do you take sugar or lemon?” the duchess asked, pouring the prince his tea.

  Prince Lykos sat in the highbacked chair beside the duchess’s. “I take tea plain.”

  “The marquis and I drink ours plain, too.” Blaze frowned as the words slipped from her lips. Even she realized how inane she sounded, exactly like those silly society maidens she scorned.

  “The world would be bleak without sugar in my tea,” Raven remarked.

  “Dearest, open your gift.” The Duchess of Inverary looked at the prince. “I adore surprise gifts.”

  “You adore all gifts,” Blaze said, and untied the pink ribbon. Opening the wrapping, she saw three fine handkerchiefs trimmed in delicate lace and embroidered with tiny blue flowers. “How lovely.”

  “The blue flowers reminded me of your lovely blue eyes,” Lykos said.

  “I value your thinking of me more than the gift.” Blaze set the package on the table and reached for a cucumber sandwich. Eating seemed easier than making small talk.

  Thankfully, her stepmother excelled at meaningless babble. The duchess began an endless monologue about refreshments and decorations for the Jockey Club Ball.

  Blaze bit into the cucumber sandwich and chewed slowly. Setting that aside, she lifted her teacup to sip the steaming brew and then wasted time dabbing her lips with the napkin.

  Catching a movement in her peripheral vision, Blaze realized the marquis had lifted his arm to rest against the back of the settee behind her. What should she do? If she sat forward, he would be insulted. If she didn’t, he would believe she wanted his arm there.

  Blaze heated by several degrees, her complexion flushing in a mixture of embarrassment and confused consternation. She glanced sidelong at the marquis, but he was staring at the prince. Looking none too happy, the prince was returning the stare.

  Lykos slid his gaze to hers. “How goes the training for The Craven?”

  “Take my advice and wager on Pegasus.” Blaze glanced at the marquis. “Did my father send you a note?”

  “I havena received any note,” Ross answered, “but I did move into the Rowley Lodge yesterday.”

  “You haven’t sold Juno?”

  “No, lass.”

  Tinker walked into the drawing room, announcing, “The Earl of Boston.”

  The blond, green-eyed earl crossed the room toward them. He carried a bouquet of yellow daisies, blue forget-me-nots, and baby’s breath.

  “I hope I’m not too late.” Dirk Stanley sat beside Raven on the sofa. Glancing at his hands, he stood again and offered the bouquet to Blaze. “I happened by a flower shop in Newmarket, and the forget-me-nots reminded me of your blue eyes.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “That makes two of ye,” Ross said, lifting one of the lace-edged hankies. “His Highness thought the embroidered flowers looked like her bonny blue eyes.”

  Catching her sister’s gaze, Blaze raised her brows in an unspoken question. In answer, Raven glanced at her betrothal ring and then gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  Blaze felt the marquis’s gaze on her. Covering their silent communication, she lifted the bouquet to her nose and inhaled its fragrance.

  Achoo. She sneezed and sneezed and sneezed.

  Grabbing one of the lace-edged hankies, Blaze blew her nose in an unladylike honk. She met her stepmother’s frown with an apologetic smile.

  “Sometimes spring flowers make me sneeze,” she said, blushing.

  “Tinker,” Ross called, lifting the bouquet out of her hand.

  “Yes, my lord?” The majordomo materialized in an instant.

  Ross held the bouquet out. “Put these in a vase.” He smiled at Blaze, saying, “I dinna think those hankies were meant for noses.”

  “Nonsense,” Prince Lykos spoke up. “The lady can use her gift however she chooses.”

  Embarrassment heated Blaze. What would their guests have thought if she’d used the sleeve of her gown to wipe her nose?

  The Duchess of Inverary turned to the prince and the earl. “I do hope your respective families will arrive in time for the Jockey Club Ball.”

  “My father and stepmother arrived yesterday,” Ross said.

  “They’ve brought Mairi and Amanda,” Dirk Stanley added, “and I know the Calders and the Gordons have arrived.”

  Raven turned to the earl. “I hope you will invite me to dance at the ball.”

  Dirk Stanley looked surprised and flattered. “What will the Marquis of Basildon think?”

  “I haven’t married Alexander yet,” Raven said, her smile flirtatious.

  “I’ll dance with ye,” Ross said. “I intend to dance with all the Flambeau sisters.”

  “You mean all the ladies,” Blaze corrected him. “You partnered all the ladies at my sister’s wedding.”

  Ross grinned at her. “I’m flattered ye noticed.”

  “You must dance with Amanda,” Dirk said, “or she’ll be crushed.”

  Amanda Stanley, Blaze frowned, the stepsister. She wondered if the other girl was pretty. Could Ross harbor an interest in her? Perhaps he’d refused marriage with the stepsister because he wasn’t ready to marry.

  “How goes the training for The Craven?” Dirk asked her.

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “I wondered if you would care to watch the race with me,” Dirk said, and then turned to Raven. “I would enjoy your company, too.”

  “I would enjoy sitting together,” Raven said, and shifted her gaze to her sister.

  “I am sorry,” Blaze said, “but Ross has already invited me.”

  “I suppose that leaves me sitting with my brothers,” Prince Lykos said, making everyone smile.

  “How do you communicate with animals?” Dirk asked. “I cannot believe that possible.”

  “Give us a demonstration,” Ross said.

  “I would like to see it, too,” Prince Lykos added.

  “Come, Puddles,” Blaze said, ignoring her stepmother’s frown. When the dog sat at attention in front of her, she leaned close and stared into the mastiff’s eyes. Scare cookie man.

  No.

  Her dog was no fool. Scare flower man.

  Puddles stood and approached Dirk Stanley. The mastiff
glared at the earl, curled his lips, and bared his fangs. His hackles raised, the dog growled in a low rumbling sound and drool dripped from both sides of his muzzle.

  Dirk Stanley shrank back, his complexion paling. “Call him off.”

  Flower man good.

  Puddles turned his head to look at Blaze, the drool swaying in the movement. Cookie man good.

  “Come here,” Blaze ordered the mastiff. When the dog circled the table to sit in front of her, she wiped his drool with a lace-edged hanky.

  Ross MacArthur laughed out loud. When she looked at him, he dropped his eyes to the hanky in her hand.

  “Oops.” Blaze slid her gaze to the prince. “I am so sorry.”

  “I am glad you have found a use for the handkerchiefs instead of placing them out of sight in a drawer,” Prince Lykos said, his tone amused. “Whenever your dog drools, you will think of me.”

  “You have made me a true believer,” Dirk told her, “but I believe my Emperor will beat your filly.”

  “Scratch yer horse,” Ross advised the other man, his hand on the settee dropping to Blaze’s shoulder. “Ye’ve no chance of winnin’ against Pegasus.”

  Dirk lifted his gaze from his stepbrother’s offending hand. “What gift did you bring Miss Blaze?”

  “Well, I didna bring her sneeze-inducin’ flowers,” Ross said, giving the other man an infuriating smile.

  “You didn’t bring her a token, did you?”

  “I brought myself.” Ross winked at Blaze. “My gift is waitin’ outside.”

  “As usual, you needed an audience,” Dirk said. “Very well, get your gift and make your presentation.”

  “I prefer to present my gift outside.” Ross rose from the settee and offered Blaze his hand. “Come with me, lass.”

  Blaze placed her hand in his. She thought the marquis was merely polite, but he refused to relinquish her hand.

  “I can hardly wait to see this,” Dirk said.

  Everyone stood and followed them downstairs. Blaze felt she was leading a parade. Standing in the foyer, Tinker opened the door for them.

  “Where is this gift?” Dirk asked, scanning the deserted courtyard.

  Ross whistled long and loud. From around the corner of the mansion walked an Inverary groomsman leading a chestnut thoroughbred.