Blaze lifted a piece of black bread and took a tiny bite. Though unimpressed by the taste, she smiled at the prince and nodded her approval. Russian delicacies were probably an acquired taste.
The Duke and Duchess of Inverary chose a nearby table. The duke nodded at Lykos and the duchess smiled. Blaze caught the irritated look her father gave her stepmother.
“Why is you-know-who supping with you-know-who?” Blaze heard her father ask.
Her stepmother waved her hand. “Strategy, dearest.”
“Strategy, my arse,” her father muttered.
Blaze struggled against the laughter bubbling up. She lifted her glass and sipped the punch.
“Tell me how MacArthur cured your filly of this balking problem,” Prince Lykos said.
“I cannot divulge our secret,” Blaze said, “but you should wager on Pegasus in the next race.”
Prince Lykos inclined his head. “I will certainly follow your advice.”
One floor above the dining room, Ross stood with his sister and waited for the last of the guests to go to supper. He did not want anyone eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Are we goin’ to supper or not?” Mairi asked him.
“I want yer help,” Ross told her. “I need ye to keep Prince Lykos busy while I lure Blaze away.”
“Why do ye want the company of the redhaired, freckled, illegitimate daughter of a suicide?”
I love her, Ross thought, surprising himself. This wasn’t merely a competition to win the lady’s hand in marriage. He could not imagine growing old with anyone else. And Blaze wanted him, even if she didn’t know it yet.
Ross would never consider baring his heart to his sister or anyone else. “I intend to marry the lass.”
“What aboot Amanda?” Mairi exclaimed. “She’s been waitin’ for ye to settle.”
“I never encouraged Amanda or Celeste regardin’ marriage,” Ross said. “In fact, I moved to the Rowley Lodge so Celeste canna catch me in the marriage trap. If yer smart, ye’ll bolt yer door in the event Dirk wants to trap ye in marriage.”
“I’ve been lockin’ my door since Da married Celeste,” Mairi told him.
“I see ye share my intelligence,” Ross said. “Listen carefully, sister. I’ll only say this one time. If I ever hear ye speakin’ ill of Blaze, I’ll wash yer mouth out with soap.”
“Are ye threatenin’ me?” Mairi arched a dark brow at him. “Ye’ve a strange way of seekin’ favors.”
“I mean every word.”
“Very well, I willna voice any disparagin’ thoughts,” Mairi said, turning toward the stairs. “And I’ll help ye. Are ye comin’?”
“Thank ye, sister.”
“Ye do know yer leavin’ yer baby sister with a notorious ladies man.”
“Lykos is a rake?” Ross couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.
“I wouldna go so far to name him a rake,” Mairi replied, “but he enjoys the company of various women. The ladies call him the Wolf Prince, and the peaheads would swoon at his feet if he smiled at them.”
When they entered the dining room, Ross felt as if he’d walked into an opera’s last act. Raven Flambeau was supping with his stepbrothers while Alexander Blake supped with Amanda. The reason for the shift in partners eluded him.
“They’re sittin’ over there,” Ross said, his gaze on Blaze and the prince.
“Are ye so hot for her ye’d make yerself a fool?” Mairi placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Fix a plate for me, and then we’ll wander over there.”
Ross grabbed a plate, asking, “What do ye want?”
“I’ll take a slice of beef, a piece of the spinach souffle, and two kippers.”
With plate in hand, Ross escorted his sister to Blaze’s table. “Good evenin’, Yer Highness,” he greeted the other man. “Do ye remember my sister, Mairi?”
Prince Lykos stood and bowed over her hand. “I could never forget a beautiful woman.”
Mairi MacArthur inclined her head. “Are all princes as smooth as ye?”
Lykos smiled. “Please join us.”
“As a matter of fact,” Ross said, setting his sister’s plate down and lifting Blaze’s, “I need a private word with Miss Flambeau. If ye dinna mind, that is.”
“I do not mind if Mairi keeps me company.”
Ross drew Blaze out of her chair, and his sister sat in it. “I’ll bring yer plate in case this takes longer than I anticipate.”
“What are you doing?” Blaze whispered.
“I’ll tell ye in a minute.” Ross noted the curious gazes watching their exit and knew that tongues would be wagging in the morning. Thankfully, Blaze seemed oblivious to their audience.
“I dinna want anyone eavesdroppin’,” Ross told her, “so we’ll walk outside.”
“What is the secret?” Blaze asked, when they reached the gazebo. “Has this to do with Pegasus?”
“I wanted to sup with ye.”
Blaze rolled her eyes, but a smile flirted with the corners of her lips. “That was a sneaky trick.”
“Thank ye for the praise.” Ross grinned at her. “What are ye eatin’?”
“I chose gherkins, mushrooms, potted cheese, and Beluga caviar.”
“Do ye know what Beluga caviar is?”
“Beluga is a Russian delicacy,” she told him.
“What kind of delicacy?”
“I don’t recall the prince telling me.”
“Beluga is sturgeon roe,” Ross informed her. “Sturgeon is a fish, and roe its unfertilized eggs.”
An expression of horrified revulsion appeared on her face. Her hands flew to her throat. In desperation, she grabbed the crystal glass from his hand, gulping the punch in one long swig. Then she hiccupped.
“Are ye ill?”
“I needed the punch to wash the taste from my mouth.”
Ross smiled and glided a finger down her cheek. “The punch is spiked with champagne.”
Blaze giggled. “The punch tickled my throat going down.”
“Champagne will do that.” Ross stared at her upturned face, the invitation in her eyes.
Miss Blaze Flambeau was a delightful paradox. Innocence clung to her like a sensuous perfume, but she wasn’t above getting her hands dirty or mucking stables. The Highland blood pumping through her veins was apparent in this Flambeau.
“I want to know the reason yer sister is suppin’ with my stepbrothers,” Ross said, “and Alexander Blake is suppin’ with my stepsister.”
“They’re investigating Charlie’s murder.” The words slipped out before she could stop herself.
“Is Dirk a suspect?”
“Anyone who owns a thoroughbred is suspect.”
“Am I suspect?”
“Do you own a thoroughbred?”
“Blast it, Blaze,” Ross said. “I want to know what’s happenin’.”
“I know you are an innocent man,” Blaze said, “but you must pretend to know nothing.”
Ross narrowed his gaze on her.
“God gifted Raven with the ability to read events from holding objects,” Blaze began.
Ross laughed in her face. “I apologize, darlin’. Finish yer story.”
“Raven did a reading with Charlie’s gold ring,” Blaze continued. “She saw a night sky with a crescent moon. Draped across the moon was a MacArthur plaid and a dirk.”
“That isna evidence, and ye havena answered my question aboot tonight’s supper.”
“Alex and Raven are spying,” Blaze explained. “Befriending the Stanleys may give them important information.”
“Why isna anyone spyin’ on me?”
Blaze leaned close and stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “I am.”
Ross turned his head and captured her lips in a lingering kiss. “I didna realize bein’ investigated could feel so good.”
She gave him a coy smile. “Neither did I.”
“If I could see yer bedchamber,” Ross said in a husky voice, “I could imagine ye there when I’m
lyin’ in my lonely bed at night.”
She brushed her lips across his cheek. “Only look?”
“Well, I’d love to touch.”
“Are all aristocrats as smooth as you?” Blaze asked, echoing his sister’s words.
“Sorry, darlin’ I’m the best of the lot.”
Blaze offered him her hand. “We’ll use the servants’ stairs.”
No one saw them scoot up the back stairs. The staff was busy in the kitchens, serving supper, or assisting the guests’ coachmen in the front courtyard.
Ross bolted the bedchamber door. He turned around slowly and smiled at her.
Blaze walked into his embrace, molding her body to his, drawing his head down to kiss him. She poured all of her passion into that single stirring kiss.
He unbuttoned the back of her gown, making his way from neckline to waist. Parting the sides, he caressed her delicate backbone with a finger.
Blaze purred at the sensation. A delicious chill danced down her spine, her body heated, and her nipples hardened in arousal.
Pushing the gown down, Ross let it pool at her feet while his warm lips touched the side of her throat. “Let’s go to bed,” he said, his voice hoarse with need.
Without embarrassment, Blaze crossed the chamber to the bed. She wore her lace and silk chemise, silk stockings, garters, and satin slippers.
Ross lifted the ice-blue gown off the floor and, following her across the room, tossed it onto the chaise near the hearth. When he faced her, desire gleamed in his dark eyes.
Holding her gaze captive, Ross undressed slowly. He removed his jacket and waistcoat, placing both on the chaise. Next were his cravat, shirt, and trousers.
Naked, Ross crossed the room and knelt in front of her. He slid his hands up her legs, pushing the silk and lace chemise up to reveal her thighs. After removing her garter, he rolled her stocking down her leg slowly. Then he did the same for her other leg.
Ross slid her chemise off her body and, pushing her down on the bed, lay on top of her. Blaze liked his hands on her body and his weight pressing her down.
He kissed her cheeks, eyelids, temples. Then his lips drifted down her throat.
Kneeling again, Ross cupped her breasts and whispered, “I love yer nipples.”
He dipped his head to lick and suck one pink-tipped peak and then the other. She wrapped her arms around him, holding his head against her breasts, savoring the throbbing in her lower regions.
His lips burned a trail from her breasts to her belly and beyond. He buried his face against the coppery curls at the juncture of her thighs.
Blaze rose up in alarm. “What are you doing?”
“Trust me.” Ross flashed her a smile, gently pressing her back on the bed.
“So said the Serpent to Eve in Paradise,” she murmured.
He kissed her inner thighs, his lips moving toward the center of her womanhood. When his tongue touched her swollen nub, Blaze arched against him and cried out as waves of pleasure surged through her.
Ross stood then, drawing her closer to the edge of the bed. He positioned himself, saying, “Wrap yer legs around my body.”
When she did, he thrust into her and—
Someone knocked on the door.
Blaze opened her eyes. Ross winked at her and withdrew from her moist heat.
Again came the knocking. “Are you there, Blaze?” The voice belonged to her stepmother.
“One moment,” Blaze called, placing a finger across her lips. She pointed at his clothing and the privacy screen in the corner. Blaze donned her robe while he gathered his garments and crossed the room.
Blaze threw the bolt and opened the door a crack. “What is it?”
“What took you so long?” the duchess asked her.
“I was sleeping.” Blaze feigned a yawn.
“Why is your door locked?”
“We have guests in the house.”
“Why did you leave the Ball?”
“The punch made me dizzy,” Blaze said, irritation tingeing her voice. “Are you practicing for the Spanish Inquisition?”
“Darling, you are so amusing.” Her stepmother gave her a feline smile. “Your father wants to speak with Ross MacArthur. Have you seen him?”
Blaze dropped her gaze to her bedrobe and then looked at her stepmother. “Apparently not.”
“The marquis and you disappeared during supper.”
Blaze heard the suspicion in her stepmother’s voice and pasted a serene smile on her face. “Shall I check under the bed?”
“No, thank you, darling.” The duchess’s dimpled smile appeared. “You have told me what I wanted to know.”
Chapter Ten
Three weeks of sensual nights at the Rowley Lodge and dawn practice at the track were ruining her health. She’d been queasy, tired, and cranky for the past week. She hoped the late nights and early mornings were making her feel poorly, the alternative too scandalous to consider.
“Ye dinna look well,” Ross said. “Rooney can jockey Pegasus today.”
“It’s too late to switch places.” Blaze recognized the concern in his dark eyes. “I’m tired but well enough to ride.”
Ross and Blaze sat inside his closed phaeton on the practice field at Newmarket Heath, as they’d done three weeks earlier.
The Rowley Mile lay beyond the heath, the grandstands rising near the start line. Waving in the gentle breeze, the Jockey Club flag beckoned Newmarket’s inhabitants to the races.
Gamblers, aristocrats, horse people, and country gentry mingled together near the grandstands. The second race of the season offered the public a chance to watch a filly make history by beating the colts a second time.
Blaze wore the same jockey attire. Her racing silk jacket sported the green, black, and blue Campbell colors. Her mane of red hair was hidden beneath the jacket’s matching cap. Light-weight riding boots covered the bottom of her breeches. Goggles dangled around her neck, and fingerless leather gloves covered her hands.
Digging in his leather satchel, Ross produced the packet of Stinking Billy and passed it to her. Blaze placed the cord over her head and slipped both beneath her jacket.
The stench assaulted her. Her hands flew to her throat, and she gagged dryly.
“Are ye ill?”
Blaze waved her hand. “I’m fine, momentary revulsion to the Stinking Billy.”
“Could ye swagger a bit on the way to the paddock?” Ross slashed mud streaks across her cheekbones. “I caught ye wigglin’ last time.”
“Here comes Rooney,” Blaze said, and they climbed out of the phaeton.
Rooney grinned and passed her the whip. “Good luck.”
“I’ll see you on the path.” Blaze gave them a thumbs up and started across the heath.
The closer Blaze walked to the spectators, the louder the noise. The cacophony of sounds—conversations, laughter, shouted oaths—could make a healthy body wish for deafness.
The groups of roughly dressed men were still entertaining themselves with cockfights. She needed to remind her father to speak with the Jockey Club about that.
“Here’s ya drink, guv.” The boy offered her a shot of whisky.
Without breaking stride, Blaze lifted the glass out of his hand. She tossed it down in one gulp and shuddered, the amber liquid burning a trail to her stomach.
The three jockeys who’d heckled Rooney at the last race appeared sullen. Looking straight ahead, Blaze walked past them.
“Hey, will ya look at that,” one jockey said, his voice loud.
“Rooney wiggles like a girl,” a second jockey said, making his friends laugh.
“He’ll be using his winnings to buy a new gown,” the third said.
The three losers wanted to get a rise out of Rooney so the officials would toss him out of the race. What would Rooney do at the insult to his manhood?
Blaze lifted her hand and again gave them her middle finger. She and Peg would make them eat dirt.
Arriving at the paddock, Blaze spied Ben
der at the far side. She raised her hand in greeting but walked to Pegasus first. Love Peg.
Me love.
Peg run?
Run, run, run.
Turning to the trainer, Blaze passed him the empty shot glass. Bender looked around and then pocketed the glass.
“Rooney?” The boy who’d delivered her whisky the last race stood there, offering her a shot glass. “Here’s ya whisky.”
Blaze shifted her gaze to the trainer and saw his surprised expression. To his credit, Bender recovered his composure, saying, “The other boy brought the whisky.”
“I always bring Rooney his whisky,” the lad said. “There’s no other boy.”
“My mistake,” Bender said, offering her the shot glass, “I was thinking of something else.”
Blaze gulped the whisky down and passed the boy the empty glass. If she hadn’t been poisoned, she would definitely be drunk.
“Don’t race today,” Bender said, his voice low. “Someone could have slipped you poison.”
“I’m already dead if someone fed me poison,” Blaze said, her placid expression masking her fear. “Pegasus will win the race before I expire.”
“MacArthur is correct,” Bender said. “You’re too damn stubborn.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
The bell sounded. Bender gave her a leg up on Pegasus and then mounted his own horse.
“Cheer up.” Blaze passed him the whip. “I will be sitting in the grandstands the next time Peg races.”
They left the paddock in pairs, jockeys on the thoroughbreds with their escorts. The crowd cheered as the first thoroughbreds appeared on the track.
“Pegasus,” someone shouted when the filly walked onto the track. The excited crowd began chanting the filly’s name.
“Peg is the crowd’s favorite,” Bender remarked.
“I won’t make any money if everyone bets on her,” Blaze said, making the trainer smile.
The two horses in front of her suddenly blurred into four, making her queasy and disoriented. If she quit now, they’d be in trouble. She needed to hang on and let Peg fly to the finish.
“Good luck,” Bender said, and turned his horse away.
Marrying the Marquis Page 16