Marrying the Marquis

by Patricia Grasso

  Blaze moved Pegasus into position at the start line. She crouched low, her gaze on the official holding the flag. Seeing two flags didn’t matter as long as she saw them drop.

  And then the Jockey Club official dropped the flag.

  Peg run.

  Run, run, run. Peg bolted off the start line to take the lead.

  “Faster, faster, faster,” Blaze whispered.

  And Peg flew like the mythical winged horse. The filly increased her lead, racing against herself, leaving the others behind.

  Blaze felt the world spinning out of her control. Determined to stay seated and win, she slumped forward and clung to the filly’s neck.

  Ross stood on the path in the copse of trees beyond the finish line. “Call the race,” he shouted to the jockey.

  “They’re off.” With spyglass raised, Rooney sat on a tree limb. “Sweet Jesus, our girls are in the lead. No holes blocking them. Peg gaining speed. Ten lengths in front. Fifteen, twenty…” The jockey looked down at him, his face ashen and his expression stricken. “Blaze is slumped over Peg’s neck.”

  Ross didn’t need to hear more. He ran down the path, the jockey two steps behind him.

  Bursting into the clearing, Ross saw Peg crossing the finish line first. The official waved the Campbell colors, and he heard a roar of approval from the grandstands.

  Peg slowed gradually and stopped near Ross. Blaze lay slumped over the filly’s neck. Her eyes were closed, her lips were moving in silent chant, and her knuckles were white from holding the filly so tight.

  “I’m here, lass.” Ross gently lifted her off the filly and lay her on the grass.

  Blaze opened her eyes, whispering, “Whisky drugged.” And then she lost consciousness.

  Three hours later, Ross paced back and forth across the Inverary drawing room. Reaching the front, he pushed the drapes aside to look out the window at the courtyard. Then he turned and crossed the room to stare at the portrait of Gabrielle Flambeau.

  He should have listened to Bender. He should never have allowed her to jockey Pegasus. He should have known she would be targeted.

  The Duchess of Inverary had promised to report on Blaze’s condition but hadn’t appeared yet. The Duke of Inverary and his own father were meeting with the members of the Jockey Club.

  “Sit down, MacArthur. You are tiring us.”

  Ross paused in his pacing and looked at Prince Lykos Kazanov, sitting on the sofa. Grim-faced, Bobby Bender and Rooney sat in high-backed chairs.

  The Duke of Inverary and the Duke of Kilchurn appeared in the drawing room doorway. Bender, Rooney, and even Prince Lykos stood when the older men walked into the room.

  Without a word or a glance at them, the Duke of Inverary accepted the glass of whisky his old friend passed him. The duke prolonged their misery by sipping his whisky before speaking.

  “Peg’s win stands,” the duke told them. “Apparently, the rules do not include a ban on female jockeys.” He looked at Ross. “That oversight has now been corrected.” Next the duke turned to the trainer and the jockey. “The Club forgives your transgressions in this affair, assuming you had no choice but obey the marquis’s order. You are still in my employ and will leave now.”

  Bender and Rooney hurried out of the drawing room before he changed his mind. If the duke dismissed them, no one would hire them after this fiasco.

  “Your membership has not been revoked,” the Duke of Inverary told Ross, “but the Club considers you a troublemaker and will be watching.” He drained his whisky and set the glass on a table. “I am going upstairs to confer with Dr. Elliott and my wife about my daughter’s health and will return to tell you the news.” At that, the duke quit the chamber.

  “Do ye have a brain in yer head? How could ye behave so irresponsibly?” The Duke of Kilchurn rounded on his son as soon as his friend disappeared out the door. “Ye’ve embarrassed me and, more important, endangered my friend’s daughter. She could have been killed, not to mention the damage ye’ve done to her reputation.”

  Ross remained silent, knowing he deserved worse than a dressing down. His father should have shown more discretion than rebuke him in front of the prince, but he didn’t think pointing that out would lighten his father’s mood.

  “Well? Do ye have nothin’ to say?”

  “Yer correct, Father.” Ross met his gaze. “I used poor judgment.”

  “Poor judgment? Ye nearly caused a catastrophe.” His father walked away, though, silenced by his son’s remorse.

  A short time later, the Duke and Duchess walked into the drawing room. “Magnus, calm yourself,” the duchess was saying.

  Inverary poured himself a whisky and didn’t bother to sip. He committed the ultimate sacrilege by belting the whisky down in a single gulp.

  Ross feared the worst. How could he live with himself if Blaze died?

  “My daughter is awake and as well as can be expected,” Inverary told them. “Dr. Elliott believes she’d been slipped a sedative but will recover.”

  “The news is good,” Ross said, every muscle in his body relaxing.

  “You have relieved my mind,” Lykos echoed the sentiment.

  “There is more, however.” The duke paused a moment and then added, “I trust whatever I say will not be repeated.”

  “Magnus, you need not involve His Highness in this,” the duchess said.

  “His Highness was supping with Blaze at the Ball,” the duke argued, “and he’s been visiting on a regular basis.”

  “I can vouch for his behavior,” the duchess said. “You will create a scandal.”

  The Duke of Inverary rounded on his wife. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Roxie, Ross and Blaze already created the scandal.”

  “I assure Your Graces,” Lykos spoke up, “I will keep your confidence.”

  The Duke of Inverary stared at Ross, making him squirm mentally. He looked at Lykos for a long moment before shifting his gaze to Ross again.

  “Who impregnated my daughter?”

  Ross dropped his mouth open and tried to get his mind around what the duke had asked. He was going to be a father?

  “I will marry Blaze,” Prince Lykos said.

  “I’ll marry her,” Ross growled. “She’s carryin’ my heir.”

  “Blaze refused to name the father, and I needed to be certain before accusing Ross.” The Duke of Inverary offered the prince his hand. “I thank you for your offer.”

  Lykos shook the duke’s hand. “You can depend on my discretion.” The prince nodded at the Duke of Kilchurn and grinned at Ross. “I congratulate your impending fatherhood.” And then he left the drawing room.

  “I hope your powers of persuasion are as sharp as your powers of seduction,” Inverary told Ross. “Blaze refuses to marry, but if she doesn’t, I will kill you.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” the duchess said. “Of course, they’ll marry. Blaze will view the situation differently once she’s rested. Five years from now, we will enjoy a merry chuckle about this affair. I mean, situation.”

  “I may not live that long,” the duke replied. “My daughters are digging me an early grave. Would that I had sired all sons.”

  “Sons give us gray hair, too,” the Duke of Kilchurn told his friend.

  “I’ll speak with Blaze now,” Ross said.

  “You will speak with her when I allow it,” the duke told him. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”

  “I will return in the mornin’.” Ross crossed the drawing room to leave. Behind him, he heard Inverary saying to his father, “Let’s toast our sharing grandchildren.”

  With Puddles at her feet, Blaze sat in a corner of the drawing room and stared at her mother’s portrait. She’d never known her mother the way she appeared in the portrait—incredibly young, sensuously innocent, surprisingly happy. The woman she’d known had been broken by losing her family in the Terror, loving a man unable to marry her, and giving birth to seven illegitimate daughters.

  Gabrielle Flambeau had been a countess, but Soci
ety shunned women who broke the rules. Society was less stringent when a gentleman sinned, averting their collective gazes and pretending ignorance.

  Life was unfair. Women were either wives or mistresses. Only men were allowed to be more than husbands and lovers.

  Now Blaze understood that Gabrielle drank to dull the pain. She wished she’d been kinder to her mother. Why did understanding come too late? She’d give her right leg to reverse time and relive those days. Would her mother still live if she’d been kinder?

  Her thoughts turned to the marquis. Ross would soon be arriving to propose marriage. What else could he do? He was unmarried, and their fathers were best friends. Refusing to marry her meant ruining a lifelong friendship.

  She needed to consider what was best for her baby. She recalled her own childhood and her yearning for a father. She did not want her child labeled a bastard, nor would a son thank her for tossing his birthright away.

  When the marquis proposed marriage, she would give him one chance to escape. If he did not take it, then so be it. She didn’t relish the thought of living with a husband who did not love her, but she would make the sacrifice for her babe. What else could she do?

  Puddles lifted his head. Man come.

  Ross MacArthur stood in the doorway and flashed her a smile. His heart wrenched at the sadness in her smile. She seemed so alone and small, much too delicate to carry his child.

  “How are ye feelin’ today?” Ross sat beside her on the settee.

  “I’m completely recovered.”

  “Ye gave me a scare,” he said. “I should’ve known the villain would target ye before the race.”

  “What’s done is past,” she assured him. “I’m relieved Pegasus wasn’t harmed. Did you hear the crowd chanting her name?”

  “I dinna want to discuss Pegasus or racin’,” Ross told her. “What’s done isna past. We’ll soon become parents and must discuss the future.”

  Blaze looked at him through enormous blue eyes, and Ross felt himself falling under her spell. He forgot himself when she looked at him, the urge to kiss her banishing rational thought.

  Puddles whined, breaking the moment. The mastiff lifted his paw.

  “I nearly forgot ye.” Ross reached into his pocket. He unfolded a napkin and gave the dog a cinnamon cookie.

  Ross slipped his arm around Blaze’s shoulders and drew her against his body. “We’ll marry as soon as possible.”

  “Are you asking or telling?”

  Oops, he’d forgotten the crankiness of pregnant women. “I meant, will ye do me the honor of becomin’ my wife?”

  “You don’t need to marry me because I’m pregnant,” Blaze said, offering him the escape route. “My father never married my mother.”

  “Yer father was a fool,” Ross said, “but dinna repeat that. I want to marry ye if ye’ll have me.”

  “Yes, I will marry you.”

  “Ye willna regret this.” Ross lowered his head and kissed her. “I’ll never let ye down.”

  “I believe you and will never let you down,” Blaze promised him. “I need a tiny favor.”

  “I’ll give ye anythin’ within my power.”

  “The mornings sicken me. I want to schedule Peg’s track practice later in the day.”

  “That’s an enormous favor,” Ross teased her, “but I can manage it.”

  He’d won her hand in marriage. Now he needed to win her love. By fair means or foul.

  Alexander Blake sat inside his grandfather’s coach, his destination Inverary House. Constable Black was indefinitely detained in London, and Alexander dreaded giving the Duke of Inverary the bad news.

  Without any hard evidence, this horse-racing business was becoming complicated. The villain had left no clues, and no witnesses had stepped forward.

  After yesterday’s fiasco at the track, Alexander scratched MacArthur’s name off his list of possible suspects. MacArthur would not help Blaze and then drug her.

  Alexander grinned, thinking of Blaze Flambeau disguised as a jockey and riding her filly into horse-racing history, His future sister-in-law was an Original, and he hoped her luck held for the rest of the season.

  The coach halted in the Inverary House courtyard. Alexander climbed out and walked toward the house.

  The majordomo opened the door. “Welcome, Lord Blake.”

  “Thank you, Tinker.” Alexander walked into the foyer. “His Grace is expecting me.”

  “His Grace will need to wait,” Tinker said. “Miss Raven wants to speak with you before the meeting. She’s waiting in the garden.”

  Alexander gave him a puzzled smile. “This sounds serious.”

  “A life-or-death emergency, I’m sure.”

  Alexander made his way through the mansion to the garden door. Stepping outside, he paused to inhale the mingling scents of lilacs and wisteria.

  Nearest the mansion were flowerbeds and shrubs. An Elizabethan maze created from clipped hedges stood beyond, and Alexander made a mental note to get lost with Raven in the maze.

  Manicured lawns carpeted the grounds. In the distance, the gazebo perched at the edge of the woodland. Even from this distance, he saw Raven pacing back and forth.

  Alexander had a bad feeling. Why did Raven need to speak with him so far from the house? Was she angry? Or did she expect his anger?

  “Hello, Brat.” Alexander climbed the gazebo’s steps. “If we were any farther from the house, we’d be speaking in London.”

  He smiled, admiring her fresh beauty, especially her courtesan lips. She would become his wife in a few short weeks, and then he could taste those lips whenever he wanted.

  Raven fidgeted with her betrothal ring. “We must postpone our wedding.”

  “Last summer you refused a Christmas wedding because you wanted June,” Alexander reminded her, annoyance tingeing his voice. “Now you want to postpone our June wedding?”

  “I do not want to postpone our wedding,” she said, “but my sister’s need is greater.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Blaze is pregnant,” Raven told him, “so I offered her our arrangements. My stepmother cannot plan two weddings at the same time.”

  Alexander stared at her for a long moment. He understood her reasoning, but she hadn’t consulted him to make postponing their wedding a joint decision. If their roles were reversed, she would be livid.

  “You offered without consulting me?” It was a statement, not a question.

  Raven ignored his irritation. “We can plan a festive Christmas wedding.”

  “No.”

  She looked surprised. “October?”

  “No.”

  “August?”

  “I refuse to make plans that will be canceled,” Alexander said.

  Raven stepped back a pace as if she’d been struck. Her complexion paled, and her bottom lip trembled.

  “You’re breaking our engagement?”

  “We need a longer engagement,” Alexander said, his gaze softening on her. “You need time to settle this marriage matter in your mind.”

  “What about His Grace?”

  “My grandfather will survive.” Alexander turned to leave. “I am meeting your father and cannot linger to discuss this.”

  And then Alexander walked away, one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He refused to look over his shoulder lest he catch her weeping. Or hexing him with incantations.

  Raven didn’t mind postponing their wedding but worried that he’d changed his mind about marrying her. Let her worry for once. Suffering was good for the soul.

  Reaching the duke’s office, Alexander shook his hand and sat in a leather chair in front of the oak desk. “I apologize, Your Grace, but Constable Black is needed in London. He will come to Newmarket as soon as possible.”

  “You have been working with the constable for several years,” the duke said. “I have confidence in your ability.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  The door opened, drawing their attention. Blaze pe
eked into the office.

  “Come inside,” the duke said, beckoning her. “Alex wants to ask you about yesterday.”

  “Tell me what happened,” Alex said, when she sat in the chair beside his.

  “Rooney takes a whisky shot to calm his nerves before a race,” Blaze told him. “At The Craven, a boy delivered the whisky to the paddock. Yesterday, I was crossing the heath when a boy approached me and handed me the glass of whisky.”

  “Can you describe the boy?”

  “He was small,” she answered, “and his hair was brown.”

  “Hundreds of boys in Newmarket fit that description,” the duke remarked.

  “I would recognize him if I saw him again.”

  “Too bad there isn’t an object for Raven to read,” Alexander said.

  “There might be an object,” Blaze said, smiling. “I lifted the whisky glass out of the boy’s hand without stopping and gulped it on the way to the paddock. I passed the empty glass to Bender, who pocketed it.”

  “Tinker,” the Duke of Inverary called.

  “Yes, Your Grace?” The majordomo opened the door and stepped inside. “I was just passing by when—”

  “Send a footman to Bender,” the duke interrupted. “I want the empty whisky glass Blaze handed him, if he still has it.”

  “I understand, Your Grace.”

  “With all the excitement yesterday,” the duke said, “Bender may have forgotten the glass in his pocket.”

  “I hope so.” Alexander looked at Blaze. “Congratulations on your filly’s win and best wishes on your impending marriage.”

  “I apologize for using your arrangements.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Alexander said. “Raven needs more time. We’ve decided to wait a while before planning another wedding.”

  “My wife will never approve,” the Duke of Inverary said. “Roxie will believe you’re breaking the engagement.”

  “With all due respect, Her Grace should complain to Raven.”

  A short time later, Tinker rushed into the room. He carried an empty whisky glass.

  “Send Raven here.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Meanwhile, Raven sat alone in the drawing room and thought about Alexander. Of course, she wanted to marry him. She had loved him forever and could not imagine life without him.