The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Christopher blinked. “I was most assuredly not,” he replied, sitting up straighter on the seat.

  “Which has me thinking you’ve been warming her bed,” Juliet went on, ignoring his denial.

  “But... I haven’t,” he insisted. “I wouldn’t. I promise,” he continued.

  “You were thinking about it,” Juliet accused. “Here you are, telling me I cannot take a lover, and yet you wouldn’t hesitate to tumble Lady Parkerhouse. I suppose you have a mistress, as well.”

  Wide-eyed, Christopher stared at Juliet, his head shaking from side to side. “No. No, I was not. I do not.” He took a deep breath. “I would not. Juliet, I have thought of no one but you since the moment I hit you with my foil.”

  Juliet tore her gaze from his and faced forward. “Perhaps it would be best if you took me home, my lord.”

  His shoulders slumping, Christopher settled back on the seat and sighed.

  When he didn’t make a move to put the horses back into motion, Juliet dared a glance at him. His downcast eyes and slack expression had him looking far older than when he had been smiling only a few minutes earlier. Given what she had said—what she had accused him of—she expected he would react with anger. Instead, he looked as if he might shed a tear.

  Had she overreacted?

  She remembered his denials. Remembered seeing fear in his eyes as he attempted to pull her to his side. Had he thought that the barouche was about to tip over? That the horses might bolt? Given the way the team was hitched to the barouche, it was unlikely either event would occur, but perhaps he didn’t know that.

  Then she remembered his other words.

  I have thought of no one but you since the moment I hit you with my foil.

  For just a moment, she felt elation. The Earl of Haddon, heir to the Morganfield marquessate, had put voice to a claim that he only had thoughts of her since the day they had met.

  If Lady Parkerhouse hadn’t attempted to drive them off the road, Juliet wouldn’t have thought to accuse him of infidelity. They weren’t even betrothed. But the thought of Christopher in bed with Lady Parkerhouse had her reacting in a manner most unexpected.

  Why would she care if the earl had a lover?

  She had lashed out at him with words that suggested she was jealous of the widow.

  Was she?

  Juliet continued to stare at the earl for a moment before she removed a hand from her muff and laid it atop one of his. “I apologize. It’s none of my concern if you have a lover.”

  Christopher regarded her with furrowed brows. “But it is, my sweet. I want desperately for you to be my wife,” he said in a quiet voice.

  Juliet stared at him a moment before giving her head a shake. “I think it best we discuss matrimony another time,” she suggested. “One turn about Rotten Row, and then you shall see me home.”

  A glimmer of hope appeared in Christopher’s eyes, which seemed to warm both her and the barouche. The ride along the entire loop of the King’s Road would take at least a half-hour. “Agreed,” he said, lifting the reins and setting the shires into motion. “If we cannot speak of our wedding, then may we speak of horses?”

  Allowing a brilliant smile, Juliet said, “Yes. I wish to know all about yours.”

  For the next half-hour, Christopher recited the names and breeds of all the horses in the Morganfield stables, describing how they had been acquired and how they were used. He finished with the story of his racehorse, Thunder, a Thoroughbred he had purchased from Lord Reading.

  “The Marquess of Reading?” Juliet questioned in disbelief. Victoria was training two of the marquess’ colts for the racing circuit, and it was well known the Reading stables featured a number of racehorses of different ages. “But, why would Lord Reading sell one of his racehorses? I shouldn’t think he would want the competition.”

  Christopher grinned. “He already had two the same age, one for the distance races and one for the short track,” he replied. “I don’t think he believed I would succeed in running Thunder in either sort of race even though the beast has been bred for both.”

  “Will you race him?”

  “Oh, yes. I intend to enter him in as many races as he can manage when the season starts,” Christopher replied.

  “Who trains him?”

  “One of the grooms in my father’s stables at the country estate in Morganfield,” he explained. “Thunder is a bit on the large size compared to most racers, but I’ve been assured he’ll be competitive.”

  Juliet delighted in hearing the earl’s descriptions of his horses, and she felt relief that he no longer seemed so glum. When the barouche turned to exit the park, she was surprised when he asked about her horse.

  “You do have a horse of your own, do you not?” he added.

  “I have two Irish walkers, only because they were twins from my mother’s mare, and I would not allow father to sell one of them,” she replied.

  “How often do you ride them?”

  “Every day, unless I’m at Fairmont Park.”

  Christopher seemed impressed. “Should we wed, you will always be allowed to ride,” he assured her. “I hope I shall be welcome to join you.” He steered the horses to take the turn that would lead to South Audley Street.

  Juliet couldn’t imagine how she could deny the earl and said so. “Besides, I rather think you will simply do as you wish.”

  Furrowing his brows, Christopher shook his head. “It’s true I might have done so in the past. But I think it’s past time I do what’s best.”

  “And riding with me would be best?” she queried, her voice sounding doubtful.

  He nodded. “Spending as much time in your company as I am allowed, surely, whether it be riding or...” Here he stopped and regarded her with a hopeful look. “I need an heir and a spare, and I would like a daughter or two as well.”

  “So... would we share a bed?”

  He gave a start and the barouche nearly passed the Comber townhouse as he stared at Juliet. “Could we?” He quickly pulled the team to a halt at the edge of the pavement.

  Juliet considered how to respond. “Wouldn’t we have to?”

  She wasn’t prepared for what came next, but she thought later it was best she wasn’t. Christopher wrapped an arm behind her shoulders and turned in her direction, his lips taking hers in a kiss that was at first urgent and then slowly softened until he pulled away on a sigh. “You needn’t give me an answer now, for I do not expect one,” he whispered. “But promise me you’ll think about marrying me?” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a gold band festooned with sapphires and diamonds.

  Juliet’s eyes widened at seeing the gemstones. She was barely aware of him pulling her glove from her hand and slipping it on her finger until he lifted the same hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Oh, Christopher, it’s beautiful,” she murmured.

  “But not as beautiful as you,” he replied. He leaned over and stole another kiss, this one a quick peck. “I think I shall never tire of kissing you.”

  The sound of a clearing throat had the earl straightening to discover Alistair Comber peering into the barouche, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  “Likewise, Comber. As you can see, I’ve brought your daughter back in one piece and in just under an hour’s time.”

  Alistair allowed a nod. “If you’ve the time, her mother insists you come in for tea. It’s freezing out here.”

  Until that moment, Juliet hadn’t given the weather a single thought. But without the warmth of the quilts and the earl’s hold on her, she shivered. “Will you join us?”

  Christopher nodded. “I will, thank you.” He wrapped the reins around the pole and stepped down. Turning to assist Juliet, he noted how she had already pulled her glove back onto her hand, covering the ring.

  “Just until we’re out of the cold,” she murmured.

  Ever so satisfied with himself, Christopher helped her down and escorted her to the house. Once i
nside, he behaved as the perfect guest during tea.

  But even more importantly, he secured permission to take Juliet for a ride on horseback the day after next, probably because Juliet’s mother spied the ring and surreptitiously pointed it out to her father.

  Christopher really wanted to take her the following day, but he remembered Tom’s suggestion that he give the girl some time to consider his suit. And to consider him.

  Chase her until she catches you.

  Chapter 25

  A Two-Foot Tumble

  Meanwhile, at Fairmont House

  Having finished her luncheon whilst reading that day’s issue of The Times, Victoria was on her way up the stairs to change into riding clothes when she heard a commotion at the front door.

  The sound of a familiar man’s voice caused a slight smile to form on her lips, a sensation of excitement skittering under her skin.

  Mr. Grandby had returned.

  Clark admitted him into the house, but when the butler made his way toward the stairs to announce her caller, Victoria lifted a hand to wave him off. “Mr. Grandby! To what do I owe this honor?” she asked as she moved to pivot on the stairs and make her way back down.

  Tom’s long legs carried him to the base of the stairs in just a few strides. “Lady Victoria,” he said as he gave a bow. “I bring good news.”

  Victoria allowed a brilliant smile and started her descent. The slipper of her crushed foot caught on a runner, though, and she pitched forward. Reaching out to grasp the railing, she missed and fell.

  Watching as if the events happening before him were occurring in slow motion, Tom knew exactly the moment Victoria lost her footing, knew exactly which way her body would twist as it tumbled forward, knew exactly where to place his arm to catch her shoulders, knew exactly how to brace his body to stop her downward fall so her head wouldn’t hit the bottom step.

  At the last second, his other arm reached beneath her knees in an attempt to keep her perfect bum from hitting the stairs, and he almost succeeded.

  Victoria stared up at him, her mouth forming a perfect ‘o.’

  Tom stared down at her, his brows furrowed in worry. “Are you all right?”

  Blinking, Victoria stiffened in his hold. “I... I think so.”

  “I’ve never had a woman fall for me before,” he said, a teasing grin replacing his serious expression. He lifted her from the stairs and turned so they were away from the bottom step, his gaze never leaving her eyes.

  “Put me down,” she ordered, as she began to struggle in his hold.

  “Oh, of course,” he replied as he bent and lowered his one arm so her feet could touch the ground. As soon as she put weight on them, though, she winced and nearly fell against him.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “What hurts?”

  Victoria’s hands moved to his shoulders, gripping them to lift herself in an effort to relieve the pain. “My foot... or my ankle. I think... I think I twisted it.”

  Lifting her into his arms, Tom started to climb the stairs.

  “What do you think you’re you doing?”

  “Taking you to... to someplace where I can examine your foot.”

  Victoria thought to protest, but they were already halfway up the stairs, and he carried her as if she were nothing more than a feather. “Second door to the right,” she murmured. For just a moment, she had considered giving him directions to the guest bedchamber, but she didn’t want him thinking she slept in a room decorated in every imaginable shade of pink.

  Tom stepped over the threshold and paused a moment to get his bearings. An immediate calm settled over him as the various shades of soft blue surrounded him. “Is this your bedchamber?” he asked as he moved to the bed and set her on it. He had expected to see pink, and lots of it. He had five sisters who tended to favor the feminine color.

  “It is,” she admitted, her response sounding defensive.

  “Unexpected, but rather elegant,” he murmured as he knelt before the bed and placed his hand beneath the misshapen foot. He pulled the slipper off.

  “Oh, please don’t,” she said, and then winced when her attempt to free her foot from his hold sent pain radiating up her leg. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Tom ignored her protest, one hand cupping the heel of her foot as he used his thumb and forefinger to knead her flat foot through her silk stocking. “Does this hurt?” he asked as he pressed the area near her largest toe.

  “No,” she replied, her brows furrowing when she leaned over to see what he was doing. Her skirts prevented her from seeing her foot, though, so she pulled them taut over the front of her lower legs. She watched as he moved his thumb, rotating it over the top of her foot and gently pressing as he did so.

  Tom marveled at the distance between the bones, realizing several had to have been crushed or broken.

  “And now?”

  “No,” she said on an exhalation of breath.

  “What about now?”

  “Are you a doctor, Mr. Grandby?”

  Tom lifted his eyes to meet hers, wincing when he noted the tears that had collected in their corners. “No, but... my father made us learn about all the bones in a body. Muscles and ligaments. How everything is connected,” he said as his ministrations moved farther up her foot towards the ankle. “With five boys in the family, we frequently suffered sprains and scrapes,” he added with a grin. “What about now?”

  Victoria grimaced and inhaled sharply, and Tom was quick to release the pressure he had put on the inner ankle.

  “I apologize. I don’t wish to hurt you, but can you wiggle your toes?” He turned his attention back to her foot, noting how broad it was where it had apparently been crushed.

  “Why?”

  “I wish to ensure there’s nothing broken,” he replied. “Nothing torn.”

  “Everything was broken,” she countered in a huff, but she did as she was told and attempted to wiggle her toes. Only three complied as she winced again and sucked in air between her teeth

  “I can see that... or feel it, rather. It’s a wonder you can walk at all, let alone move your toes as you just did.” He once again moved his hands into place around her foot, gently massaging it. “What happened to crush it?”

  No longer able to hold back the tears, Victoria whispered, “My brother’s horse stepped on it.”

  “When did it happen?” he asked as he absently pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and offered it to her.

  “Seven or eight years ago, I think.” She sniffled and took the square of fabric, staring at the embroidered initials in one corner.

  TRG.

  “Was he being especially cranky that day?”

  “How did you know?” she asked in a huff, sniffling as she dabbed her eyes.

  Tom didn’t, but he remembered some of what he had learned from Alistair that day at White’s. “Were the mares in heat?”

  Victoria inhaled on a sob. “How did you know?”

  Giving his head a quick shake, he said, “The stableboy at the mews behind Arthur’s has mentioned how unruly the stallions can be in the early spring. I do hope you weren’t otherwise injured?”

  Victoria hated thinking of that day. After spending nearly four months with a dance master, she had been scheduled to attend her first ball the following night. The injury had left her bedridden for a month and unable to ride for another month after that. “My pride, of course.” At seeing his questioning frown, she added, “I had been around horses my entire life, and never once had one do such a thing.”

  “You think he did it deliberately?”

  Her eyes darting to one side, Victoria sniffled and said, “I remember it felt like it at the time. I was so hurt because I spent more time with that beast than my brother did.”

  Tom gazed at her a moment, noting her appearance didn’t suffer due to her tears. Except for his youngest sister, Emily, his sisters had all been ugly criers. “They say being hurt by the one you love hurts twic
e as much,” he murmured as he returned his attention to her foot. “Does this hurt?” he asked as he pressed on her outer ankle bone.

  “No. What are you doing now?” she asked. Although his ministrations weren’t unpleasant, she knew he shouldn’t be doing them at all. He shouldn’t have had her foot in his hands. And he certainly shouldn’t have been in her bedchamber.

  “Can you feel this?” he asked as he pressed a thumb into the ball of her foot.

  “Of course.”

  “And this?” He moved the thumb to where her arch would have been if it had not collapsed from the pressure of a horse’s hoof stepping on it. Her foot jerked.

  “Did you just do that because it tickled? Or... or because it hurt?” he asked.

  “Neither,” she replied.

  He pressed the area again and once more, the foot jerked. “You didn’t feel that?”

  “I have no control over it,” she argued.

  “When your foot is in a riding boot, do you feel the stirrup through the boot? The pressure of it?”

  She straightened and considered the question for a long moment. “Not as much as I do with my other foot, I suppose,” she admitted. “Why do you ask?”

  Although he was prevented from seeing the details of her foot—the white silk stocking was opaque—Tom tried to imagine how the skin would appear stretched over the broadest part of her foot. Curious, he slid the hand at her ankle up the back of her calf and asked, “Is it possible Sam senses that?”

  Victoria inhaled at the sensation she felt as his warm hand smoothed up her leg. “What ever do you mean?”

  Tom untied the ribbon at the top of her stocking. “Do you suppose Sam limps because he senses that the pressure from that stirrup is different from the other one?”

  Caught between imagining what he was describing and knowing that his fingers had just untied the ribbon at the top of her stocking, Victoria struggled to come up with an answer. “It’s possible, I suppose,” she murmured. She closed her eyes as she felt the stocking catch at the top of her knee.

  “Fascinating,” he replied.