Juliet flushed, then shrugged. “I was just—”~
“I know, I know. You were trying to help. Just don’t.” Honoria leveled a gaze at the whole lot of them. “Whatever you do, do
not
help me again. Any of you.”
And that was that. Honoria spent the better part of two hours learning all about horses; what they ate, which saddles fit best, and even some suggestions on how to take a low fence. But the parts she lingered over were the sections on dealing with difficult or nervy horses. Still, with every word she read, she became more certain that she’d lose the wager tomorrow. It was difficult to hide her low spirits from her sisters, though by focusing on other things whenever possible, she felt she’d done a fairly creditable job.
In fact, by the time dinner came, she was able to smile somewhat, and even joke with George about his plans to get more frogs and string them to his little wooden carriage and make them his mighty steeds. It wasn’t until later, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling as sleep eluded her, that all of her doubts and fears came rushing back. It didn’t help to realize that the worst aspect of the entire thing was the fact that not only would she lose the bet and potentially make a fool of herself, but would do it in front of the marquis. For some reason, that sent her low spirits even lower.
Sighing, she thumped her pillows a few times and pulled the covers over her head. Why oh why did he have to pick horses?
“Where are you going?”
Marcus paused on the steps as he descended into the grand foyer and raised his brows at his brother, Anthony. “When did you get here?”
Jeffries, who was halfway up the steps, said in an apologetic tone. “I was just on my way to inform you that your brother had called, my lord.”
“I am informed now.” Marcus came the rest of the way down the stairs, Jeffries falling in behind him. “Anthony, what are you doing up so early?”
“I came to see if you wished to go to Somerset with me for the auction. Langhome is selling off all of his horses.”
Marcus led the way into the breakfast room and took his seat at the table. “Even his hunters?”
Anthony followed, waving off the hovering servant who tried to set a dish of eggs before him. “Especially his hunters.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“Yes, well, he married a year ago, and I believe now that his wife is in the family way, he wishes to reenergize his estates.”
“A wise move.”
“A good one for me, anyway,” Anthony said with a slow grin. “I’ve been looking for some likely mounts for the children.”
Jeffries entered with a tray bearing the day’s invitations.
Marcus absently flipped through them as he ate. “I daresay the Langhome sale will have exactly what you need. I wish I could go with you, but I’ve an appointment of my own.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Apparently I did not lose the archery tournament with Miss Baker-Sneed after all.”
Anthony blinked. “
What
?”
“That was my reaction exactly. Apparently, Honoria’s sisters played a trick with the target. And so, the entire contest was forfeit.”
“How did you discover the deception?”
“From the lips of the vanquished. She apparently had no knowledge of the trick, and when she discovered it, she told me of it.”
Anthony gave a silent whistle. “There’s a strong proof of character for you. I’m not sure I would have told you if that had happened to me.”
It had been a mark of character, Marcus realized. He was coming to realize that Honoria was a woman beyond the usual in many, many ways.
Anthony leaned back in his seat, his mouth curved in a wide smile.
Marcus caught the knowing look and frowned. “Don’t say a word.”
Anthony chuckled. “I don’t need to.”
“Good. As for the contest, never fear. I rescheduled it, only this time we will be riding.”
“That’s good?”
“Unless I mistake her reaction, the lady is not comfortable with horses.”
“Oh ho! Well, that should give you an advantage. Of course, the last time you thought to win—”
“As I said, not one more word.” Marcus shoved the unopened stacks of invitations away. “I don’t need your pleas-ant wit today. I shall have to spend at least an hour, perhaps two, in Miss Baker-Sneed’s company. She will see to it that my character is ripped to shreds, my sense of self-worth destroyed, and my innate good breeding tested as far as propriety will allow.”
“I really must spend some time with this woman. She sounds absolutely intriguing.” Anthony idly picked up a pink envelope edged in white and sniffed it cautiously. “Good God!” He held it out with two fingers, blinking furiously, his eyes watering profusely.
Marcus grimaced. “Lady Percival. She writes no less than twice a day.”
“Twice a—you must be joking.” Anthony stared at the missive.
“No. I ignore them all, of course.”
“Did she wear that scent when you were together?”
“No. I’d have left her much sooner if she had. I’ve noticed that the longer I go without answering her, the more fragrant her missives have become.”
Anthony gingerly shook the letter, then eyed Marcus with a questioning gaze. “May I?”
Marcus shrugged and leaned back so the footman could remove his plate.
Careful not to touch too much of the scented envelope, Anthony opened the letter. He read it quickly, his brows climbing as he went. “She wants you back at any cost.”
“How unfortunate for her.”
Anthony finished reading it, then tossed it into the stack. As he wiped his hand on Marcus’s napkin, he said, “I had no idea Lady Percival was still enamored of you.”
“Of my bank accounts, perhaps. But not of me.”
“I would tread cautiously. A woman scorned, you know.”
“Yes, yes. I know. I shall deal with her the best way I know how, by ignoring her completely. That will do the trick eventually, see if it doesn’t.”
Anthony leaned back and stretched. “I hope so. She isn’t a woman to be taken lightly.”
“None of them are.” Marcus pushed himself from the table. “I’m glad to see you before you left. How long will you be gone?”
“Two days. Three at most.”
“Very well. Let me walk you to your carriage. I need to visit the stable, anyway, and select the mounts for my wager.”
They rose and made their way to the grand hall. “You get to select both mounts?”
“Oh yes. Miss Honoria does not possess a riding horse, though if she did, I do not think she would ever ride it.”
Anthony frowned. “If she’s actually frightened of horses, I wouldn’t put her on a spirited mount.”
Marcus sent a dark glance at Anthony. “I’ve no wish to kill her. I just want to win this wager and get that damned ring back in my possession.”
“What horse will you give her?”
Marcus smiled. “The lovely Honoria will get the opportunity to test the paces of Lightning.”
“Lightning!” Anthony appeared startled, coming to a halt at the front door. “Our sister’s old mount?”
“None other.” Marcus nodded to the footman who held open the front door, and then preceded Anthony out of it.
“I can’t believe that old lazy bag of bones is still alive.”
“She is alive and well and in my stables, eating her head off. Sara lets that wild boy of hers ride him whenever they are in town. It is a severe trial for both of them, the horse and the child.”
Anthony chuckled. “I daresay. I would give twenty quid to see Miss Baker-Sneed’s face when she sees what a lunk you have chosen for her.”
Marcus had to smile. “Indeed, I have been imagining much the same myself. She will not be pleased, though I can hardly put her on a more lively horse without endangering her.”
Anthony made his way down the marble stairs to his waiting carriage. “I agree; you have no choice. Which horse will
you
ride?”
“Demon. I shall take one small hedgerow in the park, which Demon will clear without hesitation, while Lightning will do nothing but stand in place, mutinous at the thought of having to do anything other than walk.”
Anthony grinned widely as he reached his carriage. “I can’t see how you’ll lose this one.”
“I won’t.” Marcus’s smile matched his brother’s. “I’ll let you know how I fare when you return.”
“Indeed you will, even if I have to chase you down and pummel the facts out of you.” Anthony climbed into the seat and allowed the footman to close the door. He leaned out the window. “Best of luck, although it doesn’t sound as if you’ll need it.”
Marcus raised his hand and watched his brother’s carriage as it lurched forward and then moved down the front drive and out into the welter of elegant conveyances that moved up and down the streets of Mayfair. Smiling a little to himself, he turned and went to the stables. The slowest horse in all Christendom waited there, soon to be ridden by the most outspoken woman in all of England.
Had there ever been a more perfect match?
Honoria climbed out of the coach, blinking woozily into the face of Treymount’s unconventional coachman. “My!” she said weakly.
“Got ye here in nine and a half minutes flat, miss!” He helped her out of the carriage. “Oiye daresay ye’ve never made it faster, have ye?”
“No. No, I haven’t.” She shook her head slightly. She’d been somewhat shocked when the marquis had sent his carriage for her first thing this morning, along with a letter informing her that the two outriders were, in fact, going to accompany them on their ride so that she would not need to bring a chaperone. It was unconventionally high-handed, but very Treymount-like, and she had to admire his thoroughness.
To be honest, she hadn’t thought about the proprieties. She’d been too busy fighting her fears. Even now, her palms felt damp, and her heart was ready to leap at any sudden sound. She just knew the man would pick a difficult horse. If she was smart, she’d admit her fear.
If she was smart, she’d never have made this bargain to begin with. She sighed heavily.
“There you are,” came a deep, rich voice. Honoria turned to see the marquis standing on the top step of Treymount House. He walked toward her, pulling on his riding gloves. Dressed in a somber pair of black riding breeches and black coat, his white cravat the only bright touch, he appeared darkly handsome.
Despite her trepidation, Honoria couldn’t help feeling a leap of attraction. She smoothed her riding habit. It was actually one of Cassandra’s old ones, since Honoria had no need for one herself. Thanks to Portia’s expert touches, no one would know that it hadn’t been expressly made for Honoria. She just wished the hue was a bit more vibrant. Somehow, pale blue didn’t seem to be her color. Perhaps a deep rich red, to embolden her a bit, would have been perfect.
He came to a halt beside her, glinting a smile that robbed her of the ability to breathe. “Well? Are you ready? I spent all morning choosing your mount.”
“Oh?” She shrugged, feigning an indifference that she most definitely did not feel. She was certain the wretch had chosen the liveliest, most difficult horse in the stable. Ye gods, what if the thing actually bit people? What if—
A warm hand found her elbow. She glanced up to meet Treymount’s concerned gaze. “Don’t,” he said.
Don’t what? She pressed a hand to her nauseous stomach. “I—I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“There she is now.”
“What?” She followed his gaze to the street. A beautiful black horse came prancing along, led by a footman wearing the Treymount livery. “Good God,” she said weakly. “You can’t mean… Wh-What’s her name?” ‘
“Lightning.”
“Lightning?”
“My sister named her.”
“Oh. She’s—” The horse shied at a leaf that fluttered in the street, rearing back and yanking fiercely on the reins, hooves flashing dangerously near the man’s head.
Honoria took a startled step back. “Treymount, I can’t ride—you shouldn’t have—there’s no way I—”
He grasped her shoulders and gave her a shake. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Th-That horse. I cannot—” Her voice locked itself away and all she could do was move her lips, tears springing to her eyes.
He frowned, glancing from her to the street. Suddenly, a dawning expression entered his face. “Oh no, Honoria. That is not your horse. Demon is my mount. Your horse is following Demon.”
She turned and looked. And then looked again. Behind the frisky gelding came another horse. “That’s Lightning? The fleetest horse in your stables?”
He released her shoulders, laughter lighting his blue eyes. “Who said anything about the fleetest horse in my stables? I would not have you injured, my sweet. Not for any wager.”
For some reason, the words sent most of Honoria’s fears flying away. He really was a nice man. A genuinely nice man. She’d spent a good portion of the night before thinking of his reaction to her sisters’ duplicity, and she had to admit, he’d taken it quite well. Better, in fact, than she’d hoped. And now, instead of putting her on a steed guaranteed to win him the bet at first try, he’d given her a chance to keep her dignity.
She knew she wouldn’t win—his horse was too sprightly, too capable, and her horse… She looked again and almost smiled. Honoria doubted it would win a single sprint or take even a little fence. But still, it would not be a humiliating, frightening experience.