“Because you must know that I cannot learn enough in an hour to defeat you. I merely wish not to look like a fool. I might even find a game with one of the others who is worse. Sandaree never played, I’d wager.”
“That poor girl,” Claire said, the first kind words Simone had heard her utter. “Get her. I’ll show both of you at the same time.”
Simone couldn’t tell if Claire was sabotaging the lessons by giving them the wrong rules or bad advice, but she and Sandaree had fun, with no male acting superior or making suggestive remarks when they leaned over the table. Sandaree was a natural at holding the stick, while Simone was better at figuring angles. Together they might have a chance. Claire actually laughed with them.
Before they left the billiards room to change into their riding habits, Claire held Simone back instead of letting her follow Sandaree. “Inform Harry that if he tells anyone else about my daughter, I will see every door in London shut to him and to you, Royce connection or not.”
“You have a daughter?” Simone gasped. “Harry never told me.”
Claire slammed the cue stick down so hard it shattered.
Simone drew her own conclusions. “I suppose Gorham does not know. And I also guess that is why you need the money so badly. I sympathize, I truly do. I have a young brother to support, so I understand. I would never tell anyone your secret. Neither would Harry. He’s better at keeping secrets than anyone I have ever met.”
She could tell that Claire was not appeased by the hard wooden ball that went sailing past her head into a painting of one of Gorham’s ancestors. Claire would have used the information against a competitor; she obviously thought Simone would too.
“I am not your enemy,” Simone said before Claire could pick up another billiard ball to toss, although she did consider letting her hostess destroy the room so the contest could be cancelled. “And Harry is trustworthy.”
She repeated that to herself on her way to the bedchamber, where the trustworthy toad was still sleeping. She could hear Sarah in the dressing room, but Metlock must have taken the dog out. He also must have pulled Harry’s boots off and covered him with a blanket so he did not appear quite as debauched. He still smelled of brandy, though, and Simone hoped he’d have the devil’s own headache when he finally woke up. Which had to be now, if he was to be any help to her at all.
“Harry, the race.”
He succeeded in opening an eyelid, with great effort. “You don’t have to ride. It’s almost over.”
“No, the race won’t begin for another hour.”
He yawned. “Not the race, the other.”
“What other?”
“I can’t tell you, not yet.”
She watched him stretch, pulling his shirt taut over hard muscles, then remembered her grievances and Claire’s daughter. “There is a great deal you do not tell me. But you can tell me about Gorhams’ race track. You said you were going to look it over yesterday. And you can tell me anything I need to know about pacing the gelding.”
He rubbed at his eyes, then said, “You can’t ride the bay. Too tired.”
“I realize you are tired, but you have no one to blame but yourself, and you might try to help for my sake. Or for the bets you’ve placed, at the very least.”
He put one foot out of the bed. “Not me. It’s Lodestar who’s spent. I had to ride him last night.”
“You rode my horse?” The bay gelding was his, of course, but Simone could not bother with minor details right now.
“Gorham’s bound to have something suitable. Ask him for a mount. Lud, I need a bath.”
Simone almost gave him one with her dirty wash water.
*
In her elegant new habit, Simone should have felt confident, eager for the race. Instead, she was dreading it, with good cause. The male house guests were all at the stables, along with many London bucks who had come for the race and the ball, plus a score of local residents. Simone could see Daniel Stamfield over the crowd, he was so much bigger than anyone else.
The females who were to ride were either flirting with the newcomers or listening to their protectors giving last-minute instructions. Not many of the original twenty courtesans were left to race.
Of the women still at Gorham’s, Mary Connors, the actress, had never learned to ride although, she told everyone, she could drive a high perch phaeton to the inch. Pregnant Alice was suffering from morning sickness again, and Sandaree had only ridden elephants. Madeline Harbough, the circus rider, was departing for London as soon as she found enough cushions to put under her sore derriere, and the banker’s companion, Miss Hanson, was going to practice the pianoforte for her evening’s performance. That left Simone, Maura Doyle, Daisy, Ruby, in a ruby-colored habit, of course, and Sir Chauncey’s, or Danforth’s, ballerina, who was also going to perform tonight, but insisted on riding anyway. And Claire Hope.
Simone did not see Claire yet, but she knew there’d be no race if their hostess wasn’t sure she could win.
Jem agreed that Lodestar was sluggish this morning. The bay could be ridden, and the gelding would give his all, but Miss Noma wouldn’t have a chance to win and might injure the horse. Daniel agreed and went off to ask Gorham’s head groom to find her a mount. His own horse was a slow, lumbering beast that suited him perfectly, but would never win any race.
Daniel and the head groom brought out a pretty chestnut mare. She looked sound, Jem told her after inspecting her legs and back and neck. The stableman called her a sweet goer, Miss Hope’s second favorite mount.
Then Simone saw a groom lead out Claire’s first favorite, and her dreams turned to horse droppings. A snow-white, part-Arabian mare pranced past her, looking like visiting royalty. Shouts of changing odds went up from the spectators.
Simone saw Claire now, looking as stunning as her horse in a stark black habit to match her black hair, a white feather in her jockey-cap type bonnet, and a ruffle of white lace at her throat. She and her horse were a matched set of rare, high-priced and exquisite works of art.
Simone looked at the dainty mare she was to ride. Then she looked at Claire’s long-necked, thin-legged beauty that was built for speed. She marched young Jem back into the stable.
“Saddle Fidus for me.”
Daniel was leading the chestnut mare after Simone. He laughed. “You can’t ride Harry’s horse. He’ll kill you. Harry, that is, or the horse might, too. No, Harry’ll kill me. Fidus will toss you before you reach the starting line.”
Simone put all her courage and confidence in four words: “I can ride him.”
Jem said, “Pardon, Miss Noma, but Fidus has never carried a lady. He’d never take to a sidesaddle.”
Simone raised one leg to show her split skirt. “Then it is a good thing I am prepared to ride astride.”
The boy stood his ground. “You can’t take the horse out, not without the governor’s permission.”
“I have it,” Simone lied.
Daniel stepped behind the mare to scratch his groin. “No, you don’t.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I say I do. You did not speak to Harry an hour ago. I did.”
“He wouldn’t let you ride Fidus. Hell, he won’t let me ride him.”
“It is my word against yours.”
Daniel couldn’t say how he knew she was lying. He couldn’t scratch his privates and tie her up on the borrowed mare at the same time, either. She was already striding down the long stable corridor to Fidus’s stall at the end.
“Get the saddle now,” she ordered. “Or I’ll ride bareback.”
Daniel stopped itching. She was telling the truth, by Jupiter.
“Harry won’t want me breaking my neck, will he?”
“He just might,” Daniel told her, and that was the truth, too. No matter, the woman was as thick-headed and stubborn as the horse. Daniel knew he was defeated either way, which was why he usually avoided independent women. “I’ll go get Harry.”
“Fine. He ought to be in his bath by n
ow.” She was crooning to the big stallion, ordering another groom to take the mare away because she was distracting Fidus. The black liked the apple she’d brought for the bay gelding, and didn’t put up any fuss when Jem tightened his girth on a lighter, smaller saddle he’d found. The boy warned her that Fidus didn’t like the whip. Simone set hers aside and took the reins to lead him out, still talking quietly, telling Fidus how handsome he was, how he was going to help her win a new life, how proud Harry would be. “You believe me, don’t you?”
A hush fell over the crowd, then there was a mad scramble to record new bets. The ballet dancer tried to reach Lord Gorham, to withdraw from the race, but Claire blocked her way as she pushed forward to confront Simone.
“You cannot ride that horse.”
“Oh, yes, I can. I can ride anything. My grandfather was a horse trader and trainer. He taught me.”
Danforth went to put his money on Claire. “No filthy Gypsy ought to be allowed among decent people,” Simone heard him mutter. Simone glared and Claire curled her lip at the duke’s wastrel son who kept poor Sandaree a near slave.
Then Claire recalled the issue at hand. “You cannot sit astride in a manner unsuitable to a female. This was supposed to be a test of ladylike accomplishments.”
“Then you should have invited ladies. But you did not, knowing they would not have come. I did. I am in the contest. I shall ride.”
Fidus did not like the commotion. According to Daniel, he did not like anything or anyone but Harry. Simone spoke softly to him again, stroking his ear, and had Jem give her a leg up. The poor boy looked to be near tears, but he did his job, holding the horse by the halter in case Fidus tried to get rid of the new burden on his back before she was settled in the saddle.
“I’ll just take him around the paddock a bit, to shake the fidgets out.”
“The race is due to start in ten minutes.” Claire pointed to the nearby track Gorham had built. “If you are not there, you are disqualified.”
“Of course.” Simone gave Fidus his head, and he almost took off a nearby gambler’s. Fidus sailed over the fence of the paddock where the trick riding had been held. He kicked up dirt there, knocked over one of the flambeaux, did as many acrobatic moves as Maddy’s horse, but without Simone’s direction or decision. She stayed on his back by luck and skill and sheer determination. When her hat sailed off she laughed and shook out her red hair to flow behind her. She fought Fidus for control, and won enough that she could turn him. Someone ran to open the paddock gate for her. This time the stallion went through it, instead of over.
“Good boy.” He wasn’t even breathing hard by the time they reached the starting line. Claire was.
The ballet dancer had pretended to swoon when she thought Simone would be thrown, so she could collapse into Danforth’s arms rather than race. Sandaree bowed low to Simone from outside the oval ring. Jem was as white as a ghost. Harry hadn’t come.
*
Harry dressed, looked at the clock, and knew he had a few minutes. From a window at the end of the hall he could see the large crowd around the stables, Gorham’s servants, villagers, and guests. He could not see Simone over the heads of the men, and hoped she had not lost the opportunity to ride. He regretted her disappointment, but that couldn’t be helped. He did see the Indian girl in her distinctive dress standing alone, then spotted Danforth placing bets with a badly dressed man in a straw hat. So he went and searched Danforth’s rooms.
He did not have time to be as thorough as he wished, but he found nothing, no hiding places, no journals or letters. Damn. Then he heard a loud cheer from outside so he left and loped off around the house, past the stables, and to the track just in time to see Gorham raise his pistol.
Oh, hell.
He couldn’t get there fast enough to stop them. Couldn’t watch. Couldn’t not watch. Couldn’t breathe. Bloody, bloody hell.
Daniel hurried over to him. “I tried. I swear, I tried. Then I looked everywhere for you.”
Gorham fired in the air. The horses kicked up so much dust, no one could see the start, only a white streak shooting ahead, Claire’s Arabian. Then four other horses set out to chase them twice around the oval. Simone and Fidus were left at the starting line, with the black stallion trying to leave the ring altogether. Fidus was circling, crow-hopping, rearing. The crowd groaned. Harry tasted blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten his lip.
Harry watched Simone lean over his horse’s shoulder and talk to him. Whatever she said must have worked because Fidus gathered himself, took one mighty leap, then set off at a gallop on the right course. In seconds he flew past the slower horses, past the spectators for the first lap, then he slowed down. He did not seem to notice Simone’s heels dig in any more than he would have noticed a gnat. The watchers shouted, as if to urge Fidus on. Or was that Harry yelling? His tongue was too numb to tell.
Claire was half the track ahead of them, on her final lap. She turned to look back to check her position, and then she held up her whip and waved it at Simone in triumph.
Fidus did not like whips.
He increased his speed a notch. Simone leaned forward, her weight on her legs, not his back, as if that mattered to the massive stallion. They gained ground.
Claire started using her whip on the Arabian. Fidus lengthened his stride. They were almost at the mare’s tail.
“Don’t you go getting ideas now,” Simone warned when his ears pricked forward. “You are racing, not courting. And that is a lady. You have to ask permission. Now go impress her!”
He went. And defeated the mare by two lengths. Of course Simone couldn’t bring him to a halt for another half of the oval, until Harry stepped onto the track in front of them.
Simone was afraid he’d be trampled. Then she saw the look on his face and was afraid he wouldn’t be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Aren’t you going to kiss me for congratulations? Everyone is watching.”
Harry recalled the rest of the world, not just Simone and the horse and the dust and the pounding of his heart. He pulled her off the horse and into his arms. Then he kissed her, hard and fast, without tenderness. She tasted of track dirt and still he felt aroused.
“You’re alive.”
For now. Simone was glad he held her, because her bones were like butter. She’d never ridden so hard or so fast. Or so close to death. Between the race and his kiss, she’d never felt so exhilarated, so sure she was right where she belonged: in his arms, in the winner’s circle. “I won!”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Harry said when well-wishers came toward them. He put his arm around her in case she thought to escape, and tried to put a smile on his face for the spectators. When Jeremy came to take Fidus, he stopped trying to look delighted that his hired companion had stolen his horse, right under his servant’s nose. “I’ll talk to you later also.”
“She told me and Mr. Stamfield that you gave permission.”
“And you believed her?” He turned to where Daniel was taking Fidus’s other side, but not even the stallion’s great size could hide Daniel from Harry’s piercing blue eyes. “You believed her?”
“Hell, no, but what could I say? Asides, you should have been there to stop her. Your horse, your lady and all.”
Harry was already annoyed with himself for letting the female out of his sight, especially when he knew she was counting on the race to add to her nest egg. “Aren’t you expected somewhere?” he asked Daniel. “That family business we spoke of last night?”
With one more look at his furious cousin, Daniel decided it was time for him to leave as soon as he collected his winnings, and hers.
“You bet on the gelding?” Harry asked her.
“I bet on myself.”
Daniel returned with a fistful of brass that he poured into Simone’s hat someone had recovered for her. The black bonnet couldn’t be worn again and its feather was missing altogether, but Simone thought it looked far more beautiful as a money pouch than it d
id on her head.
Daniel claimed an appointment in London, made a hasty bow in light of his cousin’s blue-dagger glance, and promised to be back for the ball.
Lord Gorham brought Simone the winner’s heavy leather purse and kissed the air above her smelly riding glove. “Good race, Miss Royale, even if it cost me a fortune and Claire’s good will.” He sighed. “Not for the first time, or the last, I suppose. My darling is not a good loser, I fear. Harry, I’ll be speaking to you about using your stallion as stud. Both of you owe me that for cutting up my peace.”
Harry did not say yes or no, but Simone whispered to Gorham: “I promised Fidus the mare. That’s why he ran so fast.”
Gorham went away laughing, determined to avoid his not-so-darling, smoldering mistress for the rest of the day.
Three men handed Harry his winnings, then the straw-hatted oddsmaker brought him more.
“You wagered on me?”
“I thought I was betting on my gelding.” He checked to see the count was right, then added it to the pile in Simone’s bonnet. She kept one hand beneath the hat, in case the stitching gave way under the weight of all the pound notes and gold and silver coins. She had no idea how much money was in her hands, but she was rich!
“You’re giving your winnings to me?”
“No, I am paying in advance for flowers for your funeral if you ever do anything that crazy again. Devil take it, Si—sweetheart, I thought you were going to be killed any second.”
“You care?”
Now that Harry was a little calmer, and had a glass of wine in his hand from the victory toast, he admitted he cared. “A broken neck could ruin all my plans. I’d have no excuse for staying on till the end of the party next week.”
“No, you care.” Simone stood on her toes and kissed him again, softly, slowly. “Say it.”
“I care.” The words tasted as sweet as her lips, without the track dirt.
*
Luncheon was a delight for everyone. Claire did not attend. Without the hostess to maintain the manners of polite society, the company relaxed. They talked across the table, used their fingers to pass rolls, and speculated on plans for the afternoon.
The Scandalous Life of a True Lady Page 21
