The Duke’s Secret Wager: London Season Matchmaker Book Four

by Adams, Lucy

  “I do not know what it is about you, Miss Leighton, but you appear to be a good deal freer with your hair as it ought to be,” he said softly, his hands lingering for just a moment too long. “Mayhap we should practice each evening so that you can be as you are now.”

  Trying to break the strange tension that had caught her in its snare, Catherine let out a small, breathy laugh. “Just so long as you do not expect me to return to my fine gowns and slippers, Your Grace,” she replied, a little surprised when the duke laughed heartily. “I do not think I could become used to riding side saddle again.”

  Again, the duke grinned, but his eyes were filled with interest as he grasped Beauchamp’s reins and began to make his way slowly towards the stables, evidently expecting Catherine to fall into step beside him.

  “Your parents do not approve of you wishing to ride astride, I should imagine,” he said, making Catherine snort in a most unladylike fashion. “No?” He chuckled whilst Catherine’s face flooded with color at her embarrassing reaction.

  “No, indeed, my mother is greatly disapproving,” Catherine admitted, not quite able to look up at the duke. “But, then again, none in my family can understand my love of horses, nor of my insistence that I be permitted to ride as a gentleman does.” Sighing, Catherine tried not to let the pang of guilt over leaving her mother’s townhouse in such a clandestine manner take hold of her. “They do not understand me at all, I fear.”

  “That is sorrowful indeed,” the duke agreed softly. “But it is to be expected. Do you not recall my reaction when I first realized the truth of you?”

  Catherine laughed, seeing how the duke smiled back at her. “I do,” she admitted, her lips lingering in their upward curve. “But you have, henceforth, behaved in a very different manner from they. You have given me opportunities they would never permit.”

  The duke’s smile faded, and he appeared concerned. “I am aware that you come from a respected family,” he said, sending a jolt of worry through her. “Tell me, do they know of your presence here? Or did you leave them without warning?”

  Hesitating, Catherine dared a glance up into his face and saw no judgement there, only curiosity.

  “I did what I had to in order to ensure that I might find resolution to my hopes that have tormented me for so long,” she said candidly. “I intend to return to them soon, of course, but now that I have the chance to do as I have always dreamed, I cannot let them know of my presence here as yet.”

  “Will they be worried for you?”

  Catherine did not immediately answer, hearing the answer in her heart but not wishing to speak it aloud. To do so would almost be to confirm to herself that a large part of her decision had been based on selfishness, refusing to consider what her mother would think of what she had chosen to do.

  “I can tell that this is distressing for you,” the duke said, after a moment or two. “Forgive me, Miss Leighton. I did not mean to pry.”

  Catherine swallowed her pain and tried to smile. “You are not prying, Your Grace. The truth is, I have very little doubt that my family is deeply concerned over my whereabouts and most likely fears that I have ruined myself most completely and that, thereafter, I will bring shame to the family name…but despite the knowledge that this is, most likely, the case, I shall not permit it to influence my decision here.” The more she spoke, the more she felt as though the words were rubbing callouses on her lips, such was the hardness of her words. “I presume that must make me appear particularly selfish, Your Grace.”

  The duke continued to amble slowly towards the stables, his expression thoughtful. Catherine felt herself grow tense at the quiet, fearing that he was about to say something that would confirm to her that, yes, she had been nothing but selfish, only for him to sigh and shake his head.

  “If someone told me that I could not follow after my true passion, then I do not know what it is I would do,” he said slowly, looking down at her and holding her gaze. “You and I share that same passion, I believe, and yet only I am able to pursue it with all that I have and all that I am. Despite the fact that society states that this must be the way of things and despite the fact that I myself admit to having something of a quandary in permitting you to ride Beauchamp over the Ascot Heath, I confess that I have begun to understand the depths of your struggle, Miss Leighton.”

  “I am glad of that,” Catherine admitted, awash with relief. “I am quite certain my mother shall never forgive me and shall keep me in solitary confinement until next Season, where I shall be pushed and prodded to go about London in the same fashion as every other young lady of the ton, which I can barely abide even the thought of! Thereafter, I shall be expected to make an excellent match with a titled gentleman, just as my sisters have done.”

  The duke stopped dead, turning on his heel to look at her – and it was not until Catherine glanced up into his face that she realized what she had said. She had spoken so openly that she had not thought about what she was revealing. Heat crawled into her cheeks and rested there, sending a flood of color over her face as she twisted her hands together in front of her, trying to find something to say.

  “You are gentry then.”

  The duke’s words were quick, firing at her with unmistakable sharpness.

  “I-I am,” she admitted, a little quietly. “I have not lied to you, however, Your Grace. My family is respected amongst society.”

  This did not, however, please the duke, for he turned from her with an exclamation of frustration burning on his lips, one hand shoved through his hair. Catherine could say nothing, her head bowed low as fear began to mount in her heart. He could easily send her home now; he could easily refuse to keep the promise that he had made that she would now be his jockey.

  “So,” the duke muttered, closing his eyes tightly as though to try and make sense of what she had said. “You are gentry. Your family is well respected amongst the ton, which means your family bears a title.” His eyes opened and fixed upon her. “You are not, as I thought, a respected yet untitled family, who would not make it into the echelons of upper society.”

  Seeing no reason to hide the truth from him now, Catherine set her shoulders and looked up into his face. “My father bore a title, yes,” she admitted quietly. “It has now passed to my brother.”

  The duke closed his eyes again, his expression tight. “Might I ask what this title is, Miss Leighton?” Suddenly his eyes flared, one hand reaching out to her, his finger pointed. “And might I enquire to the truth of your name also?”

  “I do not wish to say it to you, Your Grace,” she whispered, afraid of what he would do should it become clear. “For you will then throw me from the position you have only just put me in, will you not? My dreams, seemingly fulfilled, will be shattered in an instant!”

  A hard look crossed the duke’s face, his hand twining around Beauchamp’s reins. “I am not as cruel as all that, Miss Leighton,” he said firmly, although Catherine suspected that he was not being entirely truthful. “I have need of a jockey, and at this late hour can hardly expect to find another. No matter what you say to me this evening, you shall ride Beauchamp again. Now.” He gestured for her to speak; his brows lifted as he waited for her to respond.

  Catherine drew in a long breath, her chest tight and her hands curled into fists so tight that her nails were cutting into the soft skin of her palms. “My father was a marquess, Your Grace,” she whispered, her eyes falling to the ground as she heard his swift intake of breath. “My younger brother, as I have said, has now inherited the title.”

  The duke said nothing for some minutes, and Catherine could feel the tension between them beginning to grow steadily, the air filling with it and making it difficult for her to breathe. Her chest heaved as she fought against the panic that filled her, closing her eyes and trying to remind herself that the duke had promised her that he would not steal the hope he had only just given her.

  “What is your brother’s title, Miss Leighton?”

  The duke’s voic
e was hard, his words grating. Forcing her eyes open, Catherine looked up at him and tried to speak clearly. “The Marquess of Whitehaven, Your Grace,” she said, her voice trembling just a little. “My mother is Lady Whitehaven.”

  Air was sucked in through the duke’s clenched teeth, which he then let out in a hiss. It was clear that he knew the name and mayhap had even been introduced to her late father at some point. Catherine kept her head low, not able to bring her gaze up to look into the duke’s face.

  “So you are Lady Wells, then,” the duke said thickly. “One of the daughters of the late Marquess of Whitehaven.” He took in another breath, shaking his head as Catherine shot a quick glance at him. “Little wonder you did not wish to tell me the truth of it. Your mother will be–”

  “She knows very well that I am not at all inclined towards the ton and its many regulations and the like,” Catherine said immediately. “She will know why I have left and will be doing all she can to keep my disappearance from town quiet.” A small shrug lifted her left shoulder, even though she felt a good deal of shame over what had just been revealed to the duke. “Most likely, she will state that I have returned to the estate for a short rest or some such thing. Mayhap she will say that I am ill.” Looking up at the duke again, her resolve steadying, Catherine saw that he was looking at her with widened eyes, as if he had just recalled something.

  “You – you were at my ball,” the duke breathed, things beginning to make sense as they slotted together. “You brought the outfit with you so that you might make your way to my stables whilst the rest of the guests slept.”

  Catherine nodded, not allowing the flare of shame to creep up her spine. “I did,” she admitted. “I wanted to see Beauchamp again, that is all.” She chose not to mention that she had hoped there might have been a small opportunity for her to take him for a short ride, keeping her gaze clear. “I intended to go back to my bedchamber once I was finished and then return home with my mother and sisters.” Another small shrug. “Things did not turn out as I intended, however.”

  “No,” the duke agreed, sounding a little despairing. “They certainly did not. And now I have the daughter of a marquess sleeping in a servant’s room and working in the stables during the day!”

  Resisting the sudden urge to stamp her foot, Catherine lifted her chin. “That has all been my own choice, Your Grace,” she told him pointedly. “You offered me the position, and I accepted it because it is a life that I cannot ever get to live within the constraints of both my sex and my position in life.” Her voice shook as she attempted to contain her emotions. “My passion is right before me, and I have thrown everything into the time I have spent here. To have just a taste of what you must enjoy every day is something I shall always be grateful for.” To her horror, a tear spilled from her eye and splashed down onto her cheek, and Catherine wiped it away hastily, not wanting to embarrass herself all the more. It felt as though everything she had gained was beginning to crumble before her, as though everything she had enjoyed and endured was beginning to shatter.

  “Do not cry, Lady Wells, I beg of you,” the duke murmured, his anger seeming to have faded as he made his way closer to her, Beauchamp still by his side. “I just fear that…” He sighed and looked down at her, reaching out to brush the second tear away. His thumb grazed her cheek and, in that moment, Catherine felt something within her shift.

  “You will be quite ruined if you are discovered, Lady Wells,” he said softly, dropping his hand to her side. “Never to marry, never to have a life as other ladies do.”

  She held his gaze wordlessly.

  “And I will admit that I myself do not want to be held responsible for the shattering of your reputation,” the duke admitted, shaking his head gently. “The consequences of such would be–”

  “I would never ask you to marry me or anything of the sort!” Catherine protested at once, her embarrassment mounting furiously. “It would be my own doing, and the consequences I would bear alone.” Sighing, she spread her hands, aware of how the light was fading around them. “I do not think that I wish to marry anyway, Your Grace. I could not be tied to a gentleman that wishes to restrict me all the more, who would never allow me to step outside the confines of society.” Her eyes burned with tears, but she blinked rapidly, refusing to let another one fall. “Can you think of any gentleman amongst the beau monde who would permit their wife to ride across the estate astride? Who would allow them to saddle their own horses and spend as much time as they could out of doors?” A sorrowful laugh left her, as a deep moroseness crept into her bones. “No, I would be expected to behave as any proper lady of the ton must. The little freedom I have at the present would be taken from me. I would not be able to ride as I do at my brother’s estate. I would be expected to remain indoors, save for a few walks in the gardens when the weather is fine. I would be asked to sew or to play pianoforte or to further my mind just a little with specified reading.”

  “And you do not think you could fit into that mold.”

  Her head shot up. “Could you give up the one thing that you love the most?” she challenged, gesturing towards Beauchamp. “Could you give up your horses? Your visits to Tattersall? Your gallops across the gardens? Your freedom to go where you wish and do as you please, even for only a few short moments?” Seeing him shake his head, seeing the understanding burning in his eyes, Catherine felt her heart sink back into her chest. “Then surely you can understand why I cannot.”

  There was nothing but silence between them for some minutes, broken only by the sound of a chirruping blackbird and the sweet song of a robin as dusk fell. Catherine kept her head low, not at all certain what the duke would say next nor what he would do but being glad within herself that she had been honest with him. In fact, she had been more vulnerable with the duke than with any gentleman before him and even more than she had ever been with her family. At least she knew that, in some ways, he understood her reasons for what she had done. He knew the truth of her now. He knew everything. There was nothing left that she had hidden.

  After some minutes, the duke let out a long, heavy sigh, making Catherine fear that he had come to his decision.

  “You cannot continue to stay in the servant’s quarters,” he muttered darkly. “I shall make up some excuse as to why my jockey must have a better room, but I shall have you removed to another, more improved room this very night.” Seeing how she looked up at him in surprise, the duke gave her a small smile. “I am not convinced that this is at all wise, but I have need of a jockey and you have need to fulfill your heart’s desire. Therefore, for the time being, we will proceed as we have planned.”

  Catherine was so filled with relief that she could barely speak and she was feeling as though she was about to be swamped by tears. She finally managed to stammer, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “You are most welcome,” the duke said, with a hint of warmth about his words. “But I must have your word that, after the Gold Cup, whether you win or lose, you will return home. This will have to come to an end.”

  She nodded again, her throat aching with joy.

  “Good, very good,” the duke murmured, looking at her speculatively, as if he were trying to make her out. “Then come, Lady Wells. Let us get Beauchamp back to the stables and, thereafter, you settled within your new bedchamber. Although what I am to say by way of excuse to my staff, I cannot imagine!” This comment was made with a broad, bright smile, and Catherine could not help but laugh. The air cleared between them, the tension fading and only happiness remaining. It seemed she was not to be turned away after all.

  Chapter Nine

  Matthew’s head ached terribly. Groaning, he looked down at his accounts again and saw the numbers begin to swirl together on the page. Clearly the tension and confusion of the last few weeks was beginning to get at him.

  “And now, I have Lady Wells to contend with,” he muttered, throwing down his quill and staring blankly at the closed wooden door of his study. It had been three days since L
ady Wells had told him the truth about her parentage. Three days since he had gone from utter fury to sympathy in one quick moment. Seeing her tears had caught his heart, hearing her struggles had made him consider things from a different perspective. He had been about to tell her that she would be able to ride Beauchamp one more time before he arranged for a carriage to return her to her mother’s townhouse in London and that she would no longer be riding in the Gold Cup over Ascot Heath, but then the tears in her eyes and the desperation in her voice had made him reconsider.

  On top of which, he had not quite been able to understand the strange reaction he had felt to seeing her ride Beauchamp across the grass with her hair streaming out behind her. She had transformed completely in that moment as he had watched, stunned and confused at the quickening of his heart. It had been very odd to see a young lady dressed in a stable hand’s clothes, but he had realized that she was, in fact, very beautiful in her own way. Her oval face, delicate nose, and striking green eyes had seemed to burn into his very soul, her curls falling about her face in an almost alluring manner, even though he knew full well she meant nothing of the sort by it. It was a reaction he still had not quite managed to work out, trying to make sense of it and yet seeing how little he could comprehend.

  Leaning forward, he rested his head on the table for a moment, his hands clasped behind his head as though this would help remove the pain from his head. It was all so very confusing. He wanted to feel nothing at all for Lady Wells, but yet his heart was refusing to let her go. When she had spoken of how her freedom, such as it was, would be curbed if she was to marry a gentleman of the ton, he had found himself wanting to state that she would not be treated so if she married someone such as him – which was, of course, an utterly foolish reaction! He knew full well that if she was discovered, then the onus would be on him to marry her so that he might save her reputation, but then again, he was a duke and could do as he pleased without garnering a good deal of criticism from others. Lady Wells clearly knew what she was risking and had deemed it important enough to do so.