The sun had reached its highest point in the sky and would soon begin its decent. Seth wiped at his brow. Would the hellion fail to keep their bargain? If so, could he truly destroy her? Despite the existence of her club, she was not hurting anyone. In truth, he half admired her for what she’d accomplished. She was brazen and intelligent to say the least. Both admirable qualities that were readily found in most women of his acquaintance.
If he were not careful, he may well get more than he bargained for. Lord Stanford had been correct when he said Lady Narissa was one of a kind. Wild women were nothing new to Seth, ladies included, but none compared to Lady Narissa. The spirited beauty had charisma, courage, and real strength. He did not doubt she could accomplish anything she desired. Nor did he truly believe that outing her secret would benefit anyone.
No doubt the lady would make a better friend than foe, but could he sway her?
Grabbing a couple of sugar cubes from a container on the tack room shelf, he stepped from the room. Seth strolled down the aisle toward his new mares stall intent on giving the girl a treat. He could not stop himself from wondering if Lady Narissa had a sweet tooth.
As if he’d conjured her, Lady Narissa sauntered into the stable clad in breeches and a snug white shirt. “Your Grace.” She dipped into a quick, low curtsey, her trousers stretching across her womanly curves.
“My Lady.” Seth studied her, doing his best to ignore the reaction her choice of garments was creating within him. This was the first time she had ever treated him with the curtsey due his station, and much to his surprise, he found he rather disliked it. Propriety did not suite the woman—not in the least. “You have leave to call me Seth.”
“That would be most improper.” She straightened and adjusted her hat.
“Are you suddenly concerned about your reputation?” he asked, half jesting.
“Do not tease me.” A slight blush bloomed across her cheeks. “Show me to the horse you wish me to ride.”
Not for the first time, he imagined her riding him. Her thick hair falling over her shoulders, whisky eyes swimming with reckless abandon, those lush curves beneath his hands… His blood heated with the images he conjured.
“Your Grace.”
“Seth,” he insisted. Pushing his desire away, he led her down the row of stalls. “I would like for you to try your skills with both Banshee and Highflier. As Banshee has never been turf tested, I have no idea how well he will do. Both are ready. Which would you prefer to ride first?”
“Banshee, if you please.” She answered, her tone cheery.
What game did she play at now? Where had her attitude gone and why was she going out of her way to be pleasant? He glanced back at her, his eyes narrowed. He would get to the bottom of it latter. For now, he wished to get on with the business at hand. “Very well, banshee it shall be. Come along.”
The fact she’d chosen Banshee added more allure to the already captivating woman. For all she knew—hell, for all either of them knew—the mount would not take kindly to racing. It could buck and rear, tossing her to the ground, or run off with her on its back. She could be hurt, killed even. A chill went through him as he glanced at her small frame. She was an expert horse woman. He’d witnessed her skill in the saddle first hand.
Seth shook his head. Why the devil did her safety suddenly concern him? He had to keep his focus on the end goal, winning the derby at Epsom. Lady Narissa meant nothing to him. She was just a means to gaining his victory. It would serve him best to remember it.
He led Lady Narissa out of the stable and to the mounting area, then ordered Banshee brought out before turning his attention back to her. “I have two tracks. An oval turf and a straight away. I want to see how much speed Banshee has. Take him to the straight course and open him up.”
Lady Narissa nodded, then moved to the mounting block. Before he could assist her, she’d swung onto the horses back. “I will stop at the starting line and await your signal.”
The groom held out a whip.
She shook her head.
The groom held it closer as if trying to force it into her hand.
“No whip.” Lady Narissa said, her tone firm.
“How do you intend to gage his true speed without a whip?” Seth asked. He’d been involved with bloodhorses for most of his life and had always employed the whip. It was a common tool in racing.
“I never take a whip to my mounts.” Lady Narissa set the horse in motion, riding off toward the track before Seth could utter another word.
He hurried to the gate with his stablemaster following behind to time the horse. Seth’s breath caught as he took in the sight of Lady Narissa illuminated by sunlight.
She leaned low over the horse, holding the reins in her small leather gloved hands, her rounded bottom hovering over the saddle enticingly.
His stable master signaled for her to ride.
Seth stared captivated by the scene before him. The collar of Lady Narissa’s shirt billowed in the breeze revealing small peaks of creamy skin as she raced down the straightaway. A cloud of dust filled the air behind her. Crossing the finish line, she pulled the horse in, then rode over to him with a victorious smile.
“He is a natural racer,” she said, excitement dancing in her warm eyes.
Damn if she wasn’t a temptress and she rode like the devil. What an unusual woman. Seth grinned, then looked to his stablemaster. “Let us have it.”
“One mile in one minute, forty-three seconds, Your Grace.” The man gave a crooked-toothed grin.
With speed like that, he was sure to win the derby. Seth looked up at Lady Narissa. “Do you know of any other horse who runs as fast?”
She notched her chin. “Merlin.”
He did not doubt her. Merlin had beat Highflier after all. No matter, Lady Narissa would not be riding him at Epsom. Seth stroked his hand over Banshee’s well muscled shoulder. “Imagine what he would do under the whip.”
She pulled the reins, turning the horse. “So long as I am riding him, no whip will be employed.”
He met her stare, ready to argue the point, but then swallowed back his retort. Her expression had grown stern. If he wished for her to jockey his mount, he’d have to cede to her wishes. He stepped closer. “Indeed. Now tell me…has he got more speed?”
“I believe so. With training, we should be able to shave off another twenty or so seconds. It is nothing more than a matter of learning his style.”
“Excellent.” The timing was already impressive. Highflier’s best workout came in at one minute, fifty-five seconds. There may not be any point in having her take the other horse out as he’d already decided on racing Banshee at Epsom, still, he wanted to see how she did with Highflier. “Let us switch your mount.”
Without so much as a by-your-leave, Lady Narissa set Banshee into a fast walk.
Splendid, she had returned to giving him the cut direct. He should be vexed, but could not deny that he enjoyed her spirited attitude. It was far better than the fake air of propriety she’d employed earlier.
Perhaps, in time, she would come to genuinely like him as he was coming to like her.
CHAPTER 7
“BLOODY HELL.” Narissa peered across the crowded ballroom, clutching her Champagne glass. “What the devil is he doing here?”
Brooke waved her silk fan, a look of chagrin passing over her features. “I could hardly exclude Hannah from the ball.”
Narissa pulled her gaze from the Duke of Blackmore as the quartet struck the final cords of a cotillion. “No, of course not.”
“I assume he is her chaperone,” Brooke said. “I tried to tell you at the club that I suspected he may attend.”
“I am sure you are right.” Narissa tipped the crystal flute against her lips, drinking copiously. “Let us hope he retires to the card room straight away.” The last thing Narissa wished for was more time in the duke’s company. Even now, her body was betraying her as her stomach fluttered and her heart beat a bit faster than before. And all
she’d done was spied him across the crowded room.
“I fear you are not to be so lucky. He’s coming this way.” With a flourish, Brooke lowered her fan. “Do be polite.”
Narissa caught the duke’s gaze through the crush of people and peered at him in hopes he would change direction. She spent more time with him than she wished as it were. Three days in the last sennight. She had no wish to speak with him outside of training his mounts.
Hell, she did not want to see him then, but had little choice in the matter. She scowled at Brooke. “Let us go.” Narissa started toward the door determined to seek shelter in the ladies retiring room.
Brooke caught her elbow, stilling her. “We cannot be so rude as to give a duke the cut direct, and certainly not in public. Not at my parents ball.”
Narissa peered at Brooke, determination driving her forward. “We most certainly can.”
“Do look. Hannah has joined him. We simply must greet them.”
Narissa released a huff and pivoted back in their direction. As much as she did not want to face Blackmore, she would not willingly be rude to Hannah. The girl had become a friend. A cohort and confidant. She pasted a smile on her face and nodded at Brooke. “Indeed we must.”
“You look feral.” Brooke released her hold on Narissa. “Certainly, he cannot be all that bad.”
Narissa relaxed her facial muscles attempting to appear more natural and pleasing. “You have no idea.” The duke was in fact the worst man she’d ever been unlucky enough to become acquainted with. Sure, he was pleasant to look at, clever, and charming when he wished. But he was also stubborn and controlling. Worst of all, he was blackmailing her, and enjoying ever second of it. He was the worst sort of scoundrel.
She did her best to maintain the practiced smile she had fixed on her lips and dipped into a half-hearted curtsey when he approached. Rising, she chastised herself for making eye contact with him.
The Duke of Blackmore gave a devilish grin. “Lady Narissa. Lady Brooke.”
Brooke rose from her curtsey. “How do you fair this evening, Your Grace, Lady Hannah?”
“It is a lovely ball, a smashing success,” Hannah said.
“Indeed, you shall be all the rage on the morrow.” The duke continued to gaze at Narissa, sending heat coiling through her. “May I have the next set?”
Narissa squared her shoulders. “My dance card is quite full,” she lied, tucking her wrist into the folds of her gown.
Brooke peered at her with reproach, but refrained from saying anything.
Perhaps Narissa was behaving poorly. One dance could not hurt her overmuch. All the same, she did not want to be in his arms for fear she would come to like him. It was bad enough that she desired him.
“Odd considering you are not dancing at the moment.”
Narissa cringed. She was well and truly caught.
“I will settle for what remains of this set.” The duke proffered his arm.
Swallowing hard, Narissa deposited her campaign flute on a passing servant’s tray, then took the duke’s arm. A jolt of longing shot straight to her core.
She’d rather dance with the devil, but then she was quickly coming to believe the duke and the devil may be one and the same. What other reason could there be for the way her body reacted when he came near?
He led her onto the polished dance floor and pulled her into his arms as the quartet played a waltz. She fought the urge to flee, accepting that she was well snared in his trap. Leastwise for the rest of the dance. If she were being honest, the feel of his body close to hers proved rather pleasant. His strong arms lending her support, the heat of his body so near to hers, his masculine smell wrapping around her.
How unsettling that she could be so comfortable in his arms. She fought to suppress nerves. To chase away her thoughts.
“Relax, hellion,” he whispered near her ear, sending a tingle through her.
Narissa inhaled sharply at the new sensation. What the deuce was the matter with her? It was only a dance. She’d done the same with dozens of other men. Why should he be any different? She resolved to ignore the way her body reacted. Perhaps it had nothing to do with him at all. Maybe the heat of the ballroom had gotten to her.
Yes, that had to be it. When their dance concluded she would seek out some fresh air on the terrace.
He twirled her out, and she instantly missed the contact they’d shared a moment before. When he brought her back against him, heat flared once more, warming her cheeks. She’d not survive another minute in such close proximity. “Your Grace.”
“Yes.”
Narissa met his gaze. “I fear I cannot complete the waltz.”
He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. “You are quite warm. Allow me to escort you out for a bit of night air.”
Unable to find her tongue, Narissa nodded. The cool night air would be most welcome, even if she did remain in his company. She allowed him to lead her out onto the upper terrace before releasing his arm to take hold of the marble railing.
“Would you like to take a walk?”
Narissa glanced back at him, considering. She certainly did not wish to return to the ballroom. “Yes.”
He held out his arm.
She ignored the offer and strolled toward the stairs. She would allow him to accompany her, but there would be no more touching. Her heart pounded harder with each step across the gravel path, though the ambiance of moonlight and flickering torch light soothed her.
“What has you so flustered, Narissa?” The duke stepped in front of her, stopping her progress. “Dare I think it is I who has you so unsettled?”
She ignored his egotistical baiting. “Please do not use such familiarity, Your Grace. Are you trying to start a scandal?”
He glanced around before pinning her with his blue eyes. “I see no one about.”
“That is beside the point.” Narissa stepped around him, strolling deeper into the garden.
“It is my desire to become friends.”
She turned to him. “Friends? I hardly know you.”
“You could get to know me.” He closed the distance between them.
She placed her hands on her hips, staring at him incredulous. Of all the pompous things he could have uttered. Her irritation spiked. “Why ever would I want to befriend the man who is blackmailing me?”
“I gave you a choice. You did not have to ride for me.”
“Humph.” Narissa peered at him, anger warming her blood.
The duke grinned. “Tell me, where did you learn to ride so well?”
She’d be damned if she were going to give him an answer. She glanced at a nearby torch then back at him. “Why are you so insistent on me being your jockey?”
“Because you are the best I have ever seen.” He took her elbow and turned her toward a cast iron bench. “Allow us to become better acquainted.”
Her vexation lessened at his compliment, and she allowed him to lead her to the bench. In truth, she was curious about the man. If he were willing to answer her questions, she’d be a fool not to take advantage. After all, it was best to keep your enemies close. She sat on the cool surface, taking a moment to collect her wits before meeting his gaze. “Why do you require the best?”
He gave a rakish grin, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “Because I detest losing.”
“Why?” She pressed, searching his deep blue gaze for clues.
He sat next to her, his thigh pressing against hers and she jerked away at the contact.
“I am a competitive man. Need there be any other reason?”
“I suppose not. Though I suspect there is more to it than just the will to win.” She angled her head a fraction, studying him.
“You are astute.” He inched closer, bringing his thigh against hers once more. “I have a proposition.”
Ignoring the urge to scoot further down the bench, she held his attention. “Do go on.”
His eyes flashed with amusement. “Tell me where you learned to ride, an
d then I will tell you why I must win the derby.”
She averted her gaze, focusing on a flowering bush cast in moonlight. Dare she open herself up to him? Agreeing to his proposal would likely lead to more questions—ones she would not wish to answer. However, refusing him would leave her without the knowledge she so desperately wanted. She exhaled a slow breath. “My father taught me.”
“He seems to have been a remarkable man. Some would call him a legend. I am sorry that I did not know him.” The duke patted her hand. “Is he the one responsible for your gaming hell as well?”
She pressed her lips together, pulling her hand from beneath his. “I believe I have already satisfied the terms of your proposal. It is your turn to make good on our bargain.”
“Indeed.” He gave her a measured stare, his gaze unsettling her further. “I have a great deal of money at stake.”
“You are a duke. A very wealthy one from what I gather.” She watched him through narrowed eyes. A large wager may motivate him, but there was something more to it. Something passed through his gaze, doubt perhaps, or was it worry?
“Indeed, I am.”
“Then it stands to reason you have more than money at stake.” She started to stand, but he placed a hand on her shoulder, stilling her and she settled back onto the bench.
“Very well. My bet is with an old rival. The money matters not to me, however, I cannot lose to this gentleman again. It is a matter of pride.”
Anger unfurled within her. The blasted duke singlehandedly destroyed her and Papa’s dream in an attempt to save his pride. How dare he! She stood, glaring at him. “You are neglecting your duties as Hannah’s chaperone. Imagine what a blow it would be to your pride if something happened to her due to your lack of attention.”
The duke narrowed his eyes. “Is that a threat?”
“I do not make threats.” Narissa notched her chin. “I make promises.”
“Then, by all means, let us return to the ball.” The duke stood and proffered his arm, though his posture was stiffer than before.
Good. She’d managed to turn the tables on him. At least for now.
Dashing Rogues: A Historical Romance Collection Page 17
