Marcus stood at the line. “On my count of one you will race.” He paused, and then proceeded to count down. “Three, two, one...”
As the word “one” left Marcus’s mouth, she urged Ace forward. He leapt to her touch, his head out-stretched, eager to run.
And run he did. Caitlin felt as though she rode a storm, the scenery a blur about her. She prayed Ace would handle the soft ground. She’d not really tested him in the wet. She gave him free rein, but out of the corner of her eye she could see Hero keeping pace beside her. Only time would tell which horse would tire first.
They were only moments from rounding Barr Beacon, a small cluster of waist-high stones. The horse closest to the stones when he took the turn would have the advantage. Caitlin intended it to be Ace. At what she judged to be the perfect moment she gathered the reins for the turn, and rose up slightly in her stirrups to help her stallion get more speed.
Then it happened. On one breath they were approaching the turn on a lean. On the next breath she felt a jerk, like something breaking, and she was flying, slipping sideways, her feet still in her stirrups, the reins tearing from her hands.
She heard herself scream, saw the ground coming at her with dizzying speed, felt an explosion of pai—
Powerless to do anything, Dangerfield could only watch as the nightmare played out in front of him. Watch her slide sideways, her saddle with her. Hear her scream. See her hit the ground with a sickening thump.
He’d begun to rein Hero in the instant he saw Caitlin was in trouble—not an easy task when the stallion was in full flight. But terror for her gave him the strength he needed to bring the horse to a rearing stop no more than six paces from where his heart lay entangled in her saddle.
He leapt from Hero’s back and ran to where she lay, her face white, and with blood seeping from a wound on her temple. Was her chest moving? He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding when he saw it lift, and then fall only to lift again.
Choking with guilt he dropped to his knees and gently eased her upright into the cradle of his arms. He’d done this to her—his damned pride and so-called honor—and it should never have happened. He should have forced Jeremy to meet with her. Forced them to sort it out. But he hadn’t. He’d been having too much fun battling his wits against hers. And now she was paying the price.
Henry and Marcus thundered up and reined in beside him. Henry dismounted, crossed to where Dangerfield sat, and put a careful hand on Caitlin’s neck. “She’s still alive, thank God. And her pulse is steady. Let’s get her home.”
“I’ll go for Doctor Spencer and meet you at Telford.” Marcus didn’t wait for confirmation; he turned his horse and galloped off.
Dangerfield hardly heard him. “God, Henry. If she dies—” Anguish gripped his insides like a claw-trap.
“She’s not going to die.” Henry took Caitlin’s chin in one hand and carefully turned her head. “Look, she’s had a nasty knock on her temple, but she’s a fighter. She took you on.”
But even fighters lose. “She feels so tiny, so fragile. I’ve made such a mess of this.”
Henry nodded. “You have. But now you’re going to put it right.” He moved away from Dangerfield and began to untangle Caitlin’s legs from the stirrups and saddle. “We’ll get her patched up, and when she’s feeling better, you’ll sit her down with Jeremy and sort this situation out. Then you’ll announce your engagement.”
Dangerfield cradled her tighter against his chest and loosened his hold with an oath when Caitlin gave a groan. “Just help me get her back to Telford. I’ll have to ride your horse. I won’t be able to control Hero while holding her. Can you ride him back instead?”
Henry didn’t answer immediately. He was frowning down at the saddle. “This doesn’t make sense. The girth’s been cut.”
An odd sensation speared deep in Dangerfield’s gut. “What?”
“The girth’s been cut.” Henry shook his head as though he was dislodging an annoying fly. “Look, let’s worry about this later. Let’s just get her home. Give her to me. I’ll hand her up once you’ve mounted.”
“Someone cut her girth?” Dangerfield felt each word stab him to the heart as he thought of the ramifications of such sabotage. “Are you sure?”
“You can look for yourself later. I’ll bring the saddle with me.” Henry took Caitlin from his arms and waited while Dangerfield stood up and then mounted the Earl’s docile gelding. “Someone has frayed the girth with a knife so it would break during the race. This isn’t a case of her not tightening the saddle properly. Her saddle has been deliberately sabotaged. Who would do such a—? Jeremy.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed and disgust dripped from every syllable. “It was Jeremy, wasn’t it? I know that’s who you suspect. Christ. He could have killed her.”
“I know that,” Harlow snapped as he settled himself in the saddle and reached down for Caitlin. “Don’t blame the boy. I dangled his dream in front of him. I delivered him Mansfield Manor only to put it in jeopardy by wagering it again.”
Henry lifted Caitlin into Harlow’s waiting arms. “That doesn’t excuse this and you know it. She could have been killed.”
“A fact I shall make Jeremy well aware of. But I carry the majority of blame. I should have never agreed to the wager but,”—and he bent to place a tender kiss on Caitlin’s forehead—“I couldn’t resist her. I wanted her and as she despised me, the wager was the only way I could think of to spend time with her.” He stroked the hair back from her beautiful face with an unsteady hand and whispered, “I just never expected to fall in love with her.”
“I know.” Henry’s smile was both understanding and grim. “Go. Don’t wait for me. It may take me a while to tame Hero, and then I’ll send someone out to find Ace of Spades and bring him to Telford. Don’t worry about anything else for now. Just get her home.”
Dangerfield’s hands were still unsteady as, alone in his library at Telford, he poured his second glass of brandy.
The doctor had examined Caitlin and confirmed that she had been unbelievably lucky. Nothing was broken. The head wound, and copious bruises were her only injuries. Although she was still unconscious, she murmured occasionally—a good sign, according to the doctor.
Lydia was sitting with her.
Dangerfield had just finished dealing with Jeremy.
The boy had confessed and was awash with guilt. His tears of remorse fell freely. He pleaded for Dangerfield to believe that he hadn’t meant to hurt Caitlin. Dangerfield did believe it. All the same, they’d had a man-to-man talk about honor, punishment, and responsibility for one’s actions, and the boy had left the study an hour later a wiser and deeply ashamed young man.
However, in spite of it all, Dangerfield was proud of him. Without any coaxing or need for threats Jeremy freely gave up his right to Caitlin’s house, and told Harlow to forfeit the race. He said he didn’t deserve Mansfield Manor after what he’d done. Harlow tended to agree.
He knew Jeremy was sincerely and genuinely remorseful. He just prayed Caitlin lived to forgive his brother. Her brother. A lifetime of guilt on top of Jeremy’s already tenuous position in Society would be a heavy burden to carry. But Jeremy, like his elder brother, had to face up to his mistakes.
He tossed back the brandy and prepared to face his greatest mistake. Caitlin Southall. He should have carried her off to Gretna Green that day at the pond. Surely, if he had abducted and married her she would not be lying unconscious upstairs. She couldn’t have hated him forever. He would have won her over, eventually.
He trod slowly up the grand staircase toward Caitlin’s room with an ache in his chest. He planned to stay by her side until she woke. Then he’d get down on his knees, offer her both Mansfield Manor, and his heart. He hoped they would be enough for her to forgive him.
He froze outside her door when he heard voices inside the room. When he entered and saw Caitlin sitting up in bed and talking, relief greater than anything he’d ever experienced shot through hi
s veins.
He strode to her bedside and, with a growl, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
She didn’t respond as he had hoped. Instead, she pushed against his chest and, when he drew back, her hands moved from his chest to his face. “I’m assuming you’re Harlow?”
A sob beside him made him glance away to where his mother sat. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Who else would I—?” And the truth dawned, awakening horror and desperation. Turning back to Caitlin he looked into her exotic, pale-green eyes. They were empty. Blank. “Caitlin? Caitlin, I—””
“It’s all right, Harlow. Your mother has explained everything to me. How ironic. I now have my beloved house but”—a sob escaped from her lips and she clutched his shirt tightly as though she’d never let go—“now I can’t see it.”
And she broke down in his arms, in a flood of tears.
Chapter Eleven
It had been two days since the accident that had taken her sight, and Caitlin was determined to get out of bed this morning. She might be blind but she wasn’t sick.
Harlow fussed over her as if she were on her deathbed. She knew guilt was eating him, but this—her blindness—was not his fault.
She could understand his dilemma. He’d made Jeremy a promise and been sworn to secrecy. What else could he have done? He had to honor his word to his brother. To her brother. A smile settled on her lips. She had a brother! She was not alone any more.
The door to her bedchamber opened and a beloved voice said, “It’s nice to see a smile on those pretty lips.”
But she hadn’t needed to hear his voice to know it was Harlow. She could sense the moment he was near. His masculine scent filled her head and clung to her other senses.
She felt the bed dip as he sat down, felt his gentle touch on her face. And had her mouth taken in a thoroughly arousing kiss. It was lovely, but since her accident he had never taken it any further. Never tried to do more than kiss her. Perhaps, now that she was damaged, he no longer desired her.
He ended the kiss, stroked her hair back gently, and sighed. The bed dipped again as he stood up, and the chair next to the bed scraped a foot on the floor as he drew it closer to the bed.
“I’d like to get up today,” she said as he sat down. “It’s time I went home. Your mother and your staff have been wonderful but I don’t want to continue to be a burden on them.” Or you.
Silence greeted her words. Then he said, quietly, “You are not a burden. And I won’t hear of you leaving until you are well.”
“There is nothing wrong with me.”
“The bruise on the side of your head tells me differently. Besides, I enjoy your company. I don’t want you to leave.”
She sighed. He was going to make this difficult. Why did he have to fight her at every turn? Because it’s thrilling and you enjoy it as much as he does. “I have to go home sometime. I can’t stay here forever.”
“Yes, you can,” he said softly. “Marry me.”
Was this offer out of guilt, or pity, or something more? How she wished she could see his face. She couldn’t bear it if he offered out of pity. Or guilt. He would come to resent her. Besides, what use would she be to him as a blind duchess?
“Don’t,” she said quietly. “I don’t want pity and you are not responsible for my condition. It was an accident—”
“It wasn’t an accident. And if my stupid pride—”
“Your pride played no part in it. You were trying to right a wrong perpetrated on your—our brother. I should have known when you offered marriage that there was more to this than a simple wager. I admire you immensely for trying to do the right thing for all concerned. I also understand why you couldn’t tell me. Jeremy guarded his secret well, and having seen how Society treats those of his birth, I can understand why.”
His chair creaked as he shifted. “Christ. You are too forgiving. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him. He robbed you of your sight.”
She reached out her hand, and felt the warmth of his fingers as they clasped it. “He didn’t mean to. He was young and angry at the world. He truly thought Mansfield Manor would change things for him. Poor darling. A house would have made no difference. He has to live with that.”
They sat holding hands in silence.
Finally Harlow spoke. “Aren’t you angry? I’d be furious. How can you not hate me?”
“Is that why you want to marry me?” She tried to keep the stiffness and hurt out of her voice but didn’t manage it. “Because you think I hate you, and that you owe me this? Well, I don’t. And you don’t.” She attempted to withdraw her hand but Harlow clutched it tightly. She heard the chair creak again, and then his knees hit the floor beside her bed.
“No.” His lips pressed a warm and fervent kiss into her palm. “I want to marry you because I love you.”
Breath seemed to clog in her lungs.
But he wasn’t finished. “I think a part of me has loved you since the day at the pond—”
“When we made love?”
“No.” There was a smile in his voice that tugged at her heart. “When you were fifteen, and you laughed at me as I lay wallowing in the mud. You knew who I was and didn’t care. You put me in my place. And when you poked your tongue out at me I was angry and pleased at the same time.”
How could this be true? “You were mean to me that day.”
“Because you unsettled me like no other woman had, and yet I knew you were still a girl. I didn’t know how to behave. I wanted to thrash you one minute, and then kiss you the next.”
She laughed at the picture in her head. “Well, I thought you were a bully, and a wastrel. And I thought it was fitting punishment for your bad temper that you fell in to the bog.”
He squeezed her hand. “No woman had ever laughed at me before. You saw me. The real me. The good and bad. And I knew that—when I loved—I wanted a woman who saw me not just my title and wealth.”
He stood to his feet, and the bed dipped again as he sat down beside her on the mattress. Leaned back against the headboard. “I looked for that quality in every woman I met. I thought I’d found it in a woman once, but she was false. I’d given up hope of ever finding what I wanted. Then, when I saw you with Ace of Spades that day, dressed like a man but every inch a woman, and you almost shoved your horse’s arse in my face... I knew I’d found what I’d been looking for. I’d found you.”
His words left her breathless and sent her pulse racing. She swallowed down her hope. “But I can’t see you now.”
“You see me better than any woman ever has,” was his heart-felt reply.
She might be blind, but she could still weep. “Thank you. That’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.” He pulled her into an embrace. “I know you have a lot to adjust to, but will you consider my proposal?”
She nodded. She’d consider it, but her answer would still be “no”. Even more so now. The irony burned like pure malt whiskey in her throat. Harlow wanted a partner in life. She’d been looking for a partner too. It was top of her “Requirements for a Husband” list. How could she be a true partner for him now that she was blind?
He deserved more in a wife. He needed someone as active as he was. Someone to be by his side. Someone to hunt with, ride with, travel with. A true partner, in every sense of the word.
She wanted time to think. “I’m tired, Harlow. I need to rest, but would you come and fetch me this afternoon. I’d like to get some fresh air.”
He kissed her soundly, and rose from the bed. “I’ll be back at three. That gives me time to see to my correspondence.”
He crossed the room and the door to her chamber opened, but on the threshold she sensed him hesitate. “I am sorry, you know,” he said. “More sorry than you’ll ever know.” And before she could reply he’d closed the door. His footsteps echoed down the hall.
They echoed in her heart, too. She curled up in bed, conflicting emotions fighting inside her. She wanted to marry Harlow. But
she loved him. And it was her love for him that refused to let him tie himself to a blind woman. A blind woman. She was a blind woman.
The truth of it hit her in an explosion of tears, and she wept. Wept for herself. For Harlow. For the hopelessness of her situation. She had her Mansfield Manor but it meant nothing. She felt nothing for it. It wasn’t Harlow. It was Harlow she wanted—and Harlow was the one thing she could never have.
She must have drifted into sleep because she came awake with a start when her bedroom door opened and hesitant footsteps approached her bed.
“Yes?” She hated how vulnerable she felt. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me.”
Jeremy.
“I’m so very sorry, Lady Southall,” he choked out. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I just…”
“Come.” She patted the bed beside her. “Sit.”
His steps dragged towards her and she felt him sit.
“First of all,” she said, “I want you to know that I forgive you. It was a foolish and dangerous thing to do, but I understand. Look how foolishly I behaved over a house. I should never have wagered against Harlow.”
He gulped in a breath. “If I could take back what I did, I would, in a heartbeat. I just wanted you to lose. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” Shame whispered in that last word. True shame. True repentance. “I’ve let my cowardice ruin everything. I should have met with you as Harlow urged, and none of this would have happened.”
She patted his hand. “We’ve both been stupid. If I’d known I had a half-brother, and what my father did, I would have gladly given you Mansfield Manor. Do you know,”—she kept hold of his hand—“I’ve learned that it is not the house that is important, but the family in it? I may have grown up at Mansfield Manor, but you had the riches. After my mother died, I had no one—no one who cared for, or loved me. It was a very lonely upbringing. So it’s hardly surprising I focused all my love on a house.” She swallowed back pain at the memory of those empty years. “You, on the other hand, had more riches than I could have imagined. You have a mother and a brother who love you, and would do anything to see you happy. That is worth more than any house.”
To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield (Wicked Wagers BK1-Regency Romance) Long Novella Page 11
