He turned away, pleased that Ulysses had run a good race. Next year the horse would have a better chance. He made his way down the stairs, planning to bet on the next race. Someone slapped him on the back and he swung around. “Vaughn!”
Vaughn grinned. “When I heard you had a horse running, I thought I might find you here.”
Annoyance fought with an overwhelming sense of relief. “You’ve been gone from London quite a while. Care to tell me where you’ve been?”
“Making a tour of race tracks.” The youngest of the Brandreth males was unkempt and pasty-faced. Either he hadn’t slept or he had been drinking too much. Startled but greatly relieved, Strathairn grabbed Vaughn’s arm as if he was about to disappear in a puff of smoke. “Your family is worried about you.”
Vaughn cocked a brow. “Are they? I am only doing what Chaloner wants of me, to stand on my own two feet.”
Strathairn eyed Vaughn’s crumpled cravat, from which a stale unwashed smell arose. “You don’t appear to be making a great success of it. Lady Sibella is frantic. She asked me to find you before your mother learned you’d gone missing.”
“I intend to stay away from home until I win back the money I owe.” Vaughn’s green eyes shifted away and his mouth formed a mulish caste.
“An admirable goal.” Strathairn raised a brow and hid his pity for the younger man behind a brusque stare.
Vaughn shrugged. “I can see you don’t agree. If you’ll excuse me…”
“Don’t run off.” He slung an arm around Vaughn’s shoulders. “I need to speak to my groom about Ulysses. I’d appreciate your company.”
Vaughn nodded and walked with him past the horses being led onto the track. The thoroughbreds tossed their heads, their glossy coats gleaming in the sunlight. “Love to own one of those beauties,” Vaughn said.
After Strathairn saw his horse depart for home, he remained with Vaughn as they waited for the next race to start. The splendid favorite was a very short price.
“He looks a safe bet. I’ll wager a monkey on him. I won at billiards last night,” Vaughn said.
“Five hundred is a lot, Vaughn. Are you sure? There’s no such thing as a sure thing,” he said. Gambling seemed an unpalatable way to deal with feelings. It fixed nothing in the end.
“It can’t lose.” Vaughn firmed his lips.
“You think not?” In response, Strathairn raised an eyebrow, and he fell silent.
Strathairn was glad the favorite failed to win. Vaughn may learn something from it although he already appeared to be a hardened gambler. As they walked away from the track, he found out Vaughn had nowhere to stay.
“Come home with me,” he said, wanting to make sure the young man didn’t disappear again. “I’ll be glad of the company.” It would give him time to talk some sense into Vaughn.
Despite readily agreeing, Strathairn could get little out of Vaughn on the way home. He remained tight-lipped about where he’d been or the state of his finances. He gave up asking when the young man scowled and slumped on the squabs, looking profoundly miserable.
At Linden Hall, they visited the stables and then rode out to watch a groom put a horse through his paces over the moor. The handsome black stallion performed impressively, covering the ground with easy grace.
Vaughn rested his arms on the fence rail. “I was impressed with Ulysses, but he’s even better,” he said, enthusiasm warming his voice.
“You’re looking at a champion in the making.” Strathairn ran his hand over the horse’s smooth neck. “Indigo is the best I’ve ever had. He’s the progeny of Sabre who won the Two Thousand Guineas at Newmarket.”
“Good lord! I’d love to see him race!”
“Would you?” He studied Vaughn. Here at the hall, he seemed a different person. The debauched gambler had suddenly turned into an excited young man, his eyes bright with interest as he admired the stud’s blood cattle.
Vaughn asked surprisingly intelligent questions about the stud, and he did his best to answer them as they dismounted at the stables, then walked down the avenue of trees, fallen chestnuts crunching underfoot. In the library after dinner, Strathairn eyed the hunched young man sitting opposite him in the fireside chair. “How much money do you owe?”
Vaughn winced. “A thousand guineas.”
“You went to the cent per centers.”
Vaughn nodded. “The interest is crippling. I had hoped Chaloner would bail me out before it got to this.”
“Chaloner’s not a mean man. I believe he tried to rein you in.”
Vaughn scowled. “I regret being so pig headed. I got myself into this mess, and I’m determined to get myself out.”
Strathairn eyed him sympathetically. He might have got into the same trouble when he was younger, had he not chosen the army. “You are genuinely interested in horses, aren’t you? Not just betting on them.”
“Indeed, yes. One day I hope to set up a breeding stable like yours.” His shoulders sank. “If I ever get free of debt.” He shoved an errant lock back with an impatient hand. “But I won’t come into my inheritance for years.”
“You might consider a proposition of mine, then.”
Vaughn’s eyes widened. “Which is…?”
“You will have to be prepared to remain here and not be tempted to seek excitement in the city fleshpots. You can learn from my man and help with the running of the stables. That will require manual labor. I would be grateful if you’d help me out until things settle down in London.”
“But the money lenders are after me—”
“I’ll pay them off.”
Vaughn gasped. “I can’t allow you to do that.”
“Yes, you can. You’ll earn every bit of it. But you must write to Lady Sibella and tell her where you are. I’ll take your letter with me tomorrow.”
Vaughn regained some of his lost cockiness, arching a dark eyebrow. “Sibella, eh? Not Edward?”
“Either,” Strathairn said offhandedly.
Brandreth’s green eyes assessed him. “I don’t know why you didn’t marry Sib, Strathairn.”
Strathairn offered him the decanter of whiskey. “Your sister has made a good match.”
Vaughn held out his glass. “I’d have preferred her to marry you. Don’t care for Coombe much.”
“Just write that letter. Tonight,” Strathairn said, refusing to be drawn. “And I’d rather you didn’t mention I’ve given you the money.”
“I shall have to tell Chaloner.”
“Let’s wait and see how well you do here.”
“That’s mighty generous of you.”
“Not really. It suits me, that’s all.” Strathairn took a swig of his drink, savoring the delicate toasty honey flavor of good whiskey. “And if you find life here doesn’t suit you, you are to let me know immediately. I’ll not chastise you.” He leaned forward. “But if I’m informed you are back at the racetrack, seeking out betting shops or Tattersall’s, you’ll be out on your backside.”
Vaughn’s eyes grew steely with determination. “I won’t let you down, Strathairn.”
Apparently, Vaughn meant it. At least for now.
*
At Lord Peter and Aida’s home in Curzon Street, Sibella attended Aida while her husband walked a distinct track in the corridor carpet. Finally, her sister gave birth to a daughter just before midnight. When the physician assured her that her sister was well and resting comfortably, Sibella returned wearily to St. James’s Square. The clock struck two as she climbed the stairs. She found her mother still awake in the drawing room.
“The babe is born?”
“Yes, Aida has a daughter.” Sibella removed her pelisse and hat and handed them to a footman.
“Both are well?”
“In excellent health. Peter is pleased and remains confident the next child will be a boy. Everyone is well. Do please go to bed, you look so tired.”
Her mother followed her along the corridor to her bedchamber. “As do you. I don’t know why Peter wouldn’t le
t me stay to care for Aida.”
“Neither Peter nor Aida wanted to risk your health,” Sibella said diplomatically. Aida had begged her husband to convince their mother to go home. She preferred Sibella’s calm practical nature to their mother’s more forceful one.
They entered her bedchamber. “And the babe, did you see her?”
“Oh yes. I held her.” She had studied the tiny hands, delicate features, and stroked the baby-soft skin. “She has the Brandreth’s black hair. I believe her eyes will be green, too.”
“I did fear she might inherit the drab coloring of Peter’s family. Such a plain woman, his mother. Lady Wallace and the earl are traveling up from Dorset. I daresay they’ll arrive first thing in the morning.” Her mother pulled the bell. “I’m ordering hot milk. Please drink it.” She stood behind Sibella who sat at the mirror removing the pins from her hair. “Where is your maid?”
“I told her not to wait up. I’m perfectly capable of getting myself ready for bed.”
“What nonsense.”
A rap on the door interrupted them. The bleary-eyed footman entered.
“Have hot milk and biscuits sent up, Bolt,” Lady Brandreth said.
Sibella brushed her hair. There was no point in telling her mother she couldn’t eat a bite even though she’d missed dinner. Her appetite had deserted her of late.
Lady Brandreth took the brush from her hand and ran it through Sibella’s hair. “You have not been at your best lately. Not at all like a woman about to marry.”
Sibella closed her eyes, enjoying her mother’s soothing touch. “I’m just tired.”
“Are you not pleased to marry Lord Coombe? Is he not polite and attentive?”
“He is. But I don’t love him.”
“The love of your life isn’t always the one you marry.” Her mother put down the brush and gathered Sibella’s hair into braids. “My dear, are you aware that I didn’t love your father when we first married?”
Sibella met her mother’s eyes in the mirror. “I wasn’t, Mama.”
“Not at first. I was desperately in love with someone entirely unsuitable.”
“Was he a rake?”
“Oh yes. Lord Bascom was a rake of the first order.”
Sibella swiveled to face her. “Did you ever regret not marrying Bascom?”
“Goodness, no. Do keep still. Bascom wed one of the Kirkpatrick twins. The poor lady died after only two years of marriage. Not from a surfeit of his company, I gathered. He was known to be seldom at home as gambling and mistresses were his favored pursuits.” She smiled into the mirror. “But his eyes were like melted chocolate and his physique quite startling…” Shaking her head, she laughed. “All the ladies were smitten with him. I clearly remember that he wanted me as desperately as I did him.”
Sibella studied her mother objectively. Age had thickened her waist and threaded white through her black hair but had also enhanced the fine bone structure of her face. “I believe many men did, Mama.”
“Yes, but your father was the best of them. We made an excellent match in the end. Just look at our progeny!”
Sibella rose to remove her dress. Her mother came to help her, undoing two buttons just out of reach. “Foolish to spoil your maid. She will grow lazy and useless.”
A footman brought in the hot milk and biscuits on a tray. The drink warmed her cold insides, but somehow the warmth failed to banish the chill which had lodged in her heart.
“I trust you will come to love Lord Coombe, my dear,” her mother said. “After you become intimate, everything changes.”
“I do hope so.” Sibella was too tired to argue. The image of John’s face as they stood on the pavement that last time swum into her mind’s eye. Was that misery darkening his eyes? It hardly mattered, he had made up his mind. So infuriatingly noble. But yes, she admired that about him, too. She sighed. But had he found Vaughn?
Her mother tucked her in bed and left the room. Sibella blew out the candle and lay staring into the dark. Her sister’s tiny babe was perfect. She wanted one of her own. She banished Coombe from her thoughts and indulged in the memory of John’s hair like rough silk beneath her fingers. A deep sigh escaped her lips as her senses came alive to the slide of silk nightgown against her thighs. Exhausted and sensually disturbed, she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Foul air and clamor greeted Strathairn when he arrived back in the city. Seated at his desk in the library, he dashed off a note to Edward explaining that Vaughn was safe and enclosing Vaughn’s few lines addressed to Sibella explaining why he wished to remain at Linden Hall. He sprinkled sand over the letter, shook it, and folded it. Hesitating, he took a fresh sheet of bond, dipped his quill in the inkpot, and scrawled a brief missive to Sibella. If you should wish to learn more, I shall be riding in the park tomorrow at noon. He didn’t attempt to examine his motives too closely, aware that seeing her wouldn’t be helpful to either of them. But at least he had done what he promised and found Vaugh. Or Vaughn had found him. He instructed the footman to deliver the note before he changed his mind.
Strathairn rode into the park just before noon, with a glance at the sky. The rain held off but dark clouds threatened. Might she not come?
Sibella was too good a rider to favor the Ladies’ Mile. She often rode earlier in the day before the Beau Monde gathered. He was dismayed by how pleased he was to see her riding with her groom. He rode up and reined in beside her. She greeted him, her green eyes alight with gratitude. “I can’t tell you how relieved I was that Vaughn is safe at Linden Hall.” He allowed his gaze to take in her green riding habit which matched her eyes. “I’m immeasurably grateful,” she said. “You must tell me the whole.”
“Your brother sought his fortune at the race tracks,” Strathairn said. “I managed to persuade him to work in my stables. He seems keen to learn more about the stud. Always a strong interest of his as you know. And a far healthier endeavor than the life he pursued in London.”
“Oh, how clever of you!”
“Not so clever. I shall gain from the arrangement. I can’t be there as often as I’d like, and already, Vaughn shows some aptitude for the work.”
“It’s the perfect answer and most kind of you to take him on.”
His heart warmed to see her smile. He noted the violet shadows beneath her eyes as he studied her pale face framed by her black riding hat. “Edward tells me Lady Aida and Lord Peter have a daughter.”
“Yes, Catherine Ann. She’s a perfect peach.”
“She takes after her Aunt Sibella?”
Sibella steadied her mount as they grew closer to a couple riding ahead of them. “She has the Brandreth’s coloring. She favors my mother.”
“Then she will be a beauty.”
“I expect so.”
“And you have danced attendance on the babe and her mother? Day and night, forgoing sleep, I assume.”
Sibella tilted her head. “Why, my lord? Do I not look my best?”
“You are as beautiful as ever, if a little tired around the eyes.”
“You never were one to mince words.” Sibella dropped her gaze to the reins in her hands. “My fascinating new niece does not tire me. There is a lot to be done in preparation for the ball and Maria’s wedding. That is all.”
“Lady Sibella?”
“Ah, here is Lord Coombe come to join us.” Sibella’s tone sounded overly bright, and he found her smile strained.
Strathairn stayed long enough to exchange pleasantries and then excused himself. The charmless Coombe obviously disliked finding him with his fiancée. He left the park and rode home, disappointed at having so little time with her. What a fool he was. Did he seriously believe that Coombe would permit their friendship once they’d married? He delivered his horse to the stable mews and entered the house, his shoulders tense. Was he being unfair to the man? He questioned his motives and found that he just didn’t like the cut of Coombe’s jib.
*
Strathairn’s butler,
Rhodes, delivered the mail on a silver tray. A letter bearing the Fortescue crest caught Strathairn’s eye. He slipped his thumb beneath the wax seal and unfolded the letter scanning the contents. Guy had news of great interest. He would be there at two and hoped to find Strathairn at home.
Curious, Strathairn ploughed through the rest of his correspondence while listening for the door knocker.
As the clock struck the hour, a wild-eyed Guy burst into the room.
Strathairn pushed back his chair and rose to greet him. “My friend, were you not in the country? What has brought you to my door with such urgency?”
Guy threw himself down in a leather chair. “Tiens! You’ll never credit it. Yesterday evening, I escorted my cousin, Eustace Fennimore, to Lord Bromehurst’s gaming hell in the alley behind St. James’s. You were with me when we found him in his cups a year or so back. Fennimore is an inveterate gambler who mixes alcohol with the laudanum prescribed for his gout to an alarming degree. When he asked me to accompany him, I agreed, because I feared he would be robbed, and possibly murdered for his purse. Hetty is fond of her godfather although why she does eludes me.”
The butler entered carrying a decanted bottle of wine and poured them a glass each. Guy drummed his fingers on the arm of his leather chair. The door closed on Rhodes. “Please continue,” Strathairn said impatiently.
“Forney’s wife was there again,” Guy said.
Strathairn sat up straight. “You saw her? Last night?”
Guy nodded. “As bold as you please, this time attired in a startling crimson affair, which caught my attention as I entered the room. I made sure she didn’t see me. She had old Lord Crutchet hanging off her arm.”
Dangerous Lords Boxed Set Page 39
