Footsteps echoed along the marble hall. Elizabeth turned and curtsied when the duchess entered the room.
“I’ve sent for Dalton.” Mildred’s chilly tone and rigid manner gave no hint to what she was feeling. “He’ll join us shortly, then we’ll get to the bottom of this matter, my dear.” She strode toward the overstuffed chairs grouped in front of the fireplace.
Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you, your grace. I knew I could count on you.”
The duchess sank into a chair. “Your mother was as dear to me as a sister.” Her blue eyes darkened as she held Elizabeth’s gaze. “I want you to always feel you can count on me.”
“Thank you, your grace.” For the first time, Elizabeth felt greatly relieved.
“Now, while we wait for Dalton, I have a little surprise for you.” She smiled, the color returning to her face.
“I love surprises!” Elizabeth clapped her hands with glee. “Please, tell me before Dalton gets here.”
Mildred nodded. “I want you to look especially beautiful for the ball this weekend.”
Elizabeth’s curiosity rose. She had never seen the dowager as excited as she was now. Maybe she had planned to finally announce her engagement to Dalton.
“Please, your grace, tell me what it is.”
“I want you to wear my diamond-and-ruby necklace. It was once owned by Marie Antoinette.” She paused, as though waiting for Elizabeth’s reaction.
Elizabeth forced a smile. “Thank you, your grace.” She fidgeted. “I remember that you wore the diamonds last year to King George’s Jubilee.” She could care less. After all, once she married Dalton, the diamonds and more would be hers.
The dowager leaned back and studied her. “You can’t hide your disappointment from me, Elizabeth. Now, why wouldn’t you be delighted to wear one of the most famous necklaces in the world?”
Tears flowed down Elizabeth’s cheeks, and she left them for effect. “I’d hoped that the ball would end with the announcement of my engagement to Dalton.”
Mildred’s face tightened. “But my dear—”
“Every day, more and more titled, wealthy men present offers for me to my father. I don’t know how long I can keep my father from marrying me off to a foreign prince or—”
“Your father and I have an agreement, Elizabeth. You needn’t worry on that account.”
“But there can’t be a wedding without a bridegroom.”
The dowager eyed her with disapproval. “I want you to consider something very carefully, my dear.”
Elizabeth lowered her head. “I don’t understand—”
“Dalton is very strong-minded. He was so even as a child. He’s a man you can’t rush.”
“I know, but—”
“Since Drake’s death last year, Dalton has been moodier than ever. He was very close to his brother. I’m afraid that…” The duchess hesitated, her fingers working nervously over the large diamond-and-ruby ring on her finger.
Elizabeth glanced up uneasily. “Afraid of what?”
“That Dalton might leave England and return to that horrid war. I’m afraid that if any pressure is put upon him, he might rejoin his outfit.” She laced her fingers in her lap. “He remains at Havencrest only because of his stallion’s accident.” Her gaze drifted to the acres of green lawn outside the window. “In a way, I’m glad Bashshar was injured. It’s kept my son at Havencrest longer than I ever thought possible.” She regarded the younger woman with a warning look. “As a special favor to me, Elizabeth, I’d like you to be extremely patient with Dalton.”
“But I don’t see why—”
“I want nothing more than to see you and my son wed. Nothing could give me greater pleasure. And believe me, my dear, it will come to pass.”
“Oh, how I want to believe that it will.”
Mildred smiled. “Trust me. One day, you shall be the mistress of Wexton.”
Before Elizabeth could speak, a sharp rap sounded at the door and the butler entered.
“I’m sorry, my lady, but we are unable to find his lordship. The stable master told William that his lordship has gone hunting. He won’t return until later this afternoon. Shall I have Ulger send a groom to the gaming field to find him, your grace?”
Mildred thought a moment, then shook her head. “No, the matter can wait until he returns.”
Elizabeth felt a stab of disappointment. She glared at the dowager. “But the matter can’t wait.”
“That will be all, Henry.” The dowager’s voice betrayed no emotion when she dismissed the butler.
Elizabeth remained silent until the servant had left. “Time is running out, your grace. You must say something to Dalton. If our engagement isn’t announced at the ball this Saturday, I’ll become a laughingstock.”
Mildred gave her a commanding look. Elizabeth shuddered under her scrutiny. After an uncomfortable pause, the dowager spoke. “I know my son better than you. We’ll do nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Elizabeth recognized the same stubbornness in the dowager’s calculating blue eyes that she had often seen in Dalton’s.
“Very well, your grace.” Elizabeth lowered her eyes and smiled demurely. Maybe you think that you’ll do nothing, she mused, but I know of something that will change your mind.
Through the natural blind of dense oak leaves, Dalton watched the magnificent stag lift its head from the stream and listen. How many times had Dalton and his brother, Drake, watched the herd as they came to drink at the waterfall? As boys, they had loved the pursuit of the hunt. He and Drake would race each other to see who would first spot their prey. But since the war and Drake’s death, Dalton had lost the stomach to kill any living thing. He even disliked having to read the monthly gamekeeper’s reports that tallied which of the weak trees the workers had cleared from the hunting fields.
The stag nibbled tender shoots from the low brambles. Dalton sighed. He would love to spend the entire afternoon here in the peaceful glen, but he had important work to do. He turned and strode toward the sorrel gelding nearby.
Indeed, the brief respite in the silent woods had restored his good humor. Hopefully, Lady Alicia was in a more receptive mood, too. He needed to talk to her. He had sketched some designs for a round pen that could easily be built away from the stable yard. If Alicia approved the plan, the high-fenced pen would allow her the freedom to work with Bashshar, while protected from the unwelcome stares of his mother’s guests.
When he approached the paddock, Dalton dismounted and walked toward the stable, handing the reins to a waiting groom. He was almost past the corner of the pavilion when he recognized Bashshar’s loud whinny. He stopped and peered through the white-painted fence of the pavilion. Inside, in the center of the ring, Alicia stood like a statue, her arms at her sides. In one hand she held what looked like an old woolen scarf, hanging limply to the ground. A few feet away, Bashshar angrily pawed the earth.
Dalton watched with fascinated interest. She flicked the long scarf. Bashshar watched her warily as he moved along the opposite end of the enclosure, his bright eyes never wavering from her.
Dalton waited for Alicia to react again with the long scarf, to do anything; but instead, she remained immobile, facing the animal. Minutes passed, and Dalton finally realized that she was imitating Bashshar’s movements—while holding the power position of center stage.
Bashshar knew it and didn’t like it. He scratched the dirt, tossing his head in protest at this lovely woman who didn’t seem to be afraid of him. Bashshar refused to settle, his eyes warring with hers.
Whatever was going on, Dalton had no idea, but he couldn’t look away. He watched transfixed as the powerful stallion played into her hand. When the horse appeared ready to rear, Dalton pushed open the gate and rushed inside. “Alicia, back away!”
Bashshar shook his head wildly, then kicked his hind legs in the air.
Alicia stepped back, then whirled to face Dalton. Her face was a study of silent rage as she slapped her hands on her hips. She glanced
over her shoulder at the black stallion. As though satisfied the horse was all right, she strode determinedly toward Dalton, then shot past him.
“Wh-where are you going?” he asked as she strode from the ring. He took off after her. When they had left the paddock, she turned around to lock the gate. When she had slid the bolt through the latch, she rounded on him.
“If I am to make any progress with your stallion, you must not interrupt me.”
“Interrupt? I was trying to save your life. See here, you don’t seem to understand how dangerous that horse—”
“I know exactly what I’m doing!”
“No, you don’t!” He found himself glaring down at her, arms akimbo, as she mocked him, exactly as she had done in the stable, the first night she arrived.
“Come, Lady Alicia,” he said, peering around to see if anyone was watching. “I would like a few words with you.” He took a deep, unsteady breath, then took her elbow, leading her to the bench inside the high arbor of roses he knew would be vacant this time of day. Most of the female guests would be napping before dinner, and the men were either at billiards, whist or shooting skeet. The rose garden would be the perfect place to explain the rules to this recalcitrant wench.
Alicia said nothing as he hurried her along and stood while she took a seat on the curved Italian marble bench.
“Well?” She glared up at him in such a fierce attempt to unnerve him, he almost laughed.
“Have you forgotten the orders that I already gave you?”
Alicia took a deep breath. “Your grace, I’ve dealt with injured animals before. But I can’t help Bashshar if I can’t win his confidence. Now if you continue to interfere when I—”
“Bashshar is a high-strung animal. He’s a one-man horse, and to expect to work with him without my presence is simply foolish.”
She took another deep breath, and Dalton was becoming more than a little irritated with his immediate reaction to her. “You are his master,” Alicia said, the sun catching the fiery glints in her hair. She leaned her face into the sun, reminding him of a pink blush tulip opening to the dawn.
“I have no wish to infringe upon your mastery with your horse. But Bashshar must come to trust me. Trust me completely. And it will occur more quickly if I am the only one he sees. Not the stable boys, or the grooms or even the stable master. That is why I’m asking you to refrain from interrupting our sessions while I’m working with Bashshar.”
Dalton could only stare at her. Didn’t she know that men quivered in their boots when addressing him? Didn’t she know that she was breaking every civilized rule to address him with such audacity? Damn, she was giving him orders like they were equals.
She looked so small, so helpless, sitting before him. He remembered Elizabeth’s hurtful comments earlier and how hard Alicia had tried to cover up the pain he knew she felt. An overpowering need to protect her shot through him. “You must promise me you won’t take chances again with Bashshar.”
She tilted her head to the side. “I’ll make you an offer.”
He almost laughed. Damn! She’d make him an offer? He was the duke of Wexton, and she would make him an offer? Her dark eyes twinkled, and he could only wonder what she had in mind.
“Very well, what is your offer?”
Her slight smile hinted that she thought she was making progress, and the thought gave him a surprised spark of pleasure.
“I won’t take unnecessary chances,” she said carefully, “if you promise me one thing.”
He eyed her warily. “Which is…?”
Her mouth turned up in a bow as she studied him, as though judging how best to begin. “I want you to promise me that you won’t have any contact with Bashshar for…four weeks.”
His mouth dropped open. “What the—”
“And I promise to be extremely prudent in my future actions with your horse.”
“Four weeks? That’s absurd!” Dalton stepped back. “First, Bashshar won’t allow you to bring him food and water to his stall.” Satisfied that he had won the argument so easily, he chuckled. “So you see, I can’t remain away from him.”
Alicia shook her head. “I will feed and water him.”
“Bashshar won’t let you.”
“Bashshar will go hungry until he does.” Her words were said without sarcasm, merely as a statement of fact.
“You’d really let him go hungry?”
She smiled. “Bashshar is too smart to go hungry. He’ll come around, and I’ll gain his trust in the bargain.” Alicia lifted her chin. “You know there’s wisdom behind my technique.” Her smile widened, revealing a small dimple at the side of her enchanting mouth. He wondered, for a fraction of a second, what it would be like to kiss that adorable mark.
“Well, your grace?”
Dalton drew his thoughts away from her mouth. “Ah, well…no! No, I won’t allow it, and that’s final.”
“Very well.” She rose to her feet. “If you’ll instruct the stable master to send a groom for my trunk, I’ll pack while a carriage is made ready and the horses are hitched. If I leave before dark, I should be at Marston Heath by morning.”
“What the devil—?”
Alicia ignored him as she trudged past the fountains and headed along the green toward the stables.
“See here, you gave your word.” Dalton’s long strides easily kept up with her.
Alicia stared straight ahead, her stride never wavering.
“Your father will be most distressed,” Dalton added.
She marched evenly, her arms ramrod straight at her sides.
When they reached the paddock door, Dalton caught her elbow and spun her around to face him. “You are the most stubborn woman….” His words faded as he stared into her large, warm brown eyes, filled with laughter.
“You’re a vixen, Lady Alicia Spencer.” A beautiful, strong-minded young woman, one like he had never met before. “Very well. Four weeks, but not a day longer.”
Her eyelashes lowered, then swept up as she gazed into his eyes. “Thank you,” she said simply.
He expected some sign of her win, like the smugness she had shown earlier when she had won the race to the barn by diverting the way back to the stables. She was so unlike the other women he had known. Unspoiled, fresh, she had a natural grace that came from an inner wholesomeness that he found so appealing. For an incredible instant, he wanted to gaze into her lovely eyes forever. He felt mesmerized by her. Damn, but she was a vixen, a tempting siren who could cast spells upon men and beasts.
With an incredible effort, he stepped sideways to let her pass. Then an idea struck him and he touched her shoulder.
“If I remain hidden,” he said, his voice hoarse, “will you allow me to watch you train Bashshar?”
She smiled as though considering his request. “Absolutely not,” she said, opening the gate bolt and strolling inside the paddock.
He heard Bashshar whinny as she entered, and Dalton realized, for the first time since the accident, the stallion had his thoughts on something other than the explosion of gunfire that had terrified him.
For that, Dalton owed Alicia a great deal.
Chapter Five
A few minutes before midnight of the following evening, Alicia stared at the full moon through the bedroom windows above her bed. The silver light cast lacy shadows across the rumpled silk sheets. Suddenly, the clock above the mantel struck midnight. For the past three hours she had tossed and turned, unable to sleep, the unbidden face of Dalton Warfield, the duke of Wexton, haunting her.
She buried her head beneath the pillow. In spite of her busy schedule, thoughts of him had intruded into her daydreams. What was the matter with her?
Through the open window, the faint strains of a waltz floated from the manor ballroom, feeding her imagination. She could almost feel Dalton’s right hand at her waist, her fingers pressing lightly at his broad shoulder as he held her in his arms and led her in step to the music. Her blood soared with the thought.
She saw herself dressed in a low-cut gown of shimmery white chiffon, a striking contrast to Dalton’s dark good looks. They would glide across the ballroom, whirling to the music as the guests stood in awe of the beautiful couple waltzing before them.
“You don’t belong here!” screamed a shrill voice. The crowd parted and the dowager duchess scowled down from her throne, thumping her diamond-studded cane as the room fell into a deafening silence.
Alicia bolted upright in bed, her heart hammering. She glanced about the moonlit room, then finally caught her breath. Her mother always said that moonglow could drive a person crazy. Thick draperies had kept away the lunar rays at Marston Heath windows. As a child, Alicia had rebelliously thrown open the shades and basked in the moonlight after her mother had carefully shuttered the windows for the night.
Maybe her mother had been right, and Alicia now suffered from sheer lunacy. What other reason could there be for her dreaming of Wexton?
She sighed as she ran a hand through her tousled hair. She had suffered enough. Moonlight shone bright enough for her to go horseback riding. The idea lifted her spirits. She rose from her bed and dressed hastily in the moonlight. A lit candle might wake Marie, the young French maid, sleeping in the next room. Olivia had insisted the girl remain with her in the cottage and tend to her every need.
When Alicia had finished dressing, she brushed her thick, waist-length hair, securing the long curls with a green ribbon. Quietly, she tiptoed outside and made her way along the cottage path to the tall, neatly clipped boxwood that sheltered the rose garden.
When she reached the arbor, she paused to stare at the golden glow coming from the manor. A thousand candles must be burning from the hundreds of windows. She felt like a spy. The thought was frightening, yet strangely exciting. She dare not venture any farther, least she stumble upon a wayward guest.
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