For a few minutes, we just lay together in silence. Lance didn't move except to use one foot to nudge a large log a bit further into the fire, sending up a spiral of sparks into the air. I felt as though I should be talking, should fill the silence, but no words came to mind.
After a few more minutes, Lance nudged me, glancing down at me. "Hey," he said, shaking me a little. "Still awake?"
I'd actually been starting to drift off a little. "Yeah," I replied, shaking myself, already feeling my joints growing stiff. "I'm still here, still awake."
Lance nodded, but he didn't look convinced. "Maybe you should talk to me, to keep yourself awake," he suggested.
I managed to glare up at him. "Oh, really? You want to find out more about me, even though you're a stranger?"
For a moment, I saw the man clearly struggling to not roll his eyes at me. "Okay, fine," he gave in. "You talk to me and tell me how you ended up out here, and I'll tell you about why I'm here. Deal?"
I didn't consider the trade for more than a second or two. I could definitely feel myself drifting off, and while I still didn't know how much I trusted this man, I'd much rather be awake around him than asleep. Blearily, I reconsidered whether waving my big diamond ring under his nose was a good idea.
"Yeah, I guess that's a deal," I said. "Where should I start?"
"Start with the beginning, and just move forward until you get to now," Lance suggested. "It's not like we're going to run out of time - we've got all night, judging from how the storm's still raging."
Sure enough, the lightning, thunder, and rain didn't show any sign of abating. I nodded, casting my mind back and trying to find a good place to start telling my tale.
"Well, my full name's Jillian," I began. "Jillian Monteclaire. And this morning, I thought that today was going to be great..."
Chapter three
"Oh, my dear, it's absolutely LOVELY to see you, just LOVELY! And that man of yours, too! I hear that you two are ENGAGED now, aren't you?"
I beamed back at Mrs. Riviello, trying to match her incredible level of enthusiasm. The old woman might be small, wrinkled, and sprouting a full head of iron gray hair, but she still managed to sound as though she was overflowing with excitement whenever she opened her mouth.
"I am engaged now, yes!" I replied, showing off the ring on my finger. "Marsden proposed two months ago - it was so beautiful! I'm already dreading all the wedding planning that's going to start up any day now."
"Lovely, just lovely!" Mrs. Riviello trilled, clapping her little hands together as she peered down rather nearsightedly at the ring. "Dorothy, Helen, come and look at this ring! It's just AMAZING!"
At her call, a couple other fellow gray-haired little old ladies of high society detached themselves from the crowd and ambled over. They all tugged at my hand to display the ring in front of their faces and added their own little pleased exclamations to the din.
"It's gorgeous, dear!" Helen assured me, patting my hand in between her own. "And he only just recently proposed, did he? How did he do it?"
I immediately felt myself pinned by three sharp-eyed little stares. I scrambled to respond to the question.
"It was in his family's home," I told my trio of attentive listeners. "It's his grandmother's ring, you see. All of his relatives were there for their Fourth of July celebration, and after I said yes, all of the fireworks went off for me!"
Dorothy clapped her hands together in delight. "Simply the most ROMANTIC thing I can imagine!" Mrs. Riviello called out, nodding. "That Marsden, he must have planned it out for months, entire MONTHS!"
For just a second, the smile on my face felt forced, and I had to remind myself to nod to the little old ladies. Inside my head, I winced a little at the tiny little white lie, but I clamped down, refusing to let anyone else know how I truly felt inside my head.
It wasn't Marsden's fault, of course. I knew that, had to remind myself of it every time I found myself doubting my decision. The man was under a lot of pressure at his law firm to pull off his current cases, and he was up for making partner. It wasn't his fault that he hadn't fully planned out a huge, majestic proposal for me - and didn't it say enough that he'd proposed in the first place?
It had been romantic, I reassured myself, even if it wasn't quite what I'd imagined when I used to daydream about my proposal as a little girl. And I knew that Marsden loved me, even if the man was completely hopeless at planning.
In front of me, I could see the little old ladies opening their mouths to ask further questions, and I quickly pulled my eyes up to scan the crowd for someone I hadn't said hello to yet. I was okay with telling these women the broad gist of my proposal, but I knew that I'd need to start lying if they started probing into the little details, and I was sure to end up hopelessly entangling myself in my own web of lies.
Fortunately, just as Dorothy started to ask a question, I heard the loud, unmistakable laugh of my future husband, and cut the little old lady off. "Excuse me," I said politely, grasping the woman's wrinkled little claw in both of my hands, "but I need to go check in with Marsden for a moment. If you'll excuse me?"
"Why, of course, of course," Dorothy answered quickly, beaming back at me. "Oh, young love! So adorable, so romantic!"
The other ladies nodded and murmured their agreement as I stepped away. I made sure that several taller gentlemen blocked their view of me before I rolled my eyes.
Ah, the demands of high society! I had made careful small talk with old women like Dorothy, Helen, and others since I was barely old enough to walk on my own, and I could do it in my sleep, but I still sometimes had to sigh at how ridiculous it could feel.
To the elegantly dressed and composed men and women around me, everything was wonderful, every occasion was civilized, and every event happened perfectly. The idea of a proposal that was ill-conceived and executed in a stumbling, clumsy manner by a man already more than half drunk would be unimaginable to these ladies.
That wasn't how high society functioned, after all.
And, no matter how I might feel at times, I was most definitely a member of high society. After all, the Monteclaires had been a part of Virginia nobility since before there even was a Virginia, for heaven's sake! We'd always contributed to charity, shown our faces at every high society gala and event, and, in the last hundred years, we'd never failed to enter a horse in the Virginia Derby.
Even now, with our family finances in ruins and little of our legacy left in my name and possession, we still had a horse here. My own horse, Merlot, whom I'd trained exhaustively for this. I had high hopes that I might go home with a ribbon, or maybe even some prize money.
The race would be beginning soon, I knew. But until it started, I needed to continue making small talk as I moved around the room of notables in the VIP box, overlooking the track with its plate glass floor-to-ceiling windows. I had to show them that, no matter my family's current financial situation, the Monteclaires were still keeping up all of their proud Virginia traditions.
From ahead of me, I heard Marsden let out another loud laugh. The man's laugh was unmistakable, sounding a bit like a braying horse himself. I slipped in between two elderly white-haired gentlemen with matching monocles and three-piece suits, and spotted him, standing near the bar.
Marsden looked to be in animated conversation with two other men standing near him, and he slapped at his knee with one hand as I stepped up to him. "-and that's when I realized that the horses were out in the pasture!" he chortled out, laughing so hard his words were hard to make out. "And instead, the stables were filled with cows!"
The other men laughed along with Marsden at the punchline, although not nearly as hard as my future husband to be seemed to be laughing. Clearly, they weren't as deep into the free booze as Marsden.
I stepped up, rubbing my hand along Marsden's upper arm to let him know that I was present. "Hi honey," I greeted him with a little smile. "Everything going well over here?"
Marsden Guilefort turned to me, his gri
n staying on his face, although his eyes had to adjust for a second before they focused on me. "Jillian! My beautiful, classy fiancée!" he boomed out, throwing an arm around me. "Honey, you should have heard this story! It's hilarious!"
Despite the man's overly loud voice, I couldn't help smiling up at him. Drunk or sober, Marsden Guilefort was absolutely irrepressible. From the moment I'd first met him, the man reminded me of a big grizzly bear, albeit one with a happy smile on his face.
He stood a couple inches over six feet, towering over almost everyone else in the room. But Marsden was no beanpole - he still had the broad shoulders and thick forearms from his college days when he'd rowed for University of Virginia. His belly may have grown a little since his college days, but he still radiated strength and power.
He always tried to smooth his brown hair back over his head, but I could already see that it was slightly mussy from him running his fingers through it. He'd shaved this morning, at my insistence, but I could already see the start of a five o'clock shadow forming on his face. Likewise, even the backs of his hands showed a thin layer of brown hair where they emerged from the cuffs of his suit. His suit already showed some creases and his tie was askew, but I just couldn't imagine Marsden any other way. He never managed to keep up his formal appearance for long.
"Marsden, dear, I think that the race is going to be starting soon," I told my fiancé, wrapping my hands around one of his arms. "Perhaps we should move forward towards the front windows, so we can see Merlot run?"
Marsden beamed down at me, although he flapped one hand at my suggestion. "Ah, no one's here for the horse races," he boomed out. "I'm sure that your horse will do fine! Now, let me get back to my story..."
My smile froze for a moment, and I tugged a little harder on Marsden's arm. "Honey, this is very important to me," I insisted, fighting hard to keep my face from showing any annoyance. "You did help pay the fees for Merlot to run, you know."
Marsden let out a loud sigh, but he nodded. "Okay, okay," he gave in, setting his drink down on the bar with a loud clink. I winced, but thankfully the glass didn't shatter. "Now, let's see," he went on, looking around nearsightedly. "Where did I happen to put down my cane..."
I spotted the ridiculous thing leaning up against the side of the bar. "There, dear," I indicated, trying not to sigh.
For some reason, my fiancé insisted that this cane made him look the true part of a gentleman. I'd managed to convince him to give up on his ratty slippers and that ridiculously short bathrobe he used to wear around the house, but he still clung stubbornly to this cane, insisting on bringing it with him to every formal occasion we attended.
The thing wasn't even attractive, I thought to myself with a little mental groan as Marsden snatched up the cane. The cane was constructed of black wood, with silver wrapped around the last foot of the rod. The handle was also silver, sculpted into the shape of an eagle's talon, clutching a horn carved of bone. Marsden always insisted that this represented the cattle from which his family had made its fortune, and he carried it everywhere with him.
With cane firmly in hand, Marsden turned and smiled back down to me. "Okay, my little high society woman," he called out. "Let's go watch your pony run a couple of laps!"
Even those words couldn't bring me down, however, as I led the man through the crowd towards the big windows that overlooked the Virginia Derby track. Instead, I could feel my heartbeat quickening in my chest. The race was about to start, and although Merlot's performance was now out of my hands, I couldn't help feeling as though his fate on the race was up to me.
We made our way to the front of the crowd, getting a good vantage position. Marsden was already glancing around at the people standing nearby, clearly looking to resume telling jokes, but I kept my eyes glued down to the starting line of the race.
This was it, I thought to myself. Come on, Merlot! You can win this!
Chapter four
A few minutes later, the announcer finished his introductions of all the horses, and a hush fell over the entire derby stadium as the horses prepared to start. Despite the thick glass windows between me and the track, I imagined that I could hear the horses huffing and stamping their hooves, anxious to run.
"It's so exciting, isn't it?"
The voice, speaking up right next to me, nearly made me jump out of my skin before I recovered. I turned and brought my hand around in a fake little punch, smacking at the woman standing next to me.
"Dolly! You scared me!" I exclaimed, putting on a mock glare directed at the laughing young woman beside me.
"Scared you? Serves you right, Gilly!" the young woman fired back, tossing back waves of curly black hair over her shoulder as she grinned back at me.
I couldn't keep up the angry expression for more than a second. My face melted into a smile as I reached out to hug the young woman. "Dolly, why didn't you come say hi to me earlier? I could have used your help to bail me out of some of the super stuffy conversations here!" I confided, leaning in.
"Trust me, I could have used your help, as well!" my friend replied, waggling her eyebrows conspiratorially to me as she leaned in to return the hug. "Seriously. When are you going to find a man, Dahlia? When are you going to settle down, Dahlia? When are you going to stop driving that beat-up pickup and start attending all the art societies, Dahlia? It's exhausting!"
I laughed as the young woman let out a loud huff of exasperation. I'd known Dahlia since we were both barely able to talk, and for as long as I could remember, she'd always insisted on forging her own way, never letting anyone else dictate her life choices. She'd grown up as a total tomboy, spending more time chasing after trucks than pining after boys. She still proclaimed herself to be "perennially single, and loving every minute of it".
Right now, as she released me from the hug, Dahlia turned and snagged a couple of champagne flutes off of the tray of a passing waiter. She held one out to me, and I gratefully accepted it from her.
"So," the young woman said after a minute, gesturing down at the track spread out in view before us. "Who's running?"
I pointed down at where the horses stamped and snorted with pent-up energy in the paddocks before the race began. "Merlot, down there in the fourth stall. He's the Monteclaire entry for the year, and my personal horse."
Dahlia raised her glass up in a mock toast to the horse. "Here's to Merlot, then - a fine name, at least!"
I chuckled as I clinked my own glass with my best friend's.
As Dahlia took a long pull of champagne, I examined my best friend sidelong out the corner of my eye. Dahlia Remont, the outrageous brat of high society, I thought fondly to myself. Dahlia's family as nearly as old as my own, and she never declined an invitation to one of these classy events - but once at the event, she didn't hold back with her acerbic tongue or tendency to overindulge on both food and drink, often leading to a memorable, if not exactly newspaper-acceptable, night. I could still recall the last New Year's party, where she managed to get her hands on two bottles of fifty-year-old champagne and popped both the corks with scarcely thirty seconds until midnight, spraying the shrieking crowd as she pretended to "attempt" to control the splashes of frothy bubbles. "My last bad act of the year, before it's all forgiven," she called the act merrily when the angry and sticky guests yelled at her.
Somehow, despite her wild adventures at the parties, Dahlia still looked great, I noted with only the slightest little twinge of envy. She still wore her hair in a mass of tangled curls, but the tumble of thick hair looked natural on her, matching her wild and carefree personality. Even though I almost never caught her without some sort of snack close at hand, her figure remained boyishly slim, accentuated by a wide belt around her waist that cinched her robin's egg blue dress tight just above her hips. With that broad smile almost always on her lips, she sparkled, and I had no problem understanding why she never seemed to get annoyed at perennially staying single.
As she lowered her glass, Dahlia glanced past me at Marsden, and I saw her sm
ile drop away for a moment. "So, Marsden, how's the wedding planning going?" she called out to the man on my other side.
I shot a brief but strong little glare at Dahlia for poking at my fiancé for this, but Marsden just shrugged. "I dunno," he replied, tossing back his own drink. "I'm letting Jillian handle all of that woman stuff."
"Really?" my best friend needled. "Not helping out at all?"
It took a moment, but I saw Marsden's eyebrows draw down and together. "If she asked me to do something, I would!" he growled, turning to face Dahlia - again, still with me caught in between the pair. "And you're one to talk-"
"Hey, hey!" I interrupted, waving my free hand. "Stop arguing, you two!" I made sure that my anger was aimed more towards Dahlia, since she was the one who'd initially brought things up. "Besides, the race is about to start!"
At least this was true, and the roar of the crowd outside our glass VIP box was rising. Both Dahlia and Marsden looked as though they wanted to keep on sparring with each other, but I kept up my annoyed expression until, grumbling, they both turned back forward to look out the glass windows at the track below.
The race was about to start! The announcer had stepped up, brandishing the starting pistol, and I could practically feel the tension and energy of the penned horses from here. The jockeys on the backs of the horses were leaning forward, getting ready for a perfect start out the gate.
The announcer lifted the gun, getting ready. I tossed back the rest of my champagne in a single gulp and thrust the glass out behind me towards the nearest waiter, never turning away from the sight for a moment.
Oh god. I could feel my stomach doing flips inside my torso. The Monteclaires hadn't even placed in a race for years, much less won anything, but I had high hopes for this year. Merlot was young but full of fire and energy, and I had done my best to train him for this moment. I thought he did have a chance, at least.
But it all came down to this one race.
Dark Horse: Bad Boy Cowboy Romance Page 2
