The Corinthian Duke

by Emma V. Leech

  Oscar blinked. The awkward interview he’d endured with her father when the man had pressed him to set a date came back to him.

  Pearl is a sensible girl, she’s got no silly romantic notions. You’ll be free to live as you desire as long as you’re discreet.

  What the earl had failed to understand, what he’d barely understood himself was… that was why he didn’t want to set a date. It wasn’t the kind of marriage he wanted.

  He shook himself out of such foolish thoughts and nodded instead. What option did he have?

  “Of course, Pearl. I understand.”

  She smiled at him then, the kind of devastating smile men fought and died over. If only she would show some pleasure in the idea herself, he could not deny the idea of bedding her was not an unpleasant one. At least there was that.

  Oscar ignored the hollow void consuming his chest and turned his attention back to the heath below, searching out Virago.

  ***

  Ella pulled the cap down low and kept her eyes on the ground, holding the saddle and bridle almost to her chin.

  “He’ll kill me,” Banks muttered beside her as he led Ella and Virago to Thomond’s post for the weighing in. His face was grim, his lips set in a taut line. “Death by duke. They’ll find me chopped into small pieces and scattered over the heath.”

  “He’s not going to kill you.”

  Banks sent her a withering look which she just caught from beneath the peak of her cap. “Course he is, and rightly so. Look at you, a little slip of a girl and you think you can ride this flighty bitch? You’ll break your neck.”

  “I won’t!” Ella shot back, though the roiling in her guts didn’t seem to back that statement up.

  “Yes. You will, then he’ll dismiss me, and then… he’ll kill me.”

  Banks’ voice was forbidding and resigned as he held onto Virago for all he was worth. Her coat shone like ebony velvet in the sunlight and Ella’s stomach pitched as the huge beast gave her a wild-eyed glare and tossed her head.

  Oh, Heaven preserve her.

  “Oscar won’t dismiss you, I promise. I’ll make sure he knows I blackmailed you and it’s all my fault. He’ll believe it, don’t worry. It’s exactly the sort of ridiculous thing I would do.” She heard the hysterical tinge to her words and snapped her mouth shut.

  “Maybe,” Banks said, cursing as Virago sidestepped and tried to kick out at one of her opponents. “But he’ll still kill me. I wonder if he’ll wring my neck. Swords perhaps? He’s a demon with a blade. A bullet through the brain would be quicker, perhaps I should request it?”

  Ella rolled her eyes at him but kept her mouth shut as he mused about the varied and increasingly complex manners in which the duke might put a period to his life.

  All too soon, however, the weighing post was before them.

  “All right, Willy?” called out a voice. Ella ignored it and scurried forward, doing her best to keep her gait manly and her head down.

  Her heart pounded, the sound of it pulsing in her ears as she sat on the scales. The metal was cold through the soft material of her breeches and Ella felt more exposed than in her life before. Usually she was trussed up in layers and layers. Knowing she was naked beneath the silk of her colours and surrounded by men made her cheeks scald. For the first time in her life she thanked heavens for her boyish figure; if she’d been built like Pearl she’d have never made it out of the yard.

  “You’re riding light today,” a voice remarked as they handed her thin lead weighs to stuff in the saddle.

  Ella gave a grunt of acknowledgement and hurried away.

  “Quickly,” she said to Banks, thrusting the saddle at him.

  Banks sprang to life as Ella held onto Virago. The filly eyed her with suspicion but didn’t try to bite. Perhaps that was a good sign?

  “There’s a good girl,” Ella crooned, reaching up to stroke the soft muzzle. “Just don’t kill me, please.”

  She watched in trepidation as Virago’s ears flattened to her head but her teeth still didn’t make an appearance. Maybe there was hope.

  A little hope.

  A glimmer?

  “Oh, my God, that’s torn it.”

  “What?” Ella exclaimed, panicked by the horrified tone of Bank’s voice.

  “Lord Marchmain.”

  “No!”

  Ella peered around Virago to see the handsome figure of August Bright moving towards them. As he’d bred and trained Virago with Oscar, it was only natural he’d want to look her over before the race.

  “Quick!” Ella shrieked, tugging down the short little stirrup. “Quick, give me a foot up.”

  With them both in a blind panic, Banks did as she commanded, with such a hard shove she almost plummeted straight over the other side. Cursing, Ella struggled to find her seat as Virago danced with excitement. It wasn’t so strange for her to ride astride as she’d done it often when she’d been chasing Oscar and Bertie around as a girl. She still did in the privacy of their own grounds, though Pearl would have killed her if she knew. Right now she could only be grateful she had. The ground seemed an awfully long way away though as Virago’s sixteen hands was rather more horse than she was used to. There was no way she was backing down now though, and tugging at the other stirrup, she gathered the reins and gave Virago a swift kick that had her surging forward like she’d been shot from a cannon.

  Ella didn’t look back, but pretended she was oblivious, focusing on not allowing Virago to unseat her which seemed her purpose in life just now. The huge black horse gave a couple more experimental bucks and lunges and then glared over her shoulder at Ella.

  “Now listen here,” she said, leaning forward and whispering as close to the creature’s ear as she could. “They think girls can’t do things like this. They think girls can’t do anything at all. We’re to sit looking ornamental and never open our pretty mouths. Well, if all goes to plan, I suppose they’ll keep on thinking that but… we’ll know, Virago, you and me. We’ll know.”

  Ella swallowed hard as the contents of her breakfast threatened to make an appearance. Despite her sisterly words, Virago continued to dance and stamp, the only blessing being that everyone knew well to keep well out of striking distance.

  Taking the opportunity to look up and glance around, Ella saw Ranleigh’s chestnut. She was a beautiful animal and, unlike the hellcat Ella was seated upon, walked about like a well-mannered young lady, docile and sweet, though her ears flicked back and forth with interest.

  “There she is, Virago. You see that beautiful chestnut? That’s Miss Skirmish. Isn’t she lovely? She wants everyone to see how gorgeous and clever and fast she is… is that what you want?”

  There was no further time to talk Virago around, as unlikely as it had been in the first place. The sound of a drum roll signalled that the runners must get in line and Ella’s heart drummed too as she watched the flagman scurry up the post.

  Her first aim was to try her best not to be unseated. Unlike the town plate, this race was not a test of endurance but speed alone. The plate, being almost four miles long, made a good start of less importance, but with only a mile to cover she needed a fast getaway.

  She pushed Virago forwards, determined not get blocked in at the back. A sleek bay danced with impatience and jostled Virago, who kicked out her hind-leg with a whinny of fury.

  Ella’s breathing was fast and shallow now as she stared at the man holding the black–and-red flag. He raised it aloft and she felt as if the entire world held its breath.

  ***

  Oscar watched through the telescope as Virago danced about and Willy struggled to hold her in check. She looked full of juice, excited and ready to explode. Her ebony coat shone like black silk as she tossed her head, proud as a queen. Pride and hope burst in his chest.

  You can do this, girl, you can do this.

  Pearl spoke beside him but he didn’t turn, his focus entirely on Virago as a strange prickling sensation worked its way down his spine. He frowned, staring harder. T
here was something odd, something he couldn’t put his finger on, but the way Willy was handling her….

  He stared and stared… why did Willy seem so much slenderer in the shoulder than usual?

  Through the crowd, Oscar saw Banks, head down, running hell for leather towards the stands, down to the finishing post. He looked guilty.

  “Banks!”

  Oscar jolted as Pearl tutted, aghast at the way he’d hollered over the crowds.

  The horrified look on Banks’ face was the only further proof he needed that something was amiss. Oscar made a beckoning motion with his finger and Banks seemed to turn the colour of a rancid fish, his eyes glassy with terror. He moved, though, and Oscar waited for him to appear on the balcony. He heard the muted sound of a drum roll drifting down the Rowley Mile and returned to looking through his telescope, staring with growing disbelief at Virago’s jockey.

  Whoever it was, it wasn’t Willy. By God, he’d have someone’s head for this.

  “Your grace?”

  Oscar turned, his expression frantic as he grasped Banks by the arm.

  “What the devil is going on? Where’s Willy?”

  “S-Sick, your grace. The doctor is with him now; reckons it’s appendicitis.”

  “Hell and damnation,” Oscar exclaimed. “Will he be all right?”

  “Doc reckons so.”

  “Good,” Oscar replied, though his tone was grim. “Now, tell me… who the bloody hell is riding Virago?”

  The young man paled further, looking as though he might vomit. He tried to draw Oscar aside, lowering his voice.

  “I… I couldn’t stop her, your grace,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I tried, I swear I tried, but she was determined—”

  “She?”

  Oscar turned back to see the flagman raise the red-and-black pennant in the far distance as a thrill of terror chased down his spine. There was only one female in the entire bloody world, mad enough to pull a stunt like this.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Helpless, he raised the telescope, watching with his heart in his mouth as the flag fell. Virago surged forward, getting off to a terrific start as the crowd roared.

  The sound washed over him like a wave. Oscar could do nothing but watch, frozen, struck dumb, the same prayer circling in his head over and over.

  Let her be all right, let her be all right….

  Let her be all right, because as God is my witness I’m going to bloody kill her.

  He watched, dimly aware of Pearl sending Banks looks of deep disapproval, but he didn’t give a damn. She wasn’t a bloody duchess yet.

  The two men watched in taut silence until the riders disappeared out of sight as the land dipped. Oscar couldn’t breathe. Nothing existed outside of this moment and the eager atmosphere, everyone straining for the first glimpse of the leaders. His chest felt stretched tight like a drum skin, his heart thudding while the low rumble of horses’ hooves pounding thrummed in the air.

  Miss Skirmish appeared first, the chestnut a good three lengths ahead of the pack with the rest of the runners appearing over the rise behind her.

  “Oh, thank God,” Oscar said letting out a breath, as he saw Virago and the slight figure of Ella in Willy’s green silks. He almost jumped out of his skin when Banks grasped his arm, the two of them staring, willing her on.

  “Come on, girl,” he whispered, feeling sick, hot, cold, and elated all at once. At this point he didn’t give a damn for winning the race, only that Ella came out of it unscathed. “Come on, come on,” he growled, barely able to contain himself.

  Virago was six horses back from the chestnut as they thundered down the Rowley Mile, passing the halfway marker. Oscar watched, terrified and admiring, as Ella struggled to hold her back, pushing her to the outside of the pack.

  “Go on, lass,” Banks said beside him, his voice brittle with anxiety. “Go on, hold on a bit longer, go on….”

  “Rothborn, really….” Pearl said, her voice low and disgusted. She put her hand to his arm. “Get rid of him―”

  “Shut up, Pearl!” Oscar snapped, shaking her off his arm as he grasped the rail before him.

  His betrothed said something further, but her voice was nothing but a dim buzzing in his ears. All he could focus on was Ella as she gave Virago her head and pushed out of the pack. Suddenly they were flying, Virago aware of the scent of victory now she was free to run her heart out.

  Oscar felt the beat of her hooves as his heart raced to keep time, and Ella and Virago surged down the field as if the hounds of hell were snapping at their heels.

  She passed the other runners, Godolphin and Skim, settling beside Cannon Ball, the bay’s jockey giving her a sidelong glance as Virago came into his line of sight.

  Banks’ hand was still gripping his left arm, his fingers clutching at him through Oscar’s fine wool coat so hard he’d probably leave bruises, but Oscar couldn’t blame him. His own knuckles were white against the rail of the balcony, his heart beating so fast now that his chest hurt.

  “Just hold on,” he prayed, the words whispered. “Just hold on.”

  Ella did not seem content to merely hold on, however. She was crouched low over Virago’s neck, pushing her on harder, Ranleigh’s chestnut the prize on the horizon as his black beauty dug deep.

  “Look!” Banks shrieked, almost bouncing on the spot as Virago came up beside Miss Skirmish.

  All the runners were picking up momentum as they thundered down the hill, and Oscar couldn’t take his eyes off the slender figure in green silk as Banks started jumping up and down and shouting, close to hysterical now.

  “Go on, lass, go on!” Banks roared.

  Oscar didn’t know whether his heart could stand the strain. He hardly dared watch, but he couldn’t look away, either. And yet, Banks’ excitement was infectious, and he began to shout and yell himself as the crowd around them roared their excitement.

  There were vast sums of money bet on the outcome of this race; over one hundred and eighty thousand guineas in total as the story of the bet between the two dukes had circulated. The atmosphere crackled in the stands as the only two horses in the race that mattered bore down upon the finish line, whilst the noise from the spectators became deafening.

  Oscar was uncaring of what Pearl or anyone else watching thought of his behaviour. Gone was the indifferent, cool figure of a man who didn’t care if he won or lost, replaced by a frantic maniac, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  “Go on, El… Virago… go on, Virago… go on girl! You’re almost there….”

  The two men yelled themselves hoarse as they watched Virago come alongside the chestnut, the two sleek creatures neck and neck. As if in a dream, Oscar watched as Ella turned her head to see Miss Skirmish at her side. There was fierce determination in her expression as she shouted something—he hadn’t a clue what—but Virago’s ears went back. All at once, the horse surged forward, finding a last burst of energy as she nudged onward, pushing past Ranleigh’s chestnut as the post came into her line of sight.

  Ella was but a tiny figure urging the black beast forwards, her hands gripping Virago’s mane now, her lithe body moving as one with the huge horse as she thundered past the finish post.

  Banks and Oscar stared at each other, mute for a split second before the two men roared, clutching at each other’s arms, shouting and bellowing with incomprehensible joy and the sheer weight of relief.

  She’d done it.

  She’d only bloody done it!

  All at once Oscar fell silent as the blood drained from his face. My God. Ella would need to be weighed in again. She’d need to get back to the stables with no one knowing it had been her who’d raced. If it was discovered….

  The magnitude of the scandal it would induce made Oscar’s stomach plummet to his boots. Not only would the race be null and void with thousands of punters furious at such a stunt, but Ella would be the most notorious woman that ever lived.

  She’d be ruined.

  “Ella,” Osca
r whispered.

  The groom’s eyes widened with understanding and he nodded. Oscar grasped his arm, tugging him along in his wake. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

  They ran through the crowds, barging through those well-wishers who surged forward to congratulate Oscar as they hurried towards where the horses were walking back up to the finish post for the jockeys to be weighed in again.

  Ella was keeping well back. She’d allowed Virago to run well past the finish post and was now dallying as she walked her back towards the throng surrounding the marker and the weighing scales.

  Oscar ran full pelt towards her. Even at a distance he could see the pallor of her face though there was a startling flush to her cheeks. Banks snatched at Virago’s reins to hold her as the filly tossed her head, elated and pleased with herself, still full of excitement. Oscar lurched forwards as Ella slid sideways in the saddle, exhaustion in her eyes as he pushed her back up.

  “Hold on,” he said, his voice grim. Any thrill of triumph he might have felt was long since buried as he realised what was at stake. “You just hold on. We’ll get you back to the stables as quick as we can. Pull that bloody cap down.”

  Ella nodded, tugging at the peak and pulling it low over her mud-spattered face. Oscar refused to allow himself to feel remorse as he noticed how badly her hands were shaking. Good God, the child must have been terrified. The courage it must have taken to have done that… yet all he could think of right at this moment was the horror she would face if they were discovered. He had to keep calm, keep control of this outrageous situation.

  Banks glanced at him as they drew up to where the jockeys were dismounting.

  “Down you come,” he said, standing close as Ella slithered to the ground. Her knees buckled, and he grasped hold of her elbows, keeping her upright.

  “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice stern.

  She did, those wide grey eyes full of terror as she stared up at him. “We will get through this, but you need to be strong a little longer. You hear me?”

  Ella nodded, a tiny movement of agreement.

  “What you just did….” His voice was rough, and his throat thickened before he could finish.