“It’s a fine Sunday morning for wanting to box the ears on a pair of presumptuous gentlemen. If scoundrels who toss a lady’s name about in the public domain can even be called gentlemen.”
The crowd watched in fascinated silence. As Eliot glanced around, he read avid enjoyment on every face. The race itself already promised splendid entertainment. Lady Verena’s sudden arrival added extra spice to the diversion.
“Do you intend to join the race, my lady?” Shelburn asked, his voice light, as if no irate goddess blasted him with her fiery eyes.
“As a passenger only,” she said, stepping down as her tiger ran forward to hold the horses.
“I’d be happy to take you up,” Shelburn said, but she marched past him with a disdainful twitch of her hips.
“You can break your neck for all I care. I’ll have a safer ride with Lord Colville.”
An interested murmur rippled through the crowd, as Eliot stared at her in shock. “Are you saying you favor me to win, my lady?”
“I’m saying that I’m going to take my place at your side, because I refuse to see England’s best hope of good governance crack his head open. Especially when he’s on a misguided quest to show the world how dashing he is.”
Lord Plunkett rushed forward to hand her into Eliot’s carriage. On the narrow seat, her hips wedged up against his in a most distracting fashion. As if sensing his disquiet, the grays shifted and pawed the ground.
“I don’t give a rat’s arse for the world, Verena,” he said in an undertone. “I’m doing this for you.”
Her lips took on an uncompromising line. “No, you’re doing this for your own vanity.”
The sharp response hardly registered. “You can’t come with me, although I appreciate the show of support. I’ll be too busy worrying about your safety to go all out to win.”
She straightened her skirts and settled more firmly in the seat. “Precisely.”
Blast it, all this wriggling made for more distraction. If she came with him, he feared he’d land them both in the ditch through inattention to his driving. “I have to win.”
“What if you do?” She shot him a furious glare. “This is a pudding-brained scheme. Even if you dismiss Shelburn as a rival, what happens next time I start a flirtation? You’re going to beggar yourself at Tattersall’s, buying horses to wager, my lord.”
He shrugged. “You’re worth any number of horses, Verena.”
Eliot had hoped to make her smile, but she still looked like she wanted to give him a good hiding. “I’m past the stage where you can charm me. Right now, I’d like to shake you until your teeth rattle, you impulsive fool.”
“Your fool,” he said and turned his attention to the grays who were becoming edgy with the delay. “Always.”
“Now we have a problem,” Shelburn said. “You’re carrying extra weight, Colville. I don’t want anyone saying my victory wasn’t won fair and square.”
“Hardly gallant, Shelburn,” Verena protested. “But if my participation makes the contest unequal, perhaps you should call it off.”
He laughed again. Verena’s intense displeasure seemed to amuse rather than dismay him. The devil must be cursed sure of her.
“No need.” He surveyed the crowd, which seemed to have grown even larger than when Eliot came into the yard.
“You. The pretty miss in the blue dress over there.” Shelburn pointed the handle of his whip at a group of people hovering on the edge of the throng. “Do you fancy a bit of excitement this morning? You look about Verena’s size. What about a trip to Hatfield? I’ll see you’re escorted right and proper wherever you want to go afterward and throw a gold necklace into the mix to make it worth your while. What do you say? It will be a story you can tell the grandchildren over the fireside, when you’re old and gray. The day you helped a rake win a race for another lady’s heart.”
Eliot waited for the woman to give Shelburn the set-down he deserved. No respectable female would take up such an offer. “I’ll come with you, Shelburn,” Lady Plunkett said from closer to the carriages.
Her husband guffawed and poked her in the ribs. “Emily, you’re twice Verena’s size. Don’t be a nitwit.”
Emily Plunkett, who was indeed rather plump, looked hurt as laughter echoed around the yard.
Eliot was astounded to see Shelburn’s first choice step forward, to the clear displeasure of the soberly dressed man and woman beside her. “I’d be delighted to come, my lord.”
“Kate, don’t you dare,” the woman behind her said, but the attractive brunette ignored her. Instead, she marched forward and accepted Shelburn’s hand as he helped her up into his carriage.
“Good for you, miss,” he said, giving her a lazy smile of appreciation.
Eliot glanced at Verena, who must resent the sight of her beau flirting with another woman. But she was watching Eliot rather than the other couple. “Call off this race, Eliot.”
He gathered the ribbons in his gloved hands and gave her a brilliant smile. She might have rejected him in favor of Shelburn, but right now, she was with him. He intended to enjoy that, whatever happened next. “It’s too late.”
“Are you ready now, my lords?” the landlord asked. The stout fellow had climbed onto a wooden box so everyone in the yard could see him.
“I am,” Shelburn said.
His companion had settled next to him and regarded the crowd with a coolness that Eliot found remarkable. She looked as though playing a part in high society antics was nothing out of the ordinary for her.
“Lord Colville?”
“Eager to go, landlord,” he said.
Shelburn glanced across at him and touched the brim of his hat. For once, there was no derision in his dark eyes, and when he spoke, he sounded sincere as Eliot had never heard him before. “Good luck, Colville. May the best man win.”
Before Eliot could come up with a suitably snide response, the landlord raised a large white handkerchief. “Make way. Make way. Good luck, my lords. Ready. Set. Go! And God save the King.”
The man dropped the handkerchief. With a clatter of hooves and a rattle of wheels, the two carriages lurched into motion.
Chapter 17
To Eliot’s relief, Verena stayed silent while he negotiated the traffic outside the inn. As he’d said to her, her presence in his rig added an extra level of jeopardy to the race. When he’d made the challenge to Shelburn, he’d been in such a state of wild despair that he didn’t much care if his recklessness ended in a broken neck. But be buggered if he was going to injure Verena.
The grays were fresh and skittish after the bedlam of the inn yard. It took them a few minutes to find their rhythm, and Eliot needed all his skill to settle them into a fast gallop that would nonetheless keep them going until they reached Hatfield. All the noise and activity at the Angel had them ready to bolt.
Shelburn had made a better start than he had, damn the man’s eyes. The chestnuts weren’t as nervy as Eliot’s horses, although he was convinced his were faster, if he could manage to bring the best out in them. He could no longer see his rival, who had bowled past just outside the Angel and had now disappeared ahead of a wagon piled high with old furniture.
Eliot stopped at the tollhouse at Highgate and flung some coins at the keeper. “Quick with the gate, man. Every second counts.”
“Aye, my lord.” The man touched his cap with respect before he dashed to open the gate. Eliot’s payment had been well over the odds.
“There’s a phaeton ahead of me. When did it come through?”
“A pair of fine chestnuts in harness and a pretty lady with the gentleman?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“He drove through about ten minutes ago. He was going at a goodly tilt.”
That was what Eliot was afraid of, but he wasn’t too discouraged. Ten minutes wasn’t a lot of time to make up. “Thank you.”
He urged the grays through the barrier and out onto the open road again. The horses gathered speed. They were bra
ve creatures. He hoped to hell that he wouldn’t be handing them over to Shelburn after he got to Hatfield.
When Verena spoke at last, to his surprise it wasn’t with another scolding, but a compliment. They were out of the built-up area by then and fields stretched away on either side. Shelburn remained out of sight.
“That was sterling driving,” she said.
He sent her a quick glance, before he returned his attention to the grays. They still showed signs of wanting to run until they stopped, which he feared would be well short of the twenty miles they needed to cover. “Thank you.”
“I thought that stagecoach was going to hit us when the road narrowed, but you went past as sweet as sugar. Even if you lose today, your reputation as a whip will be assured.”
Eliot’s lips flattened. “I have no intention of losing.”
“Shelburn’s well ahead.”
“There’s still a long way to go,” he said, even as he clicked his teeth at the grays to go faster. At last, they were running as smooth as silk and for the moment, the road ahead was clear and straight.
“Yes, there is,” she said in a musing tone that made him wonder if she was talking about more than just the horse race.
“You don’t sound as angry as you did.”
Verena sighed. She was near enough for him to feel her ribs expand under the close-fitting red spencer. “Last night when I heard about this ridiculous display, I wanted to flay you alive.”
Sardonic amusement lifted the corners of his lips. “I don’t doubt that. You still looked ready to commit murder this morning, when you descended on the Angel like a vengeful fury. I’m just grateful you weren’t carrying your pistols.”
She didn’t smile, but she didn’t sound as if she was furious with him anymore either, thank heaven. For the life of him, he couldn’t describe her mood at all. Which was odd in itself, because he’d spent most of the last year finely tuned to the state of Verena’s emotions.
“With both of you acting like children, perhaps a spanking would do more good than a bullet.”
“That’s never been my vice, although I gather Lord Brice pays a maid to give him a good thrashing with a wooden paddle before he can perform with his wife.”
That earned him a startled glance and distracted her from giving him a lecture. Which had been his plan. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“You’d be surprised what men talk about when it’s late at night and we’re waiting for a parliamentary division.”
His colleagues had gossiped about Verena, too, in terms that now made him livid. It wasn’t much consolation now to remember that at the time, saintly Lord Colville hadn’t joined in, even if he couldn’t avoid listening. The woman he’d come to know bore no resemblance to the rapacious hussy in those salacious tales.
They clattered through a village where a Sunday service must have just ended. A crowd of people gathered outside the church.
Without warning, a child of about five darted out in front of the carriage. While Verena gasped in horror, Eliot managed to avoid a collision. With a scream, the little boy’s mother rushed up to haul her son to safety.
As Eliot gave an apologetic wave and urged the grays on, the congregation leveled a battery of disapproving stares at him. Today saintly Lord Colville was far from the usual model of propriety.
By all that was holy, he was sick to the back teeth of being saintly Viscount Colville. Whatever happened between him and Verena – and her attitude this morning wasn’t nearly as forbidding as he’d feared it might be – at least that was one weight off his shoulders.
In truth, he’d never much liked his righteous reputation. He’d always been too aware of his many flaws. Those flaws had become even more obvious over recent weeks. No saint would compete in a horse race on the Lord’s Day. No saint would harbor the violent dislike he’d developed for Shelburn. No saint would want to fuck Verena until he couldn’t remember his own name.
“Get on!” he shouted at his grays, and the valiant beasts boosted their speed as they approached the next hill.
From the top, Eliot saw that Shelburn’s elegant carriage was only about half a mile ahead. The sight cheered him immeasurably. His horses were going well and still had plenty of pepper in them, whereas even from this distance, he could see that Shelburn’s cattle were laboring. That fast start from Islington was costing him now.
“I can look after the toll at Barnet,” Verena said. “It will be quicker, if you don’t have to fiddle around looking for money.”
A wry smile quirked his lips. “Careful, Verena, that sounds like you want me to win.”
She didn’t look at him, and he still couldn’t judge her mood from her enigmatic profile. When she’d climbed into the carriage, he’d braced to receive the sharp side of her tongue all the way to Hatfield. Or perhaps for her to sulk for the whole twenty miles.
It hadn’t turned out that way. She was quieter than usual, but she wasn’t seething with resentment.
“I’d hate you to lose these horses. They’re magnificent.”
He didn’t comment on the fact that if he won, she lost her chance with Shelburn. Her partisanship on his behalf made frail hope stir in his heart.
“In that case, thank you,” he said, transferring the reins to one hand to dig his coin purse from his coat pocket. “I’d appreciate you taking over the toll payments.”
She accepted the purse and set it in her lap. A thin leather strap held her stylish hat in place, and a few strands of hair whipped around her face. One red-gloved hand curved around the rail at the end of the seat, but the furious pace didn’t appear to daunt her.
How vividly alive she looked. She always did.
Verena was a woman who fed on excitement. She mightn’t approve of the motives behind the race, but this brisk run on a sunny spring morning would stir her blood. Perhaps that was why she was in a better mood than he’d anticipated. It was possible that her attitude toward Eliot hadn’t softened at all.
“Hold on. This is a good spot to pass Shelburn without putting anyone in danger.”
She firmed her grip on the rail and lifted her other hand to hold her hat. “Good luck, Eliot.”
“What the devil…”
“Watch the road, you lunatic. We’re going too fast for you to get distracted.”
That fragile tendril of hope stretched toward the sun. No question, she was on his side.
But as she said, now was no time for a heart-to-heart. It would be just his luck if Verena decided that she could stomach him as a suitor, just before he landed them both in the gravel.
He shifted his grip on the ribbons and urged the grays on. They responded like the champions they were. The carriage bounced along the road at a snapping pace. With every minute, the distance narrowed between him and Shelburn.
“Are you all right?” he shouted at Verena. The wind whistled past so fast, he had to speak up to make sure she heard him.
“Marvelous,” she said.
Despite their speed, he checked to see if she was being sarcastic. But her lovely face was flushed with elation, and her eyes sparkled with the thrill of the contest.
As the grays galloped up behind them, Shelburn and his companion – Kate? – turned.
Shelburn encouraged his chestnuts to go faster, but his lead was decreasing. Within minutes, Eliot was right beside him.
Shelburn flashed him a smile that expressed the same exhilaration Eliot felt. “I see you’ve woken up, Colville,” he called across the tiny gap between the two carriages. “About time.”
The woman at his side should look terrified. But as she watched Eliot pass them, her face was eager. Egad, she was as cool a customer as Verena, it seemed. Shelburn had made a lucky guess when he’d chosen her. Most of the ladies of Eliot’s acquaintance would have fits of the vapors if he drove them at half this rate.
“Just lulling you into a false sense of security, old man,” Eliot said breathlessly, giving the grays their heads. By now, both carriages were flying ahead at
a mad pace.
The chestnuts were intrepid gallopers, but Eliot had been right to judge his cattle as swifter. Slowly but surely, the grays outpaced their competition. Then they were past, and the empty road extended ahead.
“Well done, Eliot,” Verena said, her voice vibrating with excitement. “You’ve got him at a disadvantage now.”
“I intend to keep him that way, too.”
Eliot waited until the curricle had pulled a safe distance in front, before he angled it back onto the right side of the road. They didn’t have far to go to reach the Barnet tollgate. That meant that they were more than halfway to Hatfield, and he meant to lead the way until the end.
They climbed another hill. When he checked back, Shelburn fell even further behind. The chestnuts were fine horses, but the combination of the grays’ fleetness and Eliot’s desperation were proving to make him unbeatable.
They clattered through the Barnet tollgate with barely a minute’s delay to pay the keeper. Then they were back on the road, with less than nine miles to go.
“Verena…”
“Don’t talk now.” She tucked her arm into his side and snuggled closer. Despite the day’s myriad excitements, that was the most exciting thing that had happened since they’d set out. “You’ve got a race to win.”
“I have, haven’t I?” Although he’d already built up a substantial lead, he encouraged the grays to a swifter pace.
Eliot had another reason now for making the best time he could. When they reached Hatfield, he had things to say to Verena. He wondered if perhaps at last she might be ready to hear him.
Caution still lingered. He couldn’t forget the night that she’d taken him to her bed in London, when he thought all his dreams had come true. Instead, he’d come crashing down to earth and the realization that nothing had changed since her emphatic rejection of his proposal.
The sun grew warmer. Around them, the hedgerows and the verges of the road were bright with wildflowers. Spring had arrived in all its beauty. This was the first day that Eliot had been in a frame of mind to appreciate it.
Two Secret Sins Page 16
