The Duke's Secret Wager: Regency Romance (London Season Matchmaker Book 4)

by Lucy Adams

  Much to her surprise, the duke’s angry expression faded immediately when he saw that it was she who was speaking. In fact, he looked utterly astonished, his eyes wide as he looked back at her in the bright moonlight.

  “You,” he breathed, as she tried to jump down from Beauchamp, stumbling a little as she landed. “You—whatever are you doing here?”

  Catherine’s mouth went dry as she looked up at him, trying to find something in her mind that she could use as an excuse. “I….” Swallowing the lump in her throat and aware of just how loudly and quickly her heart was beating, she came up with the only thing she could. “I have no other employment,” she said, with a small shrug that she hoped betrayed nonchalance. “Therefore, I made my way here in the hope that you might offer me the opportunity to ride Beauchamp and prove to you that I would be an excellent jockey.”

  The duke let out a breath that was a half chuckle, running one hand through his dark hair and staring at her in disbelief, as though he could not quite believe what she had said.

  “My goodness,” he muttered, dropping his hand and shaking his head in astonishment. “And you made your way to my stables, just in time to hear Rigby threaten consequences for his dismissal?”

  Catherine pressed her lips together, knowing quite well that this sounded entirely improbable. “Yes,” she replied, hating that the lies came so easily to her lips but knowing that she had no other choice. “And I could not bear the thought of Beauchamp being so badly injured and, therefore, I scurried into the barn and saddled him so that he might escape.”

  The duke eyed her carefully. “You knew then, did you, that Rigby intended to harm Beauchamp?” he asked slowly.

  “I did,” Catherine replied, without hesitation. “I saw the knife and surmised that he—”

  “What a relief you were so bold,” the duke interrupted, sounding truly grateful. “My goodness, Leighton, if you had not been present and sneaked in when you did, then I fear that Beauchamp might now be…” He trailed off, shaking his head as his expression twisted. “Thank you.”

  Catherine managed a small smile, her heart thumping furiously despite the relief that ran through her. “You are most welcome, Your Grace,” she said, still speaking quietly. “I do hope that you will allow me the opportunity to show you that I could be the jockey for Beauchamp.” A faint hope rose within her as she saw the duke frown, wondering if this was going to be her chance to ride in the races. The only chance she might ever have.

  The duke let out a long breath and then let his hands fall to his sides. “I do not think that I can refuse you after what you have done this evening, Leighton,” he replied, sending Catherine’s heart soaring to the skies. “You can see that I have decided to remove Rigby as Beauchamp’s jockey and that means, therefore, that there is the opportunity to prove yourself.” He studied her for a long moment before he continued, making Catherine fear that he was either going to refuse her or that there was something about her that betrayed the fact that she was not, in fact, a young man after all.

  “Shall we say the day after tomorrow?”

  Catherine’s breath flooded out of her, rendering her weak and breathless to the point that she could only nod, hardly able to catch her breath.

  “Capital,” the duke replied. “You are welcome to stay here, however, until the time comes. I would not have you go back out to the village or even to London in the interim, not when you have traveled so far already.”

  Appreciating his consideration, Catherine let out a long breath and then nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, forcing her voice to work and hearing it rasping just a little. “You are very kind. The day after tomorrow, I shall be present in the stables and ready to show you that I can be the jockey you require.”

  The duke chuckled, reaching forward to shake Catherine’s hand. “I believe you have proved it already, for not everyone would have been able to ride Beauchamp in such a way as you did,” he replied, waiting for her to take his hand. “However, I shall look forward to a proper demonstration in two days’ time.”

  Catherine nodded and, realizing what the duke was waiting for, reached out to shake it as firmly as she could, aware of just how small her hand was compared to his. Heat shot up her arm as they shook hands, making her glad for the darkness that hid her colored cheeks from the duke’s eyes. “I thank you, Your Grace,” she replied, keeping her voice as firm as her handshake. “Might I take Beauchamp back to the stables for you?”

  “I would be very glad if you would do so,” the duke replied, letting go of her hand. “Although perhaps you might lead him there instead of riding? He will need to cool down after such a gallop!”

  “Gladly,” Catherine replied, taking a hold of the reins and beginning to walk away. Beauchamp followed at once, nickering softly and making the duke chuckle again.

  “He certainly has taken to you,” the duke murmured, as Catherine led Beauchamp back towards the stables. “You have done a great thing this evening, Leighton. I will ensure that, even if you do not become Beauchamp’s jockey, that you are well recompensed for your actions this night.”

  “I need nothing more than the opportunity you have already promised me,” Catherine replied firmly, thinking to herself that she had no doubt in her mind that she would be able to prove herself to the duke given what had just occurred. Beauchamp had responded to her every move without hesitation, evidently feeling the same contentedness as she had. It had been a fulfillment of a dream to have been able to ride him across the gardens and now to have not only the duke’s gratitude but the opportunity to return and do so again brought such a joy to her heart and a determination to her spirit that it was all Catherine could do to contain herself.

  She would have to make plans to return here with all swiftness, would have to find more than one set of her brother’s clothes with which she might convince others that she was Christopher Leighton – and all within only two short days. A nudge of doubt filled her stomach, but she turned away from it without giving it any consideration whatsoever. This was to be her one opportunity, and she was not about to turn away from it now.

  I shall be here again in two days’ time, she told herself, her heart filling with confidence as she walked a few steps behind the duke. And this time, I have no intention of leaving.

  Chapter Five

  “Ah, there you are, Leighton.”

  Matthew grinned broadly at the sight of the young man, although he did not fail to notice the paleness of the young man’s face. His eyes, a vivid green, held a weariness that could not be missed, making Matthew wonder if the boy was quite all right.

  “You appear to be rather tired, Leighton,” Matthew commented, a touch dryly. “I hope you have not been enjoying yourself too much at the local tavern.” He arched a brow, thinking that, most likely, the lad had spent the last two evenings at the tavern in the nearby village and had rather enjoyed himself there, knowing that the promise of work at the duke’s estate was waiting for him. Not that he had intentions of giving Leighton any sort of employment until he was certain that the lad could ride Beauchamp as well as Matthew expected, but given what he had seen previously, Matthew had little doubt that the young man would do well.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace,” Leighton replied, lowering his eyes to the ground at his feet. “I had need to return to London before I made my way back here again.”

  “In two days?” Matthew replied, rather surprised. “That means you returned to London one day and came back here the next!” He saw the boy nod, his eyes still downcast and felt his astonishment grow. “Little wonder that you are so weary then. What was it in London that required your attention?”

  “I-I had forgotten some of my things,” Leighton stammered, clearly a little embarrassed. “I had to return to collect them.”

  Matthew shook his head, wondering if this meant that Leighton would be too tired to ride well. “And are you quite prepared, then, to do as has been planned?”

  “Oh, yes.” The boy’s head shot
up, his eyes now glowing with a determination that made Matthew smile. “I am more than prepared, Your Grace.”

  Grinning, Matthew pushed his concern away. “Very good,” he replied with a small chuckle. “Then shall we get to it? Beauchamp will need to be saddled.” He gestured towards the stables, seeing how the boy jumped slightly, evidently surprised that he was required to saddle Beauchamp also. Matthew smiled inwardly, knowing that he needed to be certain that Leighton could not only ride Beauchamp well but that he could also take care of the creature. The boy had managed to saddle Beauchamp in the middle of the night with only dim lantern light to aid him, but Matthew had not been present at the time. He wanted to watch Leighton closely, to make sure that the boy knew what he was doing.

  He did not have to worry. The young man set about his task with confidence and consideration for the stallion itself. He greeted Beauchamp carefully, making Matthew’s brow arch in surprise when the horse nickered a welcome. Beauchamp seemed to be glad to see the boy again, which was something that Matthew had never seen the stallion do before. There was a clear connection between horse and rider, and that brought with it a good deal of satisfaction. Watching closely, he saw how Leighton did everything correctly, making sure the straps were tight but not pinching the horse, and how gently the bit was placed. It was clear that Leighton cared for Beauchamp in a way that Rigby had never done, for the lad’s consideration of the creature was more than apparent.

  “And now, we ride,” Matthew said once Beauchamp was ready and Leighton was standing quietly by the edge of the stall. “My horse is already saddled and waiting for me. Lead Beauchamp out.”

  Walking outside, he waited for Leighton and Beauchamp to appear. Leighton came out almost at once, speaking quietly to the horse as he did so. Beauchamp was quiet but clearly eager to ride, for his flanks twitched and he tossed his head with a snort, making Leighton laugh.

  “Mount, if you please,” Matthew instructed, gesturing to the horse and seeing Leighton’s face pale just a little. He chuckled to himself as the boy looked all about for a mounting block, silently wondering how the lad had pulled himself up into the saddle before, for he was quite small and Beauchamp so very large. Being just about to tell the boy that the mounting block was just around the stables to the left, Matthew was silenced as Beauchamp did something utterly astonishing.

  It was as though the creature knew that the boy was much too small to be able to reach up and pull himself up, for he snorted, tossed his head again, and then carefully lowered himself to the ground, his legs underneath him.

  Matthew stared in astonishment. The large stallion was now waiting patiently for Leighton to take his seat in the saddle, which the lad did almost at once, laughing softly to himself as he did so. The moment he had a good seat, Beauchamp rose up again, making the boy lurch back in the saddle, although he did not lose his seat.

  “Good gracious,” Matthew murmured, as the boy picked up the reins and held them gently. “That is something I have never seen before in my life.”

  Leighton laughed softly, his expression matching Matthew’s own astonishment. “He must recall how difficult it was for me to mount prior to this,” he replied, riding closer to Matthew. “Beauchamp is a very intelligent creature, I am quite certain.”

  “Indeed,” Matthew agreed, shaking his head to himself as he looked up at Beauchamp. The way the horse moved seemed to suggest that Beauchamp was just as comfortable with Leighton as Leighton was with him, for the horse responded to even the slightest touch from Leighton, turning quickly when the boy tugged gently on the reins.

  “If you will give me a moment, I shall mount also, and then we will ride out together,” Matthew commented, thinking that he did not require a good deal more convincing that Leighton would be an excellent jockey. “There is an excellent space a little further away from the house where I have the horses trained.”

  Leighton nodded but said nothing, reaching down to pat Beauchamp’s neck. Matthew, still quite surprised by what he had seen, shook his head to himself and then hurried away, reaching his own horse that had been saddled earlier and was now waiting for him. Quickly mounting, he turned around and, clicking to his mount, broke into an easy trot.

  Leighton and Beauchamp followed him without a word. Matthew increased and then slowed his pace, seeing just how easily Leighton was able to control Beauchamp and finding himself quite astonished by it. Rigby had never shown such skill with any of his previous horses and certainly had not treated the horses with such consideration nor understanding. Matthew’s confidence began to increase with every step the horse took, feeling as though the chances of him winning the Gold Cup were growing steadily. If Leighton could have more time with Beauchamp, if he was allowed to develop his abilities still further, then the Gold Cup would surely be his.

  Some half an hour later and Matthew felt completely convinced that Leighton was the right man. Beauchamp galloped faster than ever before, and Leighton held his seat without any seeming difficulty. The way he was able to speak to and control Beauchamp was remarkable, making Matthew regret that he had not given the boy an opportunity prior to this moment. The lad had shown great determination in coming to seek Matthew out, in wishing to beg an opportunity from Matthew, and in doing so had managed to secure the job as jockey.

  “Excellent, excellent!” Matthew cheered, as Beauchamp came to a stop only a few feet away. “You have done a remarkable job, Leighton.” He grinned as the lad slid down from Beauchamp, breathing hard with his cheeks bright red from exertion. “Well done. I have no doubt that you will make an excellent jockey” Gesturing to two stable hands who had been watching the way Leighton rode Beauchamp across the pasture, he directed them to take his own mount and Beauchamp back to the stables and rub them down. He had the matter of the Gold Cup to discuss with Leighton.

  “I thank you, Your Grace,” Leighton stammered, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and watching Beauchamp being led away. “I am so very grateful for the opportunity and I–”

  “You shall be Beauchamp’s jockey,” Matthew interrupted, wondering if the lad had not quite understood what he had said the first time. “Do you hear me, lad? The job is to be yours. You have quite proven yourself, and I have little doubt that you will prove yourself to be the best jockey in all of England.” He chuckled as Leighton stared at him in clear astonishment, his eyes wide and his mouth slack. “My hearty congratulations, lad.”

  Leighton shook his head, clearly not quite able to take in what Matthew had said. “I thank you,” he whispered, emotions rifling across his features. “This is more than I ever thought possible.”

  Matthew, realizing that he still knew very little about the boy other than he came from a somewhat respected family, suddenly frowned. “I recall that you spoke of your family’s displeasure in your eagerness to become a jockey,” he said, seeing the way the boy’s expression tightened. “What will they say to you riding in the Gold Cup across Ascot Heath, for that is the race you shall be competing in.” He kept the boy’s gaze, seeing how a trace of guilt ran over Leighton’s face.

  “I doubt they shall even notice me,” Leighton replied, with a slight hint of frustration in his voice. “As I have said, Your Grace, they do not approve of the desire within my heart to do so, and therefore, I have had to make my own way.”

  Matthew nodded, thinking quietly to himself that the lad’s family matters were none of his concern but also aware that he did not want any scandal to be brought onto his own head. If a refined family identified Leighton and cried loudly about it, then he might have rumors and gossip spreading all throughout London because of it. “I do not want there to be any repercussions, Leighton.”

  The boy looked up at him, his gaze firm and direct. “There shall not be, Your Grace,” he said with such a confidence in his voice that Matthew felt his own concerns begin to drain away. “As I have said, I doubt they would even recognize me.”

  Wondering if this meant that the lad had changed his name in order
to remain unnoticed, Matthew shrugged inwardly and began to walk back towards the stables, gesturing for Leighton to attend with him. “The Gold Cup is the most important race of the year,” he told him, seeing how the lad hurried to keep up with him. “It is not the wealth that I care for but rather the accolade that comes with being victorious. I wish all of England to know that I breed the best of horses and secure the best of jockeys.” He chuckled, thinking of his future plans. “If Beauchamp wins the race, then I shall have what I have long hoped for,” he added, seeing Leighton nod. “And you shall – oh!”

  The boy had stumbled forward, tripping over something that Matthew had not quite seen. He fell forward, his hands outstretched, but did not quite manage to prevent himself from hitting the ground, hard. The breath was pushed from the lad’s body in a loud exclamation and his cap fell to the ground.

  It was not the cap that caught Matthew’s attention, however. It was the hairpiece that went with it, falling to the ground and the pins that had held it there now glinting in the sunlight.

  His breath caught, his eyes widening with shock. Leighton was not as he seemed, it appeared. For a moment or two, Matthew thought that the boy had simply put on a wig in order to change his appearance so that he might hide himself from his family, but it was only as the boy began to pick himself up that he saw how the tight curls of hair were pinned to Leighton’s head….and it was in this that realization dawned.

  “You…you are a woman,” Matthew whispered, one hand pressed furiously against his heart as Leighton’s head hung low over his chest, his eyes downcast and his cheeks a furious, scalding red. “Tell me I am not mistaken.” He saw how Leighton was struggling for breath, having had it knocked from him, but felt no sympathy. All he felt was anger and disappointment.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” came the whispered reply, the agony of drawing in breath evident in the tight words. “It is as you see.”