Dear Mr. Bucknell,
I have scarcely left my chamber for two days while reading Miss Julia Quiplet’s three novels, and shall shortly begin Mrs. Lisa Klampas’s novel.
I know this may sound as if my own writing has been neglected, and it has been neglected, but I assure you that the opposite is true. Miss Quiplet’s books have been very inspiring, and even partly restored my faith in romance, and renewed my conviction that Love is the Secret Architecture of the world.
I will happily provide an endorsement of Miss Quiplet’s next novel.
All best wishes,
Her Grace, the Duchess & etc.
Two days later
Vander woke when the blue light of dawn crept through the window. For a moment he didn’t know where he was, as if he had been thrown into a kaleidoscope, shaken and tumbled.
His body felt different.
Slowly he turned his head. Mia was curled against him, satiny hair falling over his arm. She was smiling in her sleep.
It wasn’t just his body that felt different: he felt different. He felt unbalanced. Vulnerable. Every night he became a madman, pounding into his wife, groaning, out of control.
Control had been the backbone of his life. A flicker of panic followed that thought. Perhaps his father lost his mind because of the fierce love he felt for the duchess, for the woman who cuckolded him.
No.
He could not forget what Chuffy had told him: His father had shown signs of madness even as a boy. And the former duke had abused his wife. What sort of love was that?
Gently he slid Mia’s head from his shoulder and stood up. His blood had a slow thrum, as if he’d never experienced pleasure before. As if the only thing worth doing in the world was kissing the woman in his bed.
Of course, he’d felt this much pleasure before. At the moment he couldn’t remember precisely an occasion, but there must have been other women who drove him into a frenzy of lust.
He pulled on clothing without bothering to bathe or to shave. Jafeer would make his debut appearance at the races in the afternoon, on a track only two hours from Rutherford Park, virtually next door to Starberry Court, Thorn’s country house.
He had to retreat to the stables and recover whatever the hell it was he’d lost last night. Part of his heart, maybe.
That was unacceptable.
He strode down the stairs, waving away Gaunt, except the man wouldn’t be brushed off and trotted after him as he burst out the front door.
“Your Grace!”
Vander turned around with a growl. “What is it?”
“You asked me to find out”—the butler bent over, gasping—“about Her Grace’s fiancé; do you remember?”
Of course Vander remembered, though he’d never mentioned the request to Mia. Why worry her with the idea that Sir Richard may have killed her beloved Edward?
“He’s alive,” Gaunt said, holding his side. “Blimey, Your Grace, you walk faster than a sow in heat.”
“Excellent,” Vander said, dismissing the subject of Edward Reeve from his mind. “Glad to hear it.”
“But he’s been in prison!” Gaunt said, raising his voice.
Vander froze. “Prison? Where?”
“Old Tolbooth, Edinburgh! The Bow Street Runner only found him after the man organized a prison break.”
“Trumped-up charges,” Vander surmised. No man would voluntarily leave Mia. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d always known that.
Gaunt nodded. “Indeed, that is so, Your Grace. The Runner will stand Crown’s evidence that Sir Richard Magruder had Mr. Reeve sent to prison on a fallacious charge, under another name, without due recourse of law. Mr. Reeve almost died due to a head wound he suffered while being captured, and the charge will include attempted murder.”
Vander cursed under his breath.
“It seems that Mr. Reeve was transported to Old Tolbooth under a falsified order stating that he had been given a life sentence and that he was a recalcitrant, lawless criminal unsafe to keep in England.” Gaunt sniffed. “As if Scottish prisons were any better than English ones. He was about to be transported to Botany Bay when he made his escape.”
Naturally the man broke out of prison to return to Mia. To return to Charlie, too. Reeve had the right to both of them. Nausea broke over Vander, but he fought through it.
“Where is he now?” he asked Gaunt.
“Mr. Reeve is on his way here, Your Grace.” Gaunt’s face was agonized. “To see the duchess. Likely he’ll arrive here tomorrow morning; the Runner sent a messenger ahead.”
“Right,” Vander said. A strange calm had descended on him. Vander had one more day with her. One more night. “Not a word to Her Grace.”
Gaunt’s brow creased.
“I will not have her disappointed again, if the man doesn’t appear,” Vander said grimly. “I will inform her myself, tomorrow morning.”
He had felt like this before: at age nine, after his father supposedly mistook him for a burglar and knocked him into the scullery wall; again one year ago, when the High Constable arrived to report that his mother was dead. “Prepare a bedchamber but tell no one the identity of our possible visitor.”
“You don’t plan to inform her until tomorrow morning?” Gaunt asked.
If then.
The last thing Vander wanted to witness was the dawning joy on Mia’s face when she learned that Reeve had never meant to jilt her or to abandon Charlie. That her beloved Edward adored them both, and had broken out of prison to return to them.
He himself would have broken out of the Tower of London to return to Mia.
“No,” he replied, as the truth slammed into him: he was as enthralled by her as his father had been with his mother. The late duke had died within days of the news of his duchess’ death, as if the mere fact she was no longer in the world made him defenseless to pneumonia.
And yet his mother had been in love with another man. His wife, the current duchess, was also in love with another.
In short, he had somehow managed to replicate the domestic ménage à trois that had sent him to Eton reeling with rage.
Right, then.
He had one day left. One night. Suddenly, the irony of it struck him. Tonight would be his fourth night with Mia.
Fourth and final.
“Please inform the household that I shall escort her and Charlie to the Nestleford Races to see Jafeer run his debut. We will depart in an hour or so.”
The butler nodded.
“Gaunt,” Vander warned, “I shall be extremely unhappy if even the slightest hint of this news were to reach Her Grace before tomorrow morning. Have I made myself clear?” He thought he detected pity in Gaunt’s eyes, but he didn’t give a damn.
“The duchess will hear nothing from me, Your Grace. I would note, however, that there is a chance that Mr. Reeve will waste no time. He may arrive earlier than tomorrow morning.”
“We will not be here,” Vander said. “We shall spend the night at Mr. Dautry’s residence, Starberry Court, as it is close to the racecourse. As always, if guests arrive at Rutherford Park, make them comfortable until I return.”
Gaunt nodded and Vander turned to go back upstairs. He wanted to prepare Jafeer, and a hundred other tasks awaited him in the stables as well.
But first, he wanted to wake Mia.
In his own way.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The ducal household was not ready to leave for the races in an hour; at least, the duke and duchess were not, since they were still ensconced in their bedchamber and no one dared enter.
But a couple of hours later, the house and stables were bustling. Charlie was wild with excitement to see his first race. Dobbie’s leash was tied to his crutch and the two of them were milling about in front of the house. Chuffy too had made it downstairs at an unwontedly early hour, resplendent in a gaudy saffron coat and fawn breeches.
Besides Jafeer, the Pindar Stables was running two geldings and a filly. Grooms ran hither and th
ither with arms full of the duke’s colors; jockeys strode up and down, striking their thighs with their crops.
Mia could barely take it all in. Vander was the calm center of the storm: servants, grooms, jockeys swirled about him. For his part, Jafeer did some sidling and complaining, until Mia and Charlie joined him.
Mia leaned on his cart and Charlie actually climbed inside and sat back against the low wall to rest his leg. Jafeer settled down instantly and looked about with an alert, interested expression.
“He’ll do,” Mulberry said, stopping briefly. “If you’d told me a week ago, Your Grace, that Jafeer would tolerate a child near him, I’d have said you were daft, begging your pardon.”
Charlie had brought a small notebook with him, and was writing down everything he overheard about horses and racing, because—as he had explained to Mia—he meant to train the finest racehorses in all England someday. “Just as the duke does!”
As if answering Mulberry, Jafeer leaned down and snuffled Charlie’s hair.
“Jafeer has adopted my nephew,” Mia said with some pride.
“That’s right,” Mulberry affirmed. “You and he are his herd.” He leaned over and patted Jafeer’s neck. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he won his race this evening. He’s got the heart for it now.”
Jafeer’s coat was shining and he looked like a king among horses, one who could race the wind.
Once they reached the Nestleford racecourse, Vander escorted Mia and Charlie to his special box—which had its own footman—and left them there. “Thorn and India will be along at some point,” he told her.
Something was odd about Vander’s manner, but Mia told herself it was probably nerves over the race. While he exhibited no obvious signs of apprehension, he had paid more for Jafeer than had ever been spent in England on a single horse. Of course he felt some tension.
Journalists from every newspaper in the kingdom including, of course, The Sporting News, were running up and down the racecourse. As far as she could tell, no one was speaking of anything but Jafeer. Chuffy and Charlie were leaning over the front of the box, eavesdropping enthusiastically on passersby.
Mia wore a new gown. Thankfully, her breasts were fairly well covered. She had a shawl as well, and between that and her strongest corset, she felt quite pretty.
Though, if she were honest, the gown was less responsible for her new-found confidence than were her husband’s frank, heartfelt compliments over the past several days. Vander’s remarks were nothing like the elegant phrases uttered by her hero, Frederic, but they had a raw sincerity to them.
She was smiling into her glass of champagne at one particularly vivid memory when the footman presented a calling card for Mr. Tobias Dautry. A moment later, he opened the door at the back of the box and announced—quite as if he were in a drawing room—“Mr. Dautry, Lady Xenobia India Dautry, Miss Dautry.”
Mia put her glass down and rose to greet them. She had no idea that Thorn had a daughter, but sure enough he was ushering in a solemn-looking little girl with a book under one arm and a doll in the other.
Charlie turned, and she saw him flinch when he realized that another child had entered the box. The limited contact he’d had with children had invariably been unpleasant.
But he swung his way over and conducted himself with a courteousness that disguised his discomfort at meeting Rose. He even managed to bow without toppling, a skill that Vander must have taught him.
She hadn’t seen Thorn or India since the wedding, but it felt very different to greet them now. She was still the woman who had blackmailed Vander into marriage, but she didn’t feel like that woman any longer.
How could she, when he made love to her so passionately, and woke her this morning with the admission that he had been on his way to the stables when he realized he had overlooked something? It turned out what he had forgotten was a kiss—and that kiss led to such tender, passionate intimacies that Mia had cried a little from pure joy afterward.
Thorn and Chuffy took themselves off: Chuffy, to place his bets; and Thorn, to find Vander and check on Jafeer, promising to return for Mia if it seemed “her” stallion needed calming. Charlie hopped back to the front of the box, and Rose put down her book but not her doll and followed him. Lady Xenobia and Mia sat down and embarked on an awkward conversation about the children.
It turned out that India—as she wished to be called—was as nervous as Mia was about putting the two children together. “Rose has had very few encounters with people her age,” she explained. “She had an unusual upbringing.”
“Charlie, too, has met very few children.”
“Why is he taking notes?”
Mia smiled. “Vander suggested that Charlie could make himself useful by noting down any gossip he hears. Charlie has taken it more literally than Vander intended, perhaps, but it was a brilliant maneuver: Charlie hasn’t been comfortable going into public, let alone in crowds, but he’s forgotten about his wariness because he has been given a task.”
“I gather from my husband that Charlie is the reason you needed to marry Vander?”
“Yes.” Mia hesitated and said, “I suggested a temporary marriage, but the duke was reluctant to go through the bother of choosing another wife. So here I am.”
India turned to her, eyebrow cocked. “His words?”
“Well, yes.”
“Men are idiots,” India said, sighing. “You do know that if Vander didn’t wish to remain married to you, your marriage would be well on its way to dissolution, don’t you? He wouldn’t allow my husband to do anything to rescue him from your proposal, and believe me, Thorn would have found a way to stop the ceremony if Vander truly wished for him to do so.”
“Vander didn’t want to lose his dukedom,” Mia explained. “Actually, I think he cares far more about losing his horses than his title.”
“That is probably true. His decision to buy Jafeer came after months of poring over bloodlines and the like, and I was the silent, bored observer to many of those discussions. But Thorn would have bought Vander’s stables an hour after you made your demand, if Vander had decided to refuse you. For one pound or a thousand pounds, only to sell it back afterward.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Mia said.
“Vander rejected every idea Thorn had, including outright destruction of the letter. Since then, he has refused to divorce you, or annul the marriage. What does that tell you?”
“He’s honorable.” The opposite of her father, to be blunt.
India burst out laughing. “Believe that if you wish.”
“I see no other explanation,” Mia said primly. She decided to change the subject, and soon they were deep into talk of something far more interesting: India’s talent for organizing and refurbishing households. After a few minutes, Mia couldn’t resist, and found herself swearing India to silence and telling her all about Lucibella Delicosa.
It was an entirely satisfactory few hours, broken by a light luncheon with the children, who had become, if not fast friends, intrigued acquaintances. Mia had the feeling that on the way home they would both label the other “quite odd”—but in an admiring way.
When the starting time neared for Jafeer’s debut, Thorn and Vander returned to the box, but only briefly. To Charlie’s huge excitement, Vander hoisted him on a shoulder, crutch and all. “We’ll see you all after the race,” he said, turning to the door.
“We need to be close to the track,” Charlie shouted, waving at Mia. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes shone.
“I should like to accompany them,” a quiet voice said.
India began, “Oh, dearest, I’m afraid—”
But Thorn hoisted his daughter into the air. “You’ll have to hang on tightly,” he told her.
Off they went, two large beautiful men with children perched on their shoulders. It made Mia’s heart clench to see them.
She and India moved to the front of the box in order to watch the race.
As it turned out, Mia missed
seeing Jafeer sweep to an easy victory, because she was watching the man standing at the railing below her instead, and the boy leaning trustingly against his head as the two of them yelled and cheered.
By the time Vander and Thorn returned to the box with the children, Jafeer was well on his way to becoming the most notable stallion in England. Journalists had leapt into waiting carriages and were writing copy en route to London, describing in overheated prose the extraordinary purchase by the Duke of Pindar.
The stallion was already the favorite for the Derby. At this rate, he would earn back in purses the exorbitant amount His Grace had paid for him in no time. Vander’s expression remained unchanged, but Mia could sense a deep satisfaction. For his part, Chuffy was downright exuberant: he had bet his entire allowance on Jafeer, despite the long odds, and he now had sufficient funds to back an archaeological expedition to the Andes Mountains.
“Think of the material for your next novel!” he crowed to Mia, waving his champagne in the air.
That evening at Starberry Court, they all drank a toast to the gamble Vander had taken in buying such a costly steed solely on the basis of his bloodlines. When they had drunk, Vander turned to Mia and raised his glass again.
“Without my wife’s attention, Jafeer would be languishing in his stall, ribs showing. She is his family and his heart.”
Mia smiled mistily at him.
After that, Vander broke all decorum, snatched her up from the table, and carried her upstairs. She did not protest, and their hosts only laughed.
Sometime later, Vander said, “This is our fourth night, Mia.”
She had stopped thinking about contracts and nights, and the sentence struck fear in her heart. Her fingers curled to hold him more firmly to her. “Will you deny me if I beg for more?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from the pleasure he had coaxed and demanded from her.
He was silent a moment. “I could never deny you if you beg me, Mia. Never.”
Chapter Twenty-nine