Taming The Duke
Jackie Manning
There was comfort in her touch… A kind of healing that brought peace and stirrings of love where Dalton Warfield never expected to find them – within himself! But could he truly surrender to the graciousness that was Alicia Spencer – when he was the Duke of Wexton and she outcast by the Ton?Alicia Spencer’s first foray into Society had brought about her reputation’s ruin – all through the scheming of one dowager duchess. Now her healing talents with horses had bound her to a passionate bargain with her enemy’s son – Dalton Warfield, a man who’d courted her gift yet captured her heart…!
‘You’re staring at me.’
She bit her bottom lip as she studied him with an innocence that nearly undid him. What the hell was the matter with him?
Maybe his strange feelings were the result of learning how another human being with nothing to gain sacrificed something for him….
Suddenly Bashshar whinnied, tossing his head, his ears back. Dalton leaped forward, grabbing the stallion’s bridle, holding the horse firmly. ‘Perhaps it’s best if you return to your cottage.’
‘Bashshar has a right to express himself when he wants,’ she whispered.
‘Bashshar is injured and not responsible for what he’s doing. Besides, he obeys only me.’
Alicia pulled the shawl tightly around herself and lifted her chin in that stubborn way Dalton was beginning to recognise. ‘Then give Bashshar the orders, not me. For I don’t obey you, your grace.’
Taming the Duke
Jackie Manning
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to Ellyn Manning Smith.
What a joy you are, my darling daughter.
Your dad and I are truly blessed.
Special thanks to my critique group, especially to my
writer pals, Linda Lee Duffy, Maureen Greene and
Kathy Stowers. I’m doubly blessed to have such good
friends and expert critique partners. Love you, guys.
Chapter One
Marston Heath, England, 1811
“Lady Alicia! Come quickly!”
From the cool shelter of the herb garden, Alicia heard her maid’s summons and jumped to her feet. Clasping a basket of freshly gathered cross-wort blossoms, Alicia called, “Hortense, whatever is the matter…?” Her words faded when the servant bolted toward her, Hortense’s long legs windmilling beneath her black skirts.
Alicia rushed in her direction, dropping the basket. “Hortense, what has happened?”
“It’s your father, my lady.” The lanky woman paused to gasp for air. “His lordship has just arrived and is—” she gulped a deep breath “—awaiting you in his study.”
“My father?” A feeling of foreboding crept over Alicia. He wasn’t due home for three more days—not until after the horse auction. “Does he appear…unwell?” she asked delicately, aware of her father’s weakness for drink.
Hortense caught her breath. “I’m not sure, milady. I’ve never seen the master in quite such a state.” She fanned her flushed face with her apron skirt.
“Sit and rest on the garden bench, Hortense, while I tend to this.” Alicia jumped over a clump of sweet basil and broke into an unladylike run along the garden path. If only she had accompanied her father to London. She should have known better than to rely on him for such an important errand.
By the time she reached the manor house steps, she was out of breath. Minutes later, Alicia tapped on the heavy door to the study. “Father, it’s me.” Her calm voice concealed the nervousness she felt.
A brief silence followed, then she heard her father’s heavy footsteps creak the oak floorboards. The bolt clicked inside the lock, and the door opened. Alicia slipped inside and faced him.
When sober, her father prided himself on his immaculate attire. Now, he wore his dusty traveling cape. His white cravat was smudged and undone, his periwig tilted askew atop his bald head. What intensified Alicia’s worry was the dazzling smile across his unshaven face.
“Father, you look so…unusual. Whatever is the matter?”
“The matter, Daughter?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Hounds of Jericho! Nothing’s the matter, Daughter. In fact, I bring glorious news.”
The smell of whiskey on his breath confirmed her worst suspicions. “Glorious news, Father?”
He moved behind his desk. “Our fortunes have been reversed by a miraculous intervention.”
Alicia eyed him warily. “Oh, Father, you didn’t gamble the money I gave you to bid on the mare, did you?”
Her father chuckled. “You remind me of your mother when you accuse me so.” Pointing to the chair beside his desk, he said, “Take a seat while I tell you of our good fortune.”
Anger and frustration welled inside her. He had promised that this time he could be trusted. She had wanted him to prove his trustworthiness as much as she had wanted Good Times, the magnificent Thoroughbred mare her father was supposed to have bid on at Tattersall’s Auctioneering Yard. The horse possessed the ideal bloodlines for Alicia’s growing racing stock. She braced herself for his excuse. “Very well, Father. Tell me what happened.”
“Your new mare awaits you in the pasture.”
She could hardly believe her ears. “Good Times?”
His smile faded for a moment, then reappeared as brightly as before. “Er…nay, not Good Times. But Cinnamon Rose is a mare of better lineage and conformation than Good Times will ever be.” He avoided her gaze, edging her fear up a notch.
“But the bidding isn’t due to begin at Tatter-sall’s until tomorrow,” she said. “Where did you find this horse?”
“I came upon the mare by the grace of good fortune.”
A familiar uneasiness invaded her mind. “I gave you almost two hundred pounds, my year’s savings, to bid on Good Times.” Alicia sat up stiffly and straightened her shoulders. “You gambled my money, then bought some bonesetter of an animal with what was left.” She stood up. “Don’t insult me by lying, Father.” She glanced away, not wanting to repeat this embarrassing scene again. “How could you do this again after promising me—?”
He opened the desk drawer and plunked down the bulging silk purse she had given him when he’d left for the auction. She blinked when he spilled bright gold coins across the desktop and stared while he counted out the full amount she’d given him.
Alicia dropped into the chair. “If we own a new mare, I want to hear every detail about how you acquired her.”
Her father grinned as he steepled his large hands in front of himself. “Cinnamon Rose is champion stock,” he said finally. “Why don’t you see the mare first, then we can speak more on the matter? The mare’s tied to the willow by the stream. Go and see her, then decide for yourself.”
Alicia rose from her chair. “I’ll do just that. But I’ll be back to hear how you managed to gain a horse without paying so much as a shilling.”
When Alicia passed the stable a few minutes later, she heard a soft nickering. Jupiter, one of the three Thoroughbreds that made up her breeding stock, whinnied at her from the paddock. She called to him. “I’ll be back later to give you some tender carrots, sweet one.”
Her beloved horses—they were her joy, her comfort, her life. Jupiter was the first foal she had bred that showed the promise of quality racing lines. With a choice mare such as Good Times…
Alicia bit back her frustration. No, she wouldn’t allow this setback to anger her. Besides, she had no one to blame but herself. Although she had wanted to believe that her father could overcome his weakness for drink, she must face the truth. He would be helpless amid the horse-mad gambling world that frequented Tatts. His stories of when he rode the Prince of Wales’s horse, Escape, to victory at Newmarket would guarantee her father free drinks until dawn.
A gaggle of geese honked at her as she cut through the fowl yard and hurried toward the pasture beyond. She had no right to find fault with her father, especially after the disgrace she’d brought to the family name. And in the three years since her fall from grace during her social debut, she’d resigned herself to an old maid’s life. Better to be alone with her horses than to accept one of the unsuitable men who had offered for her.
Alicia banished the bitter memories from her mind, refusing to nurture the grudge against the unfairness of it all. Now, her days were filled with satisfying work and profitable income from healing the animals of her neighbors and friends.
When Alicia came to the grassy edge of the stream, the aroma of roses from her mother’s garden drifted on the July air. Shielding her eyes from the sunlight glimmering off the water, she scanned the area beneath the ancient willow, but there was no horse in sight. A gust of wind billowed her skirts; she brushed down the pink muslin fabric, her gaze searching the pasture.
She was ready to march back to her father, demanding to know what game he was playing, when a horse’s soft nicker rose from the other side of the trees. There, in the sunlight, stood the most splendid mare Alicia had ever seen. She stopped to stare. The animal, as though on cue, trotted toward her. Alicia sensed the horse’s strength and well-being.
The cinnamon-colored Thoroughbred tossed her head, the silky black mane shimmering in the golden afternoon. The mare walked gracefully toward Alicia, who watched, mesmerized by the horse’s elegant demeanor.
Her father had been right. This animal was a fine piece of blood. Their fortunes would be reversed if this horse proved as superior as she appeared to be. Breeding this mare with Jupiter could result in winning racing stock.
The mare lifted her refined head in a playful game. Alicia reached to touch the satiny red coat and found it as soft as a dove’s back.
“Like all beautiful ladies, she takes your breath away, doesn’t she?”
Startled by the deep masculine voice, Alicia whirled toward the sound. In the dappled shade beneath the oak tree, a tall, broad-shouldered man, dressed in an elegantly tailored, black superfine waistcoat, leaned lazily against the tree trunk. His snowy white shirt and dazzling cravat gleamed brilliantly against the dark shadows of his jacket. He grinned crookedly at her. She noticed his lean hips and thighs, encased in buff, calf-length trousers. The elegant silver spurs he wore on his black leather boots were more suited for show than for riding, Alicia thought. He sketched the briefest of bows.
Alicia met his amused blue-eyed stare. “Do you always hide behind trees, ready to pounce upon unsuspecting maidens?”
He laughed. A warm, rich, intimate laugh, as though she had just shared a funny secret about herself.
She took a deep breath. His abrupt appearance caused her knees to feel like jelly, jarring her with the loss of speech—something that rarely happened to her. Maybe her strange reaction was caused by the trick of sunlight and shade, which played across his aristocratic features. Black shiny hair, longer than what was fashionable, framed his regal face. His deeply chiseled mouth lifted in a sardonic tilt, and she realized he was very much aware of her assessing gaze.
His blue eyes twinkled. “I only pounce on lovely maidens, and a prettier maid than you I’ve yet to see.”
The flippant compliment returned her wits to her. “Who are you and what is your business at Marston Heath?” Just then, Cinnamon Rose pranced toward him and nuzzled against his jacketed sleeve. “Do you have something to do with this mare?”
“Forgive me, my lady. Your rare beauty makes me forget my manners.” The intelligent eyes beneath that lazy gaze told her this man never forgot anything.
“I’m Dalton Warfield, the duke of Wexton, at your service, Lady Alicia, and I’m here to see if Cinnamon Rose suits your fancy.”
Alicia gasped. Warfield—the duke of Wexton. Although it had been three years since that fateful night of her social ruin, all the shame and injustice of that evening ignited within her.
Her heart pounded. She blinked back at him, as angry as if the incident had been yesterday. Those vivid blue eyes—just like his mother’s—brought back the painful accusations.
Alicia fought for control. “What do you have to do with my father bringing home this horse?”
Dalton raised a well-defined black brow. “Your father didn’t tell you of our arrangement?”
Alicia felt her anxiety rise. “Our arrangement?”
He patted Cinnamon Rose on the neck. “A month ago, one of my stallions—Bashshar—suffered an accident that left him badly injured. Since then, his physical wounds have nicely healed, but the horse suffers greatly from hysteria. I’m afraid I’ll have to put him down unless…I was hoping you might treat him.”
Alicia felt her stomach clench. “My father knows of this?”
A hint of surprise flickered across Dalton’s face. “Of course. In fact, your father agreed that you would come immediately to our country estate. In exchange for your healing skills, I’ve offered him Cinnamon Rose, one of my family’s more promising mares. He said your stable needed a quality mare.”
Oh, Father, how could you? She felt like she had been kicked in the stomach. Fighting for control, she took a deep breath. “I’m truly sorry that your horse is injured, but I’m certain that you can afford more than your share of healers.” She took another fortifying breath. “But there’s no way I’ll consider your offer. My answer is no.” She gave a lingering glance at Cinnamon Rose. “And take your bribe along with you.”
She strode purposefully toward the path. Dalton’s long strides quickly caught up to her.
“It is said that your sweet nature can tame savage beasts, my lady,” Dalton drawled. “So maybe you refuse me, not because you are unkind, but because of my wealth. I assure you, my horse’s misery is as great as if he belonged to a beggar man. Or is your compassionate nature only a rumor, then?”
Alicia stopped and turned to face him. She shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand. “Your wealth has nothing to do with it, your grace. And I find such your suggestion offensive.”
“Offensive?” His brows formed a V.
Alicia’s patience was at an end. “Do you pretend to know nothing of your mother’s part in my fall from grace?”
Dalton stood, his mouth open. “What the deuce are you talking about?”
Alicia took a deep breath. Obviously, her loss of reputation was such a trifle to him that he’d forgotten all about it. “Very well, if you wish to play sport with me, I’ll tell you why I won’t honor my father’s arrangement.” She brushed back an auburn tendril from her cheek. “Only a scoundrel would forget what your mother did to me. And I don’t honor arrangements with scoundrels.” She turned and dashed along the path, but his long strides soon overtook her.
“Do you know that if you were a man, I could challenge you to a duel for besmirching my mother’s honor?”
She paused. Whether it was the injured tone in his voice, or the very fact that Wexton refused to understand it was she who was the injured party, Alicia couldn’t ignore his charge.
“A duel, is it?” She glanced up at him, wiping her hands together in glee. “How I’d relish to meet you on the field of honor. Oh, if only I could run you through—”
“I believe you would!”
“But you’re not worth dulling my blade,” she snapped. “Now please stop following me. Our business is concluded.”
Dalton clenched his teeth as he watched Lady Alicia stride past the rose garden, her long chestnut hair cascading down her back. Damn, what was all that breeze about his mother causing her to fall from grace? A scoundrel, she’d called him. Why, the woman was dicked in the nob!
Cinnamon Rose raised her head and whinnied a low horse laugh. “Ah, you think it’s funny, too?” he said, grabbing the horse’s halter as he led the mare along the path. He wasn’t sure whether to confront Alicia’s father now or later. Yet Dalton surmised that confronting her father was exactly what Alicia was planning to do this very minute.
No, Dalton could wait until she faced her father, all tearful and dithery, most likely. Before he left, he should check out the horseflesh in their stable to be sure what he had heard was true. Her father might be a baron, but the Spencer family was purse-pinched and in dire need of new sporting blood for their stable. Yet if it was true, why had Lady Alicia thrown a rub in the way? Why, indeed?
He’d heard she was a tempting armful, but no one warned him of her temper and headstrong ways. Not to mention her passionate spirit, which sparked the beauty’s dark eyes with fire.
Why hadn’t she married? Perhaps her young man had died in the war. The thought reminded Dalton of his older brother, Drake, a soldier among many who had met the same fate.
He must ask his sister, Olivia, about Alicia Spencer’s background. He should have done so earlier, but he’d never expected that she’d refuse him.
Anger. The air was still charged with it. Yet her father had shown no animosity toward Dalton. What had he said to fire up such resentment in her?
Damn the luck. Better to use his time thinking of another way to coax Lady Alicia into seeing his stallion, Bashshar. Dalton knew that one glance at the pitiful animal, and even the hard-hearted Alicia would melt and want to help him.
Dalton’s thoughts wandered back to the lady. He gathered the lead rope and led the mare toward the carriage. “Come, Cinnamon. We’ve not been beaten yet. Like brother Drake used to say, when you’ve drawn your last ace, it’s time to play the one up your sleeve.”
“Hounds of Jericho!” Alicia’s father pounded his fist on the desktop. “You’ll march right back and apologize to him. Do you hear, Daughter?”
“I can’t believe you would ask such a thing of me.” Alicia paced in a tight circle. “I refuse, and you can’t make me, Father,” she shouted, surprising them both. She had never raised her voice to him before, but this time, she was filled with a sense of betrayal. Her father cared so little for her feelings that she didn’t care what he thought of her.
Her father’s face colored a deep puce. “Very well, Alicia. I’ll give you a choice.” His heavy jowls shook with anger. “Widower Sedwick Rollins has asked for your hand. If you refuse to tend the duke’s stallion, then I’ll be forced to tell Rollins that you’ll marry as soon as a special license can be obtained.”
“You’re bluffing!” She bit back a laugh. “Rollins hasn’t a sixpence to scratch with—”
“Don’t force me to—”
“Some basket you’d be in with a son-in-law like Sedwick Rollins. With those twelve children and not a feather to fly with, he’ll not be content to live down by the river in that sod hut if he marries me.” Alicia couldn’t keep her face straight. “He’ll move his brood in here faster than the scullery lads steals Cook’s pies left cooling on the windowsill. And you’ll not keep your brandy long with Rollins dipping deep in your jugs.”
Her father’s watery eyes didn’t blink as he stared long and hard. Then he drew a parchment from his desktop and grabbed his inkpot and quill.
She wet her lips, her mouth as dry as the cold ashes in the fireplace. “What are you doing?”
His mouth firmed into a hard line, his pen scratching across the rough paper. Alicia watched as her father’s large, spidery black script began to fill one side of the page. She glanced at the letter addressed to Sedwick Rollins. Alicia’s heart leaped in her throat. “You can’t go through with this outrage.”
“I can and I will. Rollins has inherited a small purse and will be moving to Dorset. You’ll be leaving with him unless you come to your senses.”
“Mother will never allow this.”
“Your mother already knows and understands the necessity.”
“I’m going to speak with her anyway.”
“Your mother has nothing to say about the matter. You will go through with the arrangement I’ve made with Wexton, or you’ll pack your things and be gone from here by nightfall.”
Alicia had never seen her father like this before. A heavy weight pounded in her chest. She drew her hand to her mouth, but the question wedged in her throat. “Why, Father? Why are you doing this?”
“Because we’re in quite deep. I’ve borrowed against Marston Heath, and…” He closed his eyes, and she watched him fight to control himself. Once again, she sensed that he had gambled heavily and lost.
“You’re the only one who can bail us out of this sinking ship,” he said, his voice strained.
“You know what Wexton’s mother did to me, Father. How can you—”
“Damned what she did to you, Daughter. The boot is quite on the other leg, now. It’s time that family paid you back for what the dowager did. Cinnamon Rose is worth five times the horseflesh we can afford, and we have the advantage because Wexton is soft on this stallion of his. Now carry on with your part of the bargain. I’ve negotiated a price from the duke. All you have to do is cure his horse, and we’ll be in the money.”
Words were useless. There was nothing she could say to refute the value of Cinnamon Rose and the importance the mare would bring to their stable.
Her father’s cheeks puffed with agitation as he waited for her answer. Alicia sighed. She might as well talk to a stump. “You win, Father.” She ran to the study door and burst from the room.
The long hallway and the staircase at the end blurred into a watery splotch as tears welled in her eyes. Hiking her skirts, she dashed through the house, too upset to speak to her mother. First, she needed time alone. Alicia tore open the front door and sped toward the quiet sanctity of the herb garden.
Chapter Two
Lacy umbels of angelica blossoms waved gently amid the plants shading the curved garden bench. Alicia sat down, her brow furrowed. What was the use? She might as well be a prisoner, for all the say she held in her life. In spite of the active role she took in running the manor, she was required, like her mother, to obey her father, regardless of his foolhardy decisions.
Her thought went back to Wexton’s stallion. If the horse was suffering, then she wanted to help. Healing wounded beasts was her salvation, her greatest pleasure. While she remained at Havencrest, she’d focus only on the horse.
But what if Wexton’s mother, the dowager duchess, lived at Havencrest? She would consider Alicia a servant, a woman toiling with her hands. The dowager would consider Alicia’s work with animals proof that she wasn’t fit for Society.
Alicia swept her hand gently across the clumps of frilly, green leaves at her feet. The air was charged with mint, lemon verbena and scented geranium. She felt her anger change into practical determination. Maybe the dowager had remained in London instead of returning with her son to the country for the summer. Especially since the duke would be at Havencrest until his stallion improved. The idea gave her hope.
Alicia passively swatted a flowering stalk of comfrey, the cloud of yellow pollen dusting her skirts. But why should she care who would be at Havencrest? She hadn’t deserved to be banned from society, and she would face the dowager or anyone else if need be. But she wasn’t foolish enough to go looking for trouble.
A soft nicker, then a velvet nose snuggled against her ear. Startled, Alicia turned as Cinnamon Rose nibbled her neck. Despite her mood, she laughed. “Have you come to plead your master’s case, too?” Alicia asked, rubbing the mare’s satiny ear.
The horse tossed her head playfully. Indeed, the animal was magnificent. She pressed her cheek against the mare’s velvet neck. “You needn’t plead, pretty thing. I’ll help your friend.”
Alicia stood, still petting Cinnamon Rose’s reddish-gold neck, when she noticed Wexton leading a handsome curricle with a matched pair of white Lusitano horses from the livery building. She warily narrowed her gaze at him.
“Did your master put you up to finding me and giving me a kiss, Cinnamon Rose?” She couldn’t help but chuckle. Alicia grabbed the mare’s halter and strolled across the lawn to meet him.
The duke appeared not to notice her as he drove the carriage in her direction. When the rig came to within a short distance from where she stood, Wexton stopped the team, his face revealing no emotion. Instead of a last-minute appeal, which she had expected, Wexton remained silent as his gaze fixed with hers. Yet the effect of his mesmerizing scrutiny couldn’t have been more calamitous to her nerves. Shock waves from his beseeching blue eyes made her insides feel jittery and her knees weaken.
Alicia steeled herself. “I admire a well-trained horse, but to have one seek me out and give me a kiss shows your hand as a spectacular trainer.” Any chance that the trick was a coincidence was erased by the answering twinkle in Wexton’s eyes.
“I’ve reconsidered my decision to help your stallion, Bashshar,” Alicia said, hoping the statement sounded as though it was her idea. “You can expect me to arrive at Havencrest by the first of next week. I expect to have private quarters where I can isolate myself and Bashshar away from people. I refuse to be put up in the main house. I need nothing fancy, a suite prepared above the carriage house will do.” She met his attentive gaze. “Are there any questions concerning my terms?”
Wexton studied her with an interested look. “What changed your mind so quickly, may I ask?”
Alicia braced her shoulders. What changed her mind, indeed. No doubt he’d known that her family was purse-pinched, and her father would never allow her to back out of the chance to own such an expensive mare as Cinnamon Rose.
“I’m not doing this favor for you, your grace. I’m doing this for your stallion.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said finally. “I’ll leave Cinnamon Rose here, at your stable. If you journey to Havencrest, regardless of your decision to remain and help my stallion, your kindness earns you the mare.”
“Take Cinnamon Rose with you. A finer animal I’ve never seen. Although my father is lord of the manor, he allows me to manage the few horses that make up our breeding stable. I’ll add to my horses quite nicely without any help from you.”
Dalton caught the mare’s line as she tossed it to him. He sat, dazed, while Alicia raised her head and swept across the lawn toward the manor, as proud as any English filly.
He felt as though he’d been properly put in his place, but what the hell had he done to deserve it? He rubbed his chin as he watched her stroll along the drive. Egad, he’d never met a more cantankerous wench. Were all the females in her father’s household as disagreeable and cranky as Alicia? If so, no wonder old man Spencer found comfort in the gin bottle.
Candlelight glowed from the massive, tiered chandeliers in the great salon of Havencrest. Ionic columns graced the second-floor balustrade where Dalton stood, gazing down upon the couples dancing quadrilles to the lilting music.
For the past week, Dalton had thought of nothing but this day, when Lady Alicia would arrive at Havencrest and finally meet Bashshar. The carpenters had been hammering day and night to finish the quarters Alicia had requested. If only she could cure Bashshar. His gut clenched again when he thought of the animal’s worsening anxiety. Was he selfish to try to keep Bashshar alive?
His gaze swept the faces of his mother’s guests for the week-long country party. How he detested these boring affairs. If he hadn’t expected Lady Alicia today, he would be long gone, buried with work, overseeing the fields, anywhere as long as he was away from his mother and the trappings of Society.
“Dalton, I beg your attention.”
He turned to see his sister Olivia, her lovely face pinched with concern. “Sister, have you found out what I asked you concerning Lady Alicia?”
“Not yet, but I expect Great-Aunt Mary will know. I expect her any time now.” She grinned. “I must say, Dalton, from what you’ve told me about Lady Alicia, I’m as curious to find out about her background as you are.”
Dalton nodded. “Then what serious business drives you from the arm of your devoted Robert?”
Olivia’s blue eyes sparkled with pleasure at the mention of her husband. “There’s a fuss going on downstairs. The butler is extremely upset and insists that only you can remedy the situation.”
“Thank God for small favors,” he said with a smile. He knew his sister understood that he would rather be alone with the horses than playing host to the ton.
“Dalton, I’ve seen so little of you this past week. Are you purposely avoiding your family?” She smiled mischievously. “Or are you trying to avoid Elizabeth?”
Olivia was teasing, he knew. She couldn’t keep her face straight as she gazed down at the black-and-white marble dance floor to the slender blond woman, who appeared to be flirting outrageously while dancing with a viscount. Olivia held on to her brother’s sleeve, showing no intention to let go until he answered her.
“I’ve not avoided anyone deliberately,” Dalton said, watching the blonde blush becomingly as several young men joined the growing circle of admirers. Elizabeth had been engaged to his younger brother, Drake, and after his death, the dowager duchess and Elizabeth had presumed she would eventually marry Dalton, something he had never encouraged. He liked Elizabeth, but only as a man cares for a younger sister. She was a graceful little thing, but too spoiled for his taste.
“Look how the lady gathers men’s hearts,” he said to Olivia. “I’m certain that Elizabeth hasn’t even noticed that I’ve been gone.” He smiled as he gently removed his sister’s hand from his sleeve.
Olivia’s delicate brow lifted. “Her flirtations are only a ruse to make you jealous. She’s mad about you. I overheard her say that she hopes you’ll announce your engagement to her before the party ends next weekend.”
Dalton frowned. “I’ve never invited the idea, my dear. It’s our mother who encourages her, not me.”
Olivia nodded. “That may be true, but I think Elizabeth needs very little encouragement, Dalton. The only heart she wants is yours, dear brother. I’d be very careful, if I were you.”
“Don’t worry, Olivia. I have no wish to marry Elizabeth or anyone.”
She tilted her fair-haired head to one side. “I so wish you’d find a woman who will make you happy,” Olivia continued. “You deserve the pleasures that a wonderful marriage can offer.”
He smiled at the romantic young woman of whom he was so proud. “Little sister, I hope life never rears its ugly head and disappoints you.”
She scowled at him. “You’re much too young to be so cynical, Dalton.”
Dalton’s only answer was an enigmatic smile. “Excuse me, dear Olivia, but I must see what the butler wants.”
Ignoring Olivia’s look of frustration, he turned and waded through the sea of guests. Maybe when he returned, the overdue Lady Alicia will have arrived.
Raised voices greeted Dalton before he reached the main hall. At the front entrance, Jarvis, the butler, towered over the slightly built young woman in front of him. On second glance, Dalton recognized Alicia with her hair pulled severely beneath a low-brimmed bonnet. Although she wore a traveling cape over her gown, he could imagine her shapely feminine charms hidden by the loose-fitting garment. The servant turned at the sound of Dalton’s footsteps.
“Er, your grace. This lady refuses to give her name, and she refuses to speak to anyone but you.”
Dalton smiled at the plainly dressed young woman before him. “Quite all right, Jarvis.” To the young woman scowling up at him, he said, “Welcome to Havencrest, Lady Alicia. I’ve been expecting you.”
The butler’s face paled when he realized the duke actually was acquainted with the lady. “I—I’m sorry, your grace, I—I—”
“I’ll take care of the matter, Jarvis.” Dalton led her from the hall and out the front door. “Come this way, Lady Alicia.” He signaled a groom standing outside. “Bring my curricle around. I’ll drive it myself.” The groom dashed off along the sheltered path leading to the carriage house.
While they waited, Dalton glanced at Alicia, wanting to see her expression, but she turned away, her face in shadow. “I’ll show you to your quarters, myself,” he said.
He saw her steal a look at him beneath her floppy hat brim. “I asked that I not be quartered in the manor house.”
Dalton peered down at her. “Your lodging is separate from the manor. In fact, the cottage is so far away that I’ve requested my carriage, my lady.” He was relieved to see her relax slightly. Damn, she was the most peculiar thing. But if she was willing to help Bashshar, he shouldn’t care if she wanted to bed down with the cattle.
The young groom arrived with the handsome black curricle pulled by a sprightly set of grays. The groom handed her up to the front seat while Dalton took the reins. Within minutes, the carriage clattered down the well-trimmed path along the gardens, past the numerous outbuildings, over a stone bridge and through a grove of trees. On the other side, the sheltered path curved toward a small cottage surrounded by trees and hedges.
Alicia stared at the thatched-roof bungalow. Dalton watched her brown eyes widen; her full lips formed an O of surprise before she masked her feelings. “Is this where I am…?”
He felt relieved at her pleased reaction. “I hope you find the quarters suitable, my lady. If not—”
“I’m certain the cottage will be most suitable.”
Dalton didn’t know what benefit she’d gain from sleeping away from the manor house, and he really didn’t care. “If you change your mind—”
“I’m here to be with Bashshar. He’s all that interests me at Havencrest. I had already instructed the groomsman to bring my trunks to my quarters.”
“Then if there’s nothing else you require…?”
“No, your grace.” Alicia covered her mouth with her dainty hand and as if on cue, yawned. “It’s been a frightfully long journey. I’m quite tired.”
Dalton turned to walk away, then paused. “Tomorrow morning, after breakfast, I’ll introduce you to Bashshar.”
“Why not now?”
“Because it’s late, and I don’t want the horse overly excited.”
“Good evening.” She bobbed a short curtsey and strode toward the cottage.
Dalton hid his smile as she dismissed herself without his permission. “Good evening, my lady.” No doubt the lady knew such behavior in front of a duke was considered a faux pas. Dash! He had hoped her distaste for him might have mellowed.
Dalton climbed into the curricle and headed back toward the manor. By now, maybe Olivia had learned something about this perplexing female.
Before he drove the carriage over the bridge, he gave in to the impulse to sneak a glance at her. She was standing at the cottage door, watching him.
Dalton smiled. Damn, she was an odd thing. And he couldn’t help wonder, again, what caused her to take such an instant dislike to him.
Alicia watched the elegant carriage pause before slipping out of sight. Aye, Wexton was as polite and charming as Lucifer—and just as handsome. In his elegant evening attire, he was all that and more. She nibbled her lower lip. Although she had risked his anger, he had not only tolerated her wishes, but appeared challenged by them. She took that as a victory. He’d met her demands, and built a fetching little cottage. The whitewash was still damp in places, and she’d wager that the roof thatch was so fresh it would shine like spun gold in tomorrow’s sunlight.
She hesitated before opening the door. How she’d hoped that the fluttery feelings in her stomach, when she was near Wexton, would have faded by now. How strange she felt when he stared at her with his penetrating blue eyes.
In the darkness, the sound of horses’ soft nickering from the nearby stables provided her with a familiar comfort. A wave of curiosity rose as she yearned to investigate Wexton’s prize-winning stock. Far and wide, men spoke of the duke’s horses, which were among the most splendid in England. She should wait until morning when the animals wouldn’t be so unsettled by a stranger in their midst. But her insatiable curiosity wouldn’t permit her to wait one more minute. The building was so huge, surely if she looked around for only a few minutes, no harm could come from that.
A short while later after she had settled in, Alicia slid the livery door open. She gasped, unable to believe her eyes. Walls of white alabaster marble rose to meet frescoed ceilings where every few yards lanterns flickered from ornate grillwork. White-graveled aisles led to the individual horses’ quarters past the immense tack room with dozens of hooks holding bridles, harnesses and rows of saddles. “My stars!”
To the right, a hinged sign above the passageway announced the stable hands’ wing. She peeked inside one of the empty chambers. The room was immaculate and its furniture clean and proper. The stable hands’ quarters were larger and more comfortable than her chambers at Marston Heath!
She hurried to take a glance at some of the horses. Lifting a lantern from its hook, Alicia strode past the tack room toward the horse stalls.
“Wha’ ye doin’?” A lad, not much older than her ten-and-four-year-old sister, poked his head out from the last stall. She had apparently awakened him by the look of his tousled red hair and sleepy eyes.
“I’m inspecting the quarters,” Alicia replied. “Who are you?”
The boy warily studied her plain dress and riding boots. “Name is Penn. I’m one o’ the stable boys.” He scratched his head and frowned. “Ain’t never seen ye before.”
Alicia bit back a smile. “I’ll be working here for a while,” she said instead.
A golden horse, similar in size to her own stallion, stuck its head over the stall gate and neighed a welcome.
Without a thought, Alicia peered over the rail, eager to see the animal’s conformation. Suddenly, from the far end of the stable, came a piercing cry, followed by a chorus of whinnies from the other horses.
“What was that pitiful sound?” Alicia asked.
Penn’s freckled face paled. “Nothin’.”
“Nothing?” Alicia pushed past him and rushed toward the racket. The agonizing sound reminded her of the day, last spring, when one of her mares had broken loose and wandered along the river. Alicia had followed that fearful bellow until she found her horse, stuck in the mud, just in time to save her from a pack of wild dogs.
The racket in the stable stopped as quickly as it had began. Raising the lantern, Alicia rounded the next row of horse stalls. At the end of the wall stood another box stall, walls too high to peer over.
Alicia forgot everything as she dashed toward the cubicle, hung the lantern on a peg and lifted the stout beam that held the door fast.
“Don’t go in there, Miss,” Penn yelled. “E’ll kill ye.”
Ignoring the stableboy’s warning, Alicia stepped inside and closed the door behind her. In one corner stood a massive black stallion, trembling with fear. The horse’s piercing black eyes were ringed in white as he backed into the corner, watching her with apprehension.
Alicia gasped. Somehow she knew this Thoroughbred must be Wexton’s Bashshar. Dismissing thoughts of the man, she moved away from the stall’s door to give the animal a sense that he wasn’t cornered.
He tossed his massive head; the lantern’s soft glow emphasized the fiery glints along his satiny black coat. The stallion pawed the ground, ears laid flat against his head, teeth bared.
Alicia’s need to comfort far outweighed her fear. In a low clear sound, she began to hum, while in her mind she pictured a soothing image—wind rippling through swaying willow branches. At a safe distance from the horse, she stood still, allowing him to become accustomed to her scent. Although Alicia thought the stallion might rear, she held her ground and continued to hum.
She looked for some outward sign of his distress. Raised white scars zigzagged across the animal’s left flank, shining in the lantern light. She grimaced but leaned closer. The laceration had occurred within the month, as indicated by the proud flesh—the raised, white tissue—that formed around the wound.
She met the animal’s frightened eyes. Aye, what troubled the horse was more than his wounds. She could feel his terror and agony.
Penn peeked through a knothole in the wooden wall. Immediately, the horse caught the brief movement; his eyes again were ringed in white. Lips curling, the animal let out another terrifying scream. Alicia felt as if her body were being ripped in two. She squeezed her eyes shut, and reached to touch the animal’s neck.
Immediately, the horse’s feelings of fear and confusion shot through her—feelings so intense that she thought she had been pounded hard alongside the ear. Forcing the fervor from her mind, Alicia cleared her thoughts and braced herself. Her hand pressed gently along Bashshar’s warm, silky neck.
“Nobody dares touch the ‘orse ‘cept ‘is lordship.” Penn had opened the door a crack, keeping a respectful distance from her and the stallion.
Alicia turned to face the lad, “Then this is Bashshar?”
Penn nodded, his eyes wide.
“How did the accident happen?”
When Penn didn’t answer, she stopped petting the horse and backed up toward the door, moving very carefully so as not to frighten Bashshar.
“I asked you how the accident happened.”
“Dunno.”
“Nonsense. A valuable animal like Bashshar is injured and the stable boy knows nothing about it?” Maybe it was the severe look she gave him, but Penn finally answered her.
“Me father is Ulger, the stable master. He said fer me t’ say nothin’ ’bout that night.” Penn muttered so softly she could barely hear him.
“Why would your father give such an order?” But as soon as she’d asked, she wondered if Ulger felt intimidated by the duke. She decided on a change of tactic. “Was the duke of Wexton riding Bashshar when the injury occurred?”
Penn’s widening hazel eyes was his only answer.
“Please, Penn. If I knew how the horse was injured, it would help me understand him.” She felt guilty pressing the lad, but she needed to find out what she could. “Was the duke riding the horse when the accident occurred?” she repeated.
Penn pressed his lips into a grim line. “Yes, my lady. An’ weren’t no accident, neither.” His gaze narrowed with intended meaning.
“Surely you don’t mean that someone deliberately harmed the animal?” She studied Penn, who immediately averted his gaze.
No, Alicia thought. Penn wouldn’t dare say anything derogatory about his master, either. She took a deep breath. “Did you see—” she hesitated “—the incident?”
Penn shook his head. “Me father an’ the master brought the horse in an’—” He shook his red curls. “Never saw Bashshar like ’e was that night. Never saw any animal like ’im, thank God. When I asked what ‘appened, they told me t’ get out an’ sleep in the servants’ wing.” Penn glanced around as if he might be overheard. “After I left the stable, I couldn’t sleep thinkin’ o’ th’ poor creature’s sufferin’.”
Although she wanted to know more, Alicia didn’t want Penn telling Ulger or the duke that she was prodding the lad with questions. She’d find out what she needed to know in her own way. “Thank you, Penn. I won’t say a word to anyone about the matter.”
He gave her an uneasy look, then scratched his head.
Alicia felt the horse begin to settle. “Go back to sleep, Penn. I’d like to remain with Bashshar for a time.”
His eyes rounded like amber saucers. “B-but…”
She smiled reassuringly. “If your father should question you, I’ll explain to him in the morning.”
“It’s not me father I fear, my lady. It’s ’is lordship. ’E’ll eat me alive if ’e finds I let ye near ’is ’orse.”
Surprised that Penn hadn’t been told earlier that she was coming to help work with Bashshar, Alicia wondered how many people Dalton had told about her arrival. “Let me worry about his lordship.”
Penn hesitated, then glanced at the stallion. Bashshar tossed his head, the long silky mane shimmering like black satin in the lantern light. “The beast does seem quieter,” Penn said after a moment.
Alicia purposely waited for Penn’s approval. She sensed that the lad, although now frightened of Bashshar, held great respect and pride for the stallion.
“I think Bashshar likes ye,” the lad said finally, as though he’d considered the matter carefully. “’E might enjoy yer company.” Penn gave her a furtive glance, then dashed out of sight, his footfalls fading along the crushed gravel.
After the boy left, Alicia was still caught up in the intense feelings of her intuition. Although the stallion was still terrified of her, she sensed that eventually, she might earn the horse’s trust. But first, she must insist upon the truth about the accident from Wexton.
A shiver passed over her. She glanced out the window to the golden glow of Havencrest, sitting in the distance like a glittering diamond against the inky velvet sky.
Whatever the truth, Wexton, I’ll find it out, you can be sure of that.
Chapter Three
When Dalton returned to the ballroom, he was more determined than ever to find out what Olivia had learned about the mysterious Lady Alicia. His gaze veered toward the crush of his mother’s guests—London’s finest. Damn, his sister was nowhere in sight.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Elizabeth waving to him from a crowd of admiring young bucks. Dalton nodded politely, giving her a warm smile.
His mother caught his attention. Garbed in black widow’s weeds, her diamond tiara atop her elaborately styled black hair, Mildred, the five-and-fifty-year-old dowager duchess of Wexton was still an attractive woman. She held court to the admiring throng of society’s ton as she always had. Several wives of the earls and viscounts met his eye. Dalton gave them a perfunctory nod.
His mother knew the latest rumor and scandal, although she’d never admit it to him. How ironic, he mused. As he stood watching her, the unbidden childhood image of his mother and her lover jumped into Dalton’s thoughts. He immediately pushed away the painful memory.
Reluctantly, Dalton made his way through the crush until he stood at his mother’s side.
“It’s about time you made your appearance, Dalton.” With stony dignity, her fingers brushed the glittering onyx-and-diamond necklace at her throat. In a whisper for his ears only, she added, “I expect you to attend these—”
“Dalton,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She curled her hand around his sleeve, then gave the dowager a most dazzling smile.
“Your grace, surely you don’t wish to keep your son from his guests?” she teased. “We see so little of Dalton as it is.”
A look of pleasure transformed the older woman’s thin face. “Surely my son doesn’t ignore you, dear Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth coquettishly tilted her head at Dalton. “Yes, he ignores me most outlandishly.” She pursed her lips into a delicate pout.
“I have been attending to the needs of one of the guests,” Dalton said without emotion. “A special favor, you might say.”
Curiosity sparkled Elizabeth’s green eyes. “A special guest? Do I know him?”
“I couldn’t say.” Dalton felt a hint of satisfaction in countering her undisguised curiosity. He patted her gloved hand. “I’m afraid I must be leaving,” he said, peeling her hand from his arm. “I hope to see you tomorrow.”
His mother waved her fan in a furious blur.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mother.” He gave her a dismissive bow, then one to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth’s cheeks blushed. He wasn’t aware that she had followed him out of the ballroom until he reached the hall. She rounded on him. “How dare you ignore me!”
Dalton stepped to one of the small private alcoves along the corridor. “Elizabeth, please—”
“You bastard!” Elizabeth’s eyes glittered with outrage. “How dare you treat me with such open disdain in front of everyone?”
Surprised, Dalton took a step back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She glared back. “Oh, yes, you do. Only this morning, Lady Fredricks told me that I should learn to whinny if I hope to gain any attention from you.” Angry red blotches begin to spread along her face and neck. “I’ll not become a laughingstock because of you. I won’t be ignored any longer!” She slapped his cheek, then spun around and rushed back toward the ballroom.
Dalton rubbed his stinging cheek and sighed. What in hell had brought that on?
“Dalton!” Olivia rushed along the hall to his side. “Whatever did you do to Elizabeth—?”
“I’m afraid it’s not what I did. It’s what I refused to do,” he replied playfully.
“Oh, Dalton. Trifling with Elizabeth can be a dangerous sport.”
Dalton laughed. “Dangerous?”
“Yes, dangerous.” Olivia’s blue eyes widened with alarm. “She fancies herself in love with you, Dalton.”
He felt a sudden jolt of sympathy for Elizabeth. “She’s still so very young, Olivia. Elizabeth only thinks she’s in love. By next week, she’ll outgrow her infatuation and fall hopelessly in love with someone else.” He winked at her. “You’ll see.”
Olivia shook her head. “Elizabeth is a headstrong woman who knows what she wants. She wants you, Dalton. I wish you’d take her seriously.”
He shrugged in futile helplessness. “You’re a delightful romantic, my sister. I hope your belief in true love will never desert you. But I’m afraid that every coupling can’t be as divine as yours and that husband you so cherish.”
Olivia frowned worriedly. “Sometimes you can be the most stubborn man.”
Dalton chuckled. “The evening is too lovely to spend arguing, Sister.” He took her arm and led her back toward the ballroom. “Forgive me for changing the subject, but have you spoken to Great-Aunt Mary about Lady Alicia?”
She stopped and looked up at him. Her fingers worked nervously with the ribbons on her fan. “Yes, I did.”
He glanced around for a quiet place to talk. “Come,” he said, urging his sister through the French doors and onto the terrace, away from the threat of meeting Elizabeth again. He took a deep breath of the invigorating night air. “Let’s take a walk through the gardens.”
Lilting music floated from the ballroom’s open windows as they strolled across the broad terrace. When they came to an empty bench beneath towering rhododendrons, they took a seat.
Olivia collected herself. “Alicia’s father is a notorious drunk, a gambler who has almost lost their family estate many times. Three years ago, when Alicia arrived for her first Season, she was thrown into the most shocking scandal.”
Dalton knew that Olivia, unlike their mother, disliked gossip, and he wished he could have found out what he needed to know about Lady Alicia Spencer some other way. But he needed to be discreet, and Olivia was one of the few people he trusted.
“The incident happened during Lady Alicia’s first ball, which was given by Mother at our London town house. It was also Elizabeth’s first Season. In fact, mother was Elizabeth’s patroness that year. Do you remember, Dalton?”
He shook his head. “No. That spring I was in Portugal, fighting with Wellesley’s campaign. Just before Drake enlisted—”
His words faded when he saw the pained expression cross Olivia’s face at the mention of their brother. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I didn’t mean…”
She laid her white-gloved hand on his sleeve. “It’s quite all right, Dalton.” She paused, glancing up at the stars twinkling overhead. “You’d think after three years that I would accept that he’s never coming home.” She shook her head. “I know I sound foolish, Dalton. Forgive me.”
“You’re not foolish, my dear. I miss him, too.”
“The worst part for me was not having Drake’s body returned to England. I so hate to think—”
He patted her hand. “Drake will remain alive in our hearts as long as we remember him, Olivia. He’d be so proud that you named your first son after him.”
The tight smile on Olivia’s lips faded. “Thank God that you returned safely from the war. I don’t know what I would have done without you, too.”
Olivia, so sensitive, so caring. He squeezed her hand in an attempt to comfort. She was almost nine years younger than he; maybe that was why he would always feel so protective of her.
“I haven’t told you the worst about Lady Alicia’s past,” Olivia said, recovering. She met his gaze. “On the evening of Alicia’s first ball, she was found with your friend, Justin Sykes, alone in his bedroom.”
“Sykes?” Dalton released her hand. “I don’t believe it.”
She nodded. “There’s no mistake. In fact, Great-Aunt Mary said that Mother and several of her friends found them together.”
Dalton furrowed his brows in disbelief. Justin Sykes’s reputation as a rake and a scoundrel was well-known. Rumor had it that he’d made his wealth from selling contraband to Napoleon’s troops, but Dalton had never believed it. Certainly an innocent like Alicia would be warned to steer clear of such a scoundrel, unless she thought herself in love with him. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Word of the affair spread and by nightfall of the next day, Lady Alicia had returned home in utter disgrace.” Blue eyes, so like his own, stared back at him. “Great-Aunt Mary remembers the incident vividly. Before Alicia’s downfall, everyone said that she was by far the most beautiful jewel of the Season.”
“Did Sykes offer for her?”
Olivia’s eyes widened. “That’s what upset everyone the most. Justin Sykes offered to marry her, and the girl turned him down.”
“That’s devilishly queer. Why?”
“Despite all the rumors, no one knew the truth.”
Dalton thought back to the lovely, free-spirited woman who had barely concealed her animosity toward him. Beneath her plain gown, he’d seen the full high breasts and the feminine outline of her tiny waist and gently rounded hips, and he remembered his immediate reaction to her. He prided himself on being able to look beyond this sort of attraction to women in order to make astute judgments of the fair sex.
Yet the more he discovered about Alicia, the more mysterious she became. Now, he understood her initial refusal to tend Bashshar, and the sacrifice she’d made to come to the family estate and face his mother.
“I’ve done Lady Alicia a grave disservice, I’m afraid.”
“What do you mean, Dalton?”
“Alicia has put aside her feelings about our mother to help an injured animal. She’s here solely because she wants to cure Bashshar.”
“Hmm. I see she’s impressed you, brother.” A note of inquisitiveness rang on her words. “I’m curious to meet her.”
“Perhaps you could pay her a visit tomorrow. I haven’t told anyone else that she’s arrived. I’m afraid you might be her only friend while she’s here.”
“Oh, Dalton. Mother will never permit her to stay.”
“I’m now the duke. Mother will have to accept the fact.”
Olivia shook her head. “Don’t underestimate the damage Mother can do, Dalton. She’s still one of the most powerful members of the ton. She can destroy people with her tongue as easily as Wellington can with his sword.”
“No need to warn me about the dragon,” he answered lightly.
Olivia’s assessing gaze told Dalton that she was wondering, again, what he knew about their mother that had so hardened him against her. But Olivia also knew that he would never speak of the matter.
“Let me escort you back to the ballroom, Sister. Your husband must be frantically looking everywhere for you.” He rose and took her hand, then accompanied her back toward the hall.
After Dalton left Olivia, he headed for the livery stable. He wanted to check on Bashshar for the night.
When he came to the stables, golden light flickered from the west windows of the building. Since the accident, Dalton had ordered the lanterns high above Bashshar’s stall to remain lit, hopeful the small gesture might ease the stallion’s fears.
The memory of Bashshar’s injury still haunted Dalton. So far, he had found no sound reason for anyone to shoot at him. But from the footprints the gamekeeper had found, there was little doubt that the shooter had waited for some time, stalking Dalton when he returned from Bashshar’s workout.
Inside the stable, Dalton strode along the corridors. Several horses whinnied a greeting. When he approached Bashshar’s stable room, a faint nicker told him that Bashshar recognized his footfalls. Dalton smiled, taking that as a sign of improvement. After the accident, Bashshar wasn’t able to recognize what was familiar, what was strange. The horse saw everything as an attack.
When he approached the stall, Dalton noticed the bar across the door had been removed. Irritation rushed through him. It wasn’t like Ulger or the staff to be careless and leave Bashshar’s stall unlocked! Dalton eased the door open.
Alicia stood alone beneath the overhead lantern, barely a few feet from Bashshar. The stallion lowered his head, not making a sound. Dalton wanted to rush to her, protect her in case Bashshar reared. Instead, Dalton hesitated, afraid to make a sudden movement that might startle the horse.
She was dressed in a pristine nightgown, with white lace circling her neck. Her unbound auburn hair shimmered like liquid fire beneath the lamplight. The white wool shawl draped around her shoulders did nothing to prevent his imagination from visualizing what she’d look like naked.
My God, she looked like an enchantress!
He was reminded of the scene painted across the ceiling of the hunting lodge. Potnia, the auburn-haired mistress of wild animals, cavorted in naked splendor among the clouds, surrounded by lions, griffins and deer.
Alicia turned to look at him, her fingers stroking Bashshar’s neck. The stallion raised his powerful black head suddenly, as though showing his master the strange interloper in their midst.
Dalton couldn’t believe his eyes. In one brief visit, Alicia had soothed the animal more than the other handlers had done in the past month.
How vulnerable and alluring she appeared in the soft lantern light. Gone was the stubborn glint in her large brown eyes. Now, those soft, velvety orbs were filled with compassion for Bashshar.
Perhaps it was appreciation that filled his heart. She had put aside her anger to come to the estate to aid a wounded animal. Just watching her with Bashshar gave him hope that this strange young woman might accomplish what the horse experts had said couldn’t be done.
Were you in love with Justin Sykes? he wanted to ask. Then for a split second, Dalton didn’t care. He wanted her. Desire charged through his veins like molten lava. He wanted to be the man who would tame her haughty spirit.
“You’re staring at me.” She bit her bottom lip as she studied him with an innocence that nearly undid him. What the hell was the matter with him? He forced the incredible idea from his mind.
Maybe his strange feelings were the result of learning the details about her fall from grace. When was the last time he’d heard of another human being, with nothing to gain, performing a sacrifice for him?
Sacrifice, hell! Even though Alicia had refused Cinnamon Rose, more than likely she knew that her father would insist upon the mare as payment.
Suddenly Bashshar whinnied, tossing his head, his ears back. Dalton leaped forward, grabbing the stallion’s bridle, holding the horse firmly. “Perhaps it’s best if you return to your cottage.”
“Bashshar has a right to express himself when he wants,” she whispered, not wanting to excite the horse.
Express himself? Dalton turned to stare at her. “Bashshar isn’t your common, tea-party-variety horse, Lady Alicia. He’s injured and he’s not responsible for what he’s doing. Besides, he obeys only me.”
Alicia pulled the shawl tightly around herself and lifted her chin in that stubborn way Dalton was beginning to recognize. “Then give Bashshar the orders, not me. For I don’t obey you, your grace.”
Dalton couldn’t help but laugh. “Then consider it a suggestion rather than an order. Return to your cottage, my lady. I had a good reason for wanting you to wait until morning to see the horses. Many guests wander into the stables, eager for a midnight ride. What would they think if they found an angelic beauty wandering half-clad among the stalls.”
She patted at the folds in her nightgown. “And what are you doing here, so late at night?” Her tone made him feel as though he were the trespasser. “Are you planning a midnight ride?”
“No. I always look in on Bashshar before retiring. Regardless of what you might think of me, I care about Bashshar.”
“Tell me how Bashshar was injured. You’ve frightened your stable boy so badly that the lad is afraid to speak of the incident.”
“You’ve been questioning my servants?” He smiled and folded his arms across his chest.
She glanced at Bashshar. “I’m here to try to heal your horse.” Her aloof expression faded to one of compassion. “I need to know the truth about the accident.” Her voice softened and there was no trace of her earlier rancor.
Dalton studied her. As she gazed at the stallion, goodness illuminated her face. When she looked like that, he felt he could trust her completely.
“It was late afternoon,” he began. “I was returning from exercising Bashshar, when a shot rang out from the nearby gaming fields. We were almost on top of the man when the second gun fired—the shot that struck Bashshar.”
“Did you see the shooter?”
“No, he was too well hidden in the hedgerow.”
“Then why do you think the shooter was a man?”
Surprised, Dalton hesitated. “The idea that it might be a woman never crossed my mind.”
Alicia’s eyes flashed. “Really?” Her lips twitched. “You’ve never given a woman reason to shoot at you?”
He chuckled. “You bring up an interesting point.”
Alicia’s expression turned serious. “Were you injured, too?”
“No.”
Alicia touched the horse’s cheek. “Since the incident, you haven’t found out any more about the shooter?”
“The authorities are still examining the matter.”
She nodded, as though satisfied for the moment. “I believe I understand Bashshar’s fear.” She stroked the length of the animal’s nose with a feather touch.
Dalton studied her delicate hands. For an instant, he could almost imagine those cool, soft, healing fingers upon his brow. “What is it you do? Do you see into the animal’s mind?”
She shook her head, her gaze fixed on the horse. “No. I can’t see things. I only sense things. Usually only fragments. But with Bashshar, I felt his panic before I opened the stall door and saw him.” Her eyes brightened. “I also sensed that he wanted me to help him.”
Bashshar was accepting her more readily than Dalton thought possible. What was there about this young woman that filled him with hope? Maybe he only wanted to believe that Bashshar might be saved? “How do you heal the animals?”
The question caused her to turn and smile at Dalton. How lovely she looked when she smiled. Or was it that she seemed, for the first time, to be at ease with him?
“It’s quite natural, really.” Her eyes shone. “First, I must gain their trust. Although this takes time, I begin by filling my mind with a sense of peace. Perhaps the animal senses that if I’m serene, then I won’t harm it.” Her cheeks brightened with a pink tinge, as if she expected he might ridicule her explanation.
Instead, Dalton was enthralled. “Who taught you this skill?”
“My grandfather taught me about horses and their training.”
“Your mother’s father?”
“Yes, the earl of Longworth.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Dalton said, amazed that he hadn’t made the connection between Alicia and her well-known grandfather.
She smiled when she recognized his admiration. “My grandfather built Marston Heath on land he had inherited from his father. Grandfather was an expert horseman, who had developed a fine stable of racing stock before he died.”
Dalton felt overwhelmed with curiosity. He wanted to know everything about her. “What did he teach you about horses?”
She chuckled. “It would take months to answer that question.” She glanced at Bashshar, her face becoming serious. “My grandfather had translated and studied the work of Xenophon, the Greek, whose training of horses in the third century, B.C., advocated kindness rather than cruelty.” Her eyes sparkled with the memory. “My grandfather taught me Xenophon’s techniques, which I’ve used with success on most animals.” She brought her gaze back to his and smiled faintly. “I think you would have liked my grandfather, but he died six years ago.”
“I would have considered meeting him a privilege,” Dalton said, gazing into her immense brown eyes. Standing in the golden lantern light, in Bashshar’s stall, she looked so natural, as though she were at home with the animals.
“The way you look just now, reminds me of Potnia, the Greek goddess of wild animals,” he said. “In the hunting lodge, there’s a ceiling mural of her, standing in the forest among lions and deer.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “She is also called the Sweet Virgin, and she’s usually shown with her magical griffins, which are thought to protect her.”
He lifted a black brow in amazement. “You’re familiar with Greek mythology?”
She smiled. “My grandfather was also a scholar, who believed in the unpopular notion that women should be educated. My mother and her sisters were much too proper to care for books, but I loved to read. My grandfather taught me French, Latin and Greek, which came easily to me. He taught me history, literature and art,” she added wistfully.
He realized again how truly amazing she was. She was nothing like his mother, or Elizabeth or the practiced lovers he had known. Alicia appeared to have a stronger inner strength than his sister, Olivia, but maybe Alicia’s pride gave that impression. All he knew was that the more he learned about Alicia, the more he wanted to know.
“This sense of peace,” Dalton said. “How do you manage it?”
She blushed becomingly, and, if he didn’t know better, he’d have thought her shy. “No one has ever asked me that.” Her gaze remained on the horse, her left hand petting the powerful neck.
Dalton was aware she hadn’t answered his question, but he decided not to pursue it. Instead, he took her free hand and placed it against his chest. “What do you feel now, Alicia?”
Her dark eyes widened as he felt his heartbeat pound beneath her fragile touch. “Surely if you can behold a horse’s spirit, you can behold a man’s?”
A sudden spark ignited between them. He felt it through his fingers. Or had he imagined it?
Alicia curled her fingers into her palm and withdrew her hand. She stepped back, as though he had never asked the question. “I’ll provide you with daily reports of Bashshar’s progress, your grace.” Her voice held no emotion.
What had happened between them? For the briefest of seconds, he knew that she’d sensed it, too. Dalton stepped back, suddenly needing to break away. “If you require anything, ask Ulger, the stable master.” Dalton’s voice held steady, despite his sudden unease. “Ulger has been instructed to tell the servants to protect your privacy.”
Dalton opened the door and allowed her to pass in front of him. “I’ll drive you to your cottage in the carriage. It’s too dark for you to walk the long distance alone,” he added, returning the bar across the latch. He watched the deep crimson strands of her hair shine like live coals when she walked beneath the lantern. She hurried through the long building until the main entrance came into view.
Outside, he handed her into the carriage. “I hope you found your quarters to your liking.”
“Yes, thank you.”
He noticed she was trembling. Was she suddenly afraid to be alone with him? Dalton wondered. Or was it his earlier remark that at any hour, a member of the ton might enter the stables?
When they finally reached the cottage, he helped her down and bowed as gallantly as if she were debutante of the year. “Good night, Lady Alicia.”
Before going inside, she waited until the carriage wheeled along the path and disappeared into the night. “Good night, your grace,” she whispered when her breath finally returned.
The morning’s sunlight bathed the snowy marble walls of the horse stables with gold rays. Alicia checked over her charge. Bashshar stood patiently, showing no sign of his past nervousness. Sensing only mild apprehension in the animal this morning, she felt pleased and relieved that the stallion was accepting her so readily.
Oats brimmed from the grain bucket, fresh hay and water had been carried inside and fed to the stallion. If no one could handle Bashshar except Dalton, that meant the duke must have performed the chores himself, leaving before daylight.
“So, you’ve already seen your master?” She grinned when Bashshar tossed his head. “Then you won’t mind if I leave you for a bit.” She smiled when the stallion hesitated, as though listening to her words. “I’ll look in on you, later.”
She moved at a snail’s pace toward the door, doing nothing that might startle the animal and break the thin line of trust they had established.
Alicia found a shortcut through the woods to the cottage. The walk was shorter but, more important, the trail was more isolated from the chance meeting of strangers along the bridal path nearby. When she heard footsteps outside the cottage door, she peeked out the window. She was surprised to see a gentlewoman standing at the door with her maid. The lady, a lovely, fair-haired woman, was dressed in a green riding costume and matching feathered bonnet.
“Good morning, Lady Alicia,” the woman said when Alicia opened the door. “I’m Lady Olivia Seabrook, Dalton’s sister.”
Alicia invited her inside, then suddenly realized how she must look. “Forgive my appearance, my lady, but—”
“No need to apologize, my dear. You look lovely.” The maid remained outside while Olivia removed her gloves and took a seat by the window. “Last night, my brother confided the circumstances of your visit.” She smiled, and Alicia sensed that her kindness was sincere.
“Thank you, Lady Olivia. I believe I’ve made the beginning of a fragile truce with Bashshar.”
“I understand that you’re duty is foremost to Bashshar, but I’ll not let you spend all of your time in the stables.” Olivia paused, as though expecting Alicia to object. “I was on my way to ride this morning. My favorite mount is Mischief, the high-spirited roan in the east wing of the stable. Why don’t I have Mischief saddled for you, then you can join me on my ride? I’d like the chance for us to get to know each other.”
“But I thought—”
“It’s much too lovely a morning to waste inside.” She smiled, revealing deep dimples, just like Dalton’s.
“Thank you, Lady Olivia, but no. I’d rather remain out of the way of the other guests, if you don’t mind.”
“I thought we’d follow the secret little path I used to ride as a child.” Olivia spoke as though she hadn’t heard Alicia’s protest. “I’ll show you the view from where a waterfall spills into the pool overlooking the hills beyond.”
Alicia knew it would be best to refuse, but having a chance to converse with Dalton’s sister might be the perfect opportunity to learn more about him. The deep loneliness Alicia had perceived last night when he held her hand against his chest came as a shock to her. What she sensed was in direct contrast to the shallow image Dalton portrayed. “Very well, Lady Olivia. I’ll accept. But only a very short ride.”
“Splendid!” Olivia clasped Alicia’s hand. “I’ll call the maid to come inside and help you change. While you’re here, Marie will be your personal maid.”
“Should I ask Marie to instruct the stable master to saddle our horses?”
Olivia chuckled. “Forgive me, Lady Alicia, but I’ve already done so.”
While Alicia was changing into her riding habit, Olivia moved about the small cottage, staring in utter disbelief. “My brother must have used a London decorator. Everything is lovely,” she said finally. She studied the elegant bedroom—the Belgian lace coverlet and curtains, the enormous porcelain bathtub. “I’ve never seen a more beautifully shaped tub!” Pale pink cabbage roses, made so popular by Empress Josephine, were painted along the border of the chamber walls.
The maid finished buttoning the tiny jet clasps along Alicia’s jacket, then stepped back to allow Alicia room to see herself in the gilt-framed threeway mirror.
“You look lovely, my dear,” Olivia exclaimed. “The Prussian blue suits your lovely auburn hair and dark eyes.”
Alicia smiled at the compliment. She hadn’t worn the habit since her coming out three years ago. Her smile faded with the memory. The maid placed the wide-brimmed hat atop Alicia’s head and stepped back. “What thick, shiny hair. It’s a shame to cover it,” Marie said.
“Thank you,” Alicia said, feeling pleased with the way she looked. Vanity was a sin, she reminded herself. Never had she cared about finery, but for a moment, she wondered what Dalton would think if he saw her dressed so becomingly.
She immediately drew back in self-censure. She cared nothing for what that man thought.
Half an hour later, Olivia’s golden mare cantered easily beside Alicia’s spirited filly. “Havencrest is one of the most beautiful estates I’ve ever seen,” Alicia said finally. Besides immaculately groomed riding paths, the views from the verdant, rolling countryside were breathtaking.
“Havencrest has been in the family since the Tudors. When father died last year, Dalton inherited the estate along with the title.” Olivia gave her a sideways glance. “My poor brother. As though he’ll ever enjoy the titled responsibilities.”
Alicia’s curiosity rose. “Why not, my lady?” So far, she had learned very little about Olivia’s brother. It was as though Olivia felt guarded to talk about him.
“Dalton is much too unsettled to enjoy the country life. Only Bashshar’s injury keeps my brother here.”
Of course, Alicia realized. How could she have forgotten what men of the ton were like. Gambling halls, racetracks and beautiful women. Olivia was right. Men like Dalton could never appreciate the pastoral beauty of Havencrest. Yet Dalton had seemed genuinely concerned about Bashshar. A thought struck her.
“Lady Olivia, does your brother plan to race Bashshar?”
Olivia raised a brow. “Bashshar’s sire was an Arabian racer, bred to our English Thoroughbred.” She paused. “My brother’s dream was to see Bashshar win the Newmarket Classic this year.” She sighed. “Now, there’s little chance that will happen.”
So that was the reason Dalton was so desperate for Bashshar to recover. He was concerned with the money and prestige that came with owning a racing champion. The knowledge somehow deflated her spirits.
“I believe Dalton said your family owns racing stock, Lady Alicia. Have you a racehorse entered in an upcoming heat?”
Alicia smiled, thinking of Jupiter, her first racing colt to come from their stable. “My two-year-old has promise. I’m hoping to enter him in the Newmarket Classic this year as well.”
Olivia looked impressed. “I wish you the best.” Before she could say more, the sound of galloping hooves hammered along the path. She looked up to see two riders galloping toward them. Tall, elegantly dressed, both men rode with the agility of experts. They gallantly brought their horses to the verge, allowing Alicia and Olivia the right away.
“Lord Theodore Clitheridge and Lord Templestone,” Olivia greeted the men warmly before introducing Alicia to them.
Lord Clitheridge doffed his hat, staring at Alicia with a mixture of curiosity and appreciation. “My compliments to your father, Lady Alicia, for having such a lovely daughter.”
Alicia smiled graciously, despite Lord Clitheridge’s veiled hint that he knew of her damaged reputation by mentioning that he knew her father. No doubt he obliged himself not to give her the cut direct out of deference to Lady Olivia. Alicia would rather show ignorance to his innuendo than let him see her dismay.
The second man, Lord Templestone, was dressed in pink satin and lace at his neck and cuffs. Alicia thought he looked like an overstuffed boudoir pillow.
Templestone tipped his hat. “I’ve never met your sire, Lady Alicia, but your beauty and grace do him much honor.”
Alicia thanked him. Beside her, Olivia chatted with ease. If she was aware of the men’s intimation, she gave no sign. Although Alicia had yearned to ride, she should never have accepted Olivia’s invitation. Those who hadn’t known of her scandal would soon hear of it from those who knew. She forced a brave smile and met the men’s curious glances with confidence.
“Sorry to hear of Dalton’s stallion’s accident,” Lord Templestone said to Olivia. “Bad thing, that.”
“Bashshar is improving nicely,” Olivia answered.
“Heard the horse took quite a beating.” Templestone brushed at the sleeve of his riding jacket.
“You’re misinformed.” Olivia’s smile exuded charm, but her voice held an edge that wasn’t present before.
Lord Clitheridge looked as if he were going to say something when his attention was diverted to a man and woman racing across the green, directly toward them.
Alicia gazed at the riders. She felt a lump in her throat when she recognized Dalton, astride a pure white Arabian stallion. The lady riding beside him was perched sidesaddle atop a dun mare. Beneath the narrow-brimmed hat she wore, the woman’s gold hair shone like a newly minted coin. As they approached, Alicia noticed the lady peer at her with growing interest.
“Sister, I see you’ve met Lady Alicia.” Dalton made no move to introduce Alicia to his beautiful riding companion.
“Good morning, Elizabeth.” Olivia glanced toward Alicia. “Have you met Lady Alicia Spencer?” she asked Elizabeth.
Elizabeth’s perfect features froze into a mask of distaste. With undisguised rancor, she turned to Dalton. “Shall we take the upper path?”
Elizabeth’s failure to acknowledge her, especially when Olivia had directly asked Elizabeth a question, was a cruel cut directed at Alicia.
Dalton’s expression gave no notice, but Alicia thought she saw a flinty look in his blue gaze. “You’ve picked a lively mount, Lady Alicia. Mischief enjoys testing a new rider. I warn you, she’s not as meek as she appears.”
“Don’t worry, your grace. Neither am I.” Alicia refused to remain and subject herself to further abuse. She whirled the spirited filly around. “Excuse me, please,” she said to Olivia before she turned the mare in the direction of the stables.
Almost immediately, the sound of a horse galloping behind her took her attention.
“I’ll race you back,” Dalton called out to her.
“Dalton!” Elizabeth’s voice charged with anger. “I’m your fiancée! You can’t leave me here!”
Dalton’s fiancée? Surprise and disappointment rushed over Alicia. For an engaged man to leave his partner alone while he charged off with another woman was the deepest insult—grave enough to endanger the engagement.
But what did she care? Dalton’s Arabian was almost beside her mare. She leaned forward, urging Mischief with encouragement. Moments later, the mare easily took the lead.
Within seconds, Dalton’s powerful beast galloped beside her again, but the light-footed Mischief had a head to be first. Spirit was everything, Alicia knew. Large, powerful horses might set a burst of endurance at the start, but like humans, a winning spirit was the key to heroic accomplishments.
Stately trees and low thickets rushed past in a green blur as they raced, their horses neck and neck. Surprised to hear her own peal of laughter amid the thundering hooves, she glanced a peek at Dalton.
His jet riding jacket fit his broad shoulders to perfection. Black, shiny leather boots molded to his muscled legs like a second skin. His rich baritone laughter rang through her thoughts. She couldn’t remember when she felt so exhilarated.
The stable’s long stone enclosure rose in the distance. Dalton’s horse inched alongside of Mischief, preparing to take the lead.
Alicia longed to win; she had to win if she was going to beat down the feeling that she was an outcast. She would win!
As they neared the west side of the stables, Dalton leaned over the saddle, easing into the lead. Just then, Alicia spotted the small cottage sitting to the left of the livery stable. If she were to veer to the right of the bungalow, then go behind the stables along the shorter path to the paddock entrance, she might beat Dalton, after all.
When they were within a hundred yards of the stable, Alicia urged her mount to the left. When Dalton glanced up to see where she was going, it was too late for him to follow. Alicia raced Mischief toward the bungalow. Passing the stable, she brought her mount along the side of the paddock.
Several grooms rushed toward her and helped her dismount. Her heart pounded in sweet satisfaction. A few seconds later, Dalton arrived on his stallion, and dismounted a few feet from her.
His mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “You win, Lady Alicia.”
“And a fair win it was,” she returned, waiting for his chiding to follow. Instead, he said nothing as he tossed the reins to a waiting groom.
Dalton would have won if she hadn’t veered from the path, and his gallantry wasn’t making her winning as satisfying as she’d hoped. It was almost as if he didn’t care who won.
“Too bad we didn’t place a wager,” he offered finally, his heated gaze fixed on her. “I might have tried harder.”
“Of course! How could I have forgotten that unless one bets, it’s not worth doing?” She glared at him. “I should be returning to Bashshar.”
“Dressed in such lovely finery?”
For the moment, she’d forgotten about her riding habit. A heat rose to her cheeks, and she wished he would leave. If only he had mentioned that he was engaged earlier.
But why should he? Dalton considered her nothing more than a stable hand, a nursemaid for his horse. Oh, why had she let Olivia talk her into leaving the stable and pretending to be someone she could never be?
Anger, frustration and something she didn’t recognize flamed within her. She was a lady, even if she had been snubbed by the ton. “Yes, I’ll change into something more suitable. If you’ll excuse me—”
Dalton grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her to face him. “I don’t know what possessed Elizabeth to act the way she did. Elizabeth and I aren’t engaged.”
“It’s none of my concern.” She brushed his hands from her shoulders.
“There’s nothing between us, Alicia. I have no arrangement with Elizabeth. We’re both free to do what we want.”
“I didn’t ask you for an explanation.” Alicia stepped back, but he moved with her.
“We’re not engaged.” He took her hand.
She felt his warmth, so close. Much too close. She felt suddenly dizzy. “Please, let me go.”
“It’s important that you believe me.”
“Oh, I see. Elizabeth is the liar and you’re telling me the truth. Is that it?” The paddock fencing seemed to spin around her. She felt warm and light-headed when he looked at her in such an intimate way.
“I don’t want you to think worse of me than you already do.”
“I suggest you have this conversation with your lady love, not with me.” Alicia tried to shake free of his hand, but he held her fast.
“Alicia, please—”
“Lady Alicia, if you please.” They faced each other, the awkward silence adding to the void between them. Finally, he released her. She gathered her skirts and rushed from the paddock.
Her hands were still trembling when she dashed inside the cottage and closed the door. She leaned against the smooth wood, her heart pounding. She squeezed her eyes shut. The handsome face of Dalton Warfield, the duke of Wexton, flooded her mind. His passionate eyes burned into her soul.
Dalton had looked so earnest, so trusting. Elizabeth and I aren’t engaged.
Why should she care if Dalton was telling the truth? She opened her eyes to her own painful truth. She did care. God help her, but she wanted to believe him.
Chapter Four
Dalton gripped the reins of his mount with practiced control as he rode along the bridle path. Despite his outward appearance, he still felt shocked at Elizabeth for her behavior to Alicia. The sooner he found Elizabeth and settled the matter, once and for all, the sooner he could assure Alicia that she wouldn’t have to put up with such tactless conduct again.
Elizabeth! What had provoked her to blurt out that she was his fiancée? In his mind, he could still see Alicia’s surprise, then accusing look before she schooled her features behind an emotionless mask. He winced inwardly. No doubt she learned to mask the pain in her life since her fall from grace.
It was bad enough that Dalton’s bargain with Alicia had thrust her amid the ton, but the poor woman wasn’t used to Elizabeth’s jealousy. No telling what lengths she was willing to go to make Alicia’s life hell. Elizabeth’s conduct toward Alicia was cruel, and he wouldn’t permit such behavior at his estate.
Through the shrubbery up ahead, Dalton saw a flash of blue, then Elizabeth rode into view. His jaw clenched as he reined back and waited for her.
“I expect you came looking for me,” she said when she rode alongside him. Her voice held none of the anger that flashed from her eyes. When he said nothing to deny it, she raised her chin in haughty censure.
“Dalton, I want an apology for your outrageous behavior this morning.”
It took all of his control not to speak his mind. Instead, he remained silent, waiting for her to finish. She didn’t disappoint him.
“Why is that scandalous woman here? Surely you must know that her kind aren’t fit to be around respectable people.”
“Respectable people don’t lie about being engaged when they’re not, Elizabeth. There’ll be an apology, but it will be you who’ll apologize to Lady Alicia.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Why…she’s your mistress!” She spit the accusation. Her horse skittered uneasily.
“Alicia is not my mistress. Although she is at Havencrest at my request.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “I usually find your attempts to shock the ton rather amusing, Dalton. But this time, you’ve gone too far.” Her mount took several steps to the side. “Although we haven’t officially announced our engagement, everyone knows that you and I will eventually marry. I know your mother expects the announcement before she leaves. I’ll not be put off any longer.”
Dalton felt as though he were dealing with a spoiled, willful child. “Elizabeth, please listen. I’m not going to repeat myself.”
Elizabeth’s green eyes glittered with anger, but she remained silent.
Beneath her outrage, he knew she felt hurt. How much of her pain was due to the hope of marrying his brother Drake, then losing him in the war? he wondered. “My dear Elizabeth, I’ve never led you on.” His voice was gentle but firm. “I’m not ready for marriage. To you or anyone. Now let’s not speak of this again.”
She glared at him, her pale skin mottled with blotches of red.
“I expect you to apologize to Lady Alicia in front of my sister and myself when we have tea, tomorrow afternoon in the garden.”
Elizabeth’s lips thinned. “Why are you doing this, Dalton? What possible pleasure do you receive—”
“I’ll expect you to be there.” Without another word, Dalton tipped his hat, and wheeled his horse back across the fields. He didn’t have to look back to know that Elizabeth was cursing his name to hell and back.
“Her grace will see you now, my lady.” The maid opened the door to the dowager duchess’s bedroom as Elizabeth sailed past.
Mildred, the dowager duchess of Wexton glanced up from the writing correspondence spilled across her desk, her blue gaze taking in Elizabeth’s riding habit. “My dear, what a pleasant surprise.” Glancing above her spectacles, she added, “Ah, you’ve been riding, I see. Did Dalton accompany you?”
Elizabeth curtsied, then stood, her shoulders hunched. “Your grace, it’s because of Dalton that I’m here. I’m so upset. I don’t know what I am to do.”
Mildred’s smile faded and her thin, black brows arched with concern. With regal bearing, she rose from the desk and took a seat in the blue velvet chaise in front of the broad expanse of windows. “Come, sit down and tell me what troubles you.” She patted the satin cushion beside her.
Elizabeth took the seat, then shook her head helplessly. “I—I really don’t know how to tell you.”
She could hear the older woman’s loud sigh. “Just tell me what my son has done this time.”
Elizabeth willed tears to her eyes. “Dalton has behaved in the most hurtful manner. He’s embarrassed me in front of your daughter, all because of that frightful creature, Alicia Spencer.”
Mildred’s head lifted and she sat up straighter. “Who did you say?”
“Alicia Spencer.” Elizabeth met the dowager’s questioning gaze. “Certainly you remember the disgrace when she and Justin Sykes were found alone together at your London town house? It was the evening of the soiree that you held in my honor.”
The older woman’s mouth clenched sharply. “You must be mistaken, child. There’s no way that woman could be here.”
“Oh, but she is. She’s here as Dalton’s guest.”
Mildred’s blue eyes narrowed.
“I couldn’t believe it, myself,” Elizabeth said, “but there she was, riding with Lady Olivia, this morning. Obviously, she’s Dalton’s latest mistress, although he denied it, of course.”
Mildred placed her hand at her throat. “Perhaps you only thought—”
“If you don’t believe me, ask Lord Templestone.”
The older woman stiffened. “Templestone knows of this?”
Elizabeth sniffed, satisfied to see the reaction she wanted. “Yes, he and Lord Clitheridge.”
Mildred rose unsteadily to her feet. “Go downstairs and wait for me in the drawing room, my dear. I need to be alone.”
Elizabeth saw the dowager pale and a flicker of apprehension coursed through her. If Dalton’s mother became ill or died, then who would control Dalton? Without the dowager, Dalton would never marry her. “Your grace, shall I call your maid?”
Mildred shook her head, then returned to her desk, lowering herself slowly into the chair. “I’m quite well, Elizabeth. I want a few minutes alone to think.” She closed her eyes and put her fingers to her temples. “I’ll be down shortly.”
Reluctantly, Elizabeth turned to leave. Damn, this was not the reaction she had expected. She wanted to be included when the dowager made her plans. She left the room and quietly closed the door, then headed for the staircase.
Ah, but she could wait. She had waited this long. A few more minutes was a small price to pay.
For the next half hour, Elizabeth waited alone in the long, formal drawing room, trying not to feel dwarfed by the grandeur of the high-vaulted ceilings and magnificent artwork. Even as a child, when her mother had brought her to Havencrest to play with Olivia, Elizabeth had felt overwhelmed by the opulence of the room. Even then, she had hoped to marry Dalton and one day become the mistress of Havencrest. And she would. Dalton was a complicated man, but she knew how to bring him around. If only he would spend more time with her, she would use her feminine wiles to seduce him. Then he’d forget all about that worthless baggage, Alicia Spencer.
Footsteps echoed along the marble hall. Elizabeth turned and curtsied when the duchess entered the room.
“I’ve sent for Dalton.” Mildred’s chilly tone and rigid manner gave no hint to what she was feeling. “He’ll join us shortly, then we’ll get to the bottom of this matter, my dear.” She strode toward the overstuffed chairs grouped in front of the fireplace.
Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you, your grace. I knew I could count on you.”
The duchess sank into a chair. “Your mother was as dear to me as a sister.” Her blue eyes darkened as she held Elizabeth’s gaze. “I want you to always feel you can count on me.”
“Thank you, your grace.” For the first time, Elizabeth felt greatly relieved.
“Now, while we wait for Dalton, I have a little surprise for you.” She smiled, the color returning to her face.
“I love surprises!” Elizabeth clapped her hands with glee. “Please, tell me before Dalton gets here.”
Mildred nodded. “I want you to look especially beautiful for the ball this weekend.”
Elizabeth’s curiosity rose. She had never seen the dowager as excited as she was now. Maybe she had planned to finally announce her engagement to Dalton.
“Please, your grace, tell me what it is.”
“I want you to wear my diamond-and-ruby necklace. It was once owned by Marie Antoinette.” She paused, as though waiting for Elizabeth’s reaction.
Elizabeth forced a smile. “Thank you, your grace.” She fidgeted. “I remember that you wore the diamonds last year to King George’s Jubilee.” She could care less. After all, once she married Dalton, the diamonds and more would be hers.
The dowager leaned back and studied her. “You can’t hide your disappointment from me, Elizabeth. Now, why wouldn’t you be delighted to wear one of the most famous necklaces in the world?”
Tears flowed down Elizabeth’s cheeks, and she left them for effect. “I’d hoped that the ball would end with the announcement of my engagement to Dalton.”
Mildred’s face tightened. “But my dear—”
“Every day, more and more titled, wealthy men present offers for me to my father. I don’t know how long I can keep my father from marrying me off to a foreign prince or—”
“Your father and I have an agreement, Elizabeth. You needn’t worry on that account.”
“But there can’t be a wedding without a bridegroom.”
The dowager eyed her with disapproval. “I want you to consider something very carefully, my dear.”
Elizabeth lowered her head. “I don’t understand—”
“Dalton is very strong-minded. He was so even as a child. He’s a man you can’t rush.”
“I know, but—”
“Since Drake’s death last year, Dalton has been moodier than ever. He was very close to his brother. I’m afraid that…” The duchess hesitated, her fingers working nervously over the large diamond-and-ruby ring on her finger.
Elizabeth glanced up uneasily. “Afraid of what?”
“That Dalton might leave England and return to that horrid war. I’m afraid that if any pressure is put upon him, he might rejoin his outfit.” She laced her fingers in her lap. “He remains at Havencrest only because of his stallion’s accident.” Her gaze drifted to the acres of green lawn outside the window. “In a way, I’m glad Bashshar was injured. It’s kept my son at Havencrest longer than I ever thought possible.” She regarded the younger woman with a warning look. “As a special favor to me, Elizabeth, I’d like you to be extremely patient with Dalton.”
“But I don’t see why—”
“I want nothing more than to see you and my son wed. Nothing could give me greater pleasure. And believe me, my dear, it will come to pass.”
“Oh, how I want to believe that it will.”
Mildred smiled. “Trust me. One day, you shall be the mistress of Wexton.”
Before Elizabeth could speak, a sharp rap sounded at the door and the butler entered.
“I’m sorry, my lady, but we are unable to find his lordship. The stable master told William that his lordship has gone hunting. He won’t return until later this afternoon. Shall I have Ulger send a groom to the gaming field to find him, your grace?”
Mildred thought a moment, then shook her head. “No, the matter can wait until he returns.”
Elizabeth felt a stab of disappointment. She glared at the dowager. “But the matter can’t wait.”
“That will be all, Henry.” The dowager’s voice betrayed no emotion when she dismissed the butler.
Elizabeth remained silent until the servant had left. “Time is running out, your grace. You must say something to Dalton. If our engagement isn’t announced at the ball this Saturday, I’ll become a laughingstock.”
Mildred gave her a commanding look. Elizabeth shuddered under her scrutiny. After an uncomfortable pause, the dowager spoke. “I know my son better than you. We’ll do nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Elizabeth recognized the same stubbornness in the dowager’s calculating blue eyes that she had often seen in Dalton’s.
“Very well, your grace.” Elizabeth lowered her eyes and smiled demurely. Maybe you think that you’ll do nothing, she mused, but I know of something that will change your mind.
Through the natural blind of dense oak leaves, Dalton watched the magnificent stag lift its head from the stream and listen. How many times had Dalton and his brother, Drake, watched the herd as they came to drink at the waterfall? As boys, they had loved the pursuit of the hunt. He and Drake would race each other to see who would first spot their prey. But since the war and Drake’s death, Dalton had lost the stomach to kill any living thing. He even disliked having to read the monthly gamekeeper’s reports that tallied which of the weak trees the workers had cleared from the hunting fields.
The stag nibbled tender shoots from the low brambles. Dalton sighed. He would love to spend the entire afternoon here in the peaceful glen, but he had important work to do. He turned and strode toward the sorrel gelding nearby.
Indeed, the brief respite in the silent woods had restored his good humor. Hopefully, Lady Alicia was in a more receptive mood, too. He needed to talk to her. He had sketched some designs for a round pen that could easily be built away from the stable yard. If Alicia approved the plan, the high-fenced pen would allow her the freedom to work with Bashshar, while protected from the unwelcome stares of his mother’s guests.
When he approached the paddock, Dalton dismounted and walked toward the stable, handing the reins to a waiting groom. He was almost past the corner of the pavilion when he recognized Bashshar’s loud whinny. He stopped and peered through the white-painted fence of the pavilion. Inside, in the center of the ring, Alicia stood like a statue, her arms at her sides. In one hand she held what looked like an old woolen scarf, hanging limply to the ground. A few feet away, Bashshar angrily pawed the earth.
Dalton watched with fascinated interest. She flicked the long scarf. Bashshar watched her warily as he moved along the opposite end of the enclosure, his bright eyes never wavering from her.
Dalton waited for Alicia to react again with the long scarf, to do anything; but instead, she remained immobile, facing the animal. Minutes passed, and Dalton finally realized that she was imitating Bashshar’s movements—while holding the power position of center stage.
Bashshar knew it and didn’t like it. He scratched the dirt, tossing his head in protest at this lovely woman who didn’t seem to be afraid of him. Bashshar refused to settle, his eyes warring with hers.
Whatever was going on, Dalton had no idea, but he couldn’t look away. He watched transfixed as the powerful stallion played into her hand. When the horse appeared ready to rear, Dalton pushed open the gate and rushed inside. “Alicia, back away!”
Bashshar shook his head wildly, then kicked his hind legs in the air.
Alicia stepped back, then whirled to face Dalton. Her face was a study of silent rage as she slapped her hands on her hips. She glanced over her shoulder at the black stallion. As though satisfied the horse was all right, she strode determinedly toward Dalton, then shot past him.
“Wh-where are you going?” he asked as she strode from the ring. He took off after her. When they had left the paddock, she turned around to lock the gate. When she had slid the bolt through the latch, she rounded on him.
“If I am to make any progress with your stallion, you must not interrupt me.”
“Interrupt? I was trying to save your life. See here, you don’t seem to understand how dangerous that horse—”
“I know exactly what I’m doing!”
“No, you don’t!” He found himself glaring down at her, arms akimbo, as she mocked him, exactly as she had done in the stable, the first night she arrived.
“Come, Lady Alicia,” he said, peering around to see if anyone was watching. “I would like a few words with you.” He took a deep, unsteady breath, then took her elbow, leading her to the bench inside the high arbor of roses he knew would be vacant this time of day. Most of the female guests would be napping before dinner, and the men were either at billiards, whist or shooting skeet. The rose garden would be the perfect place to explain the rules to this recalcitrant wench.
Alicia said nothing as he hurried her along and stood while she took a seat on the curved Italian marble bench.
“Well?” She glared up at him in such a fierce attempt to unnerve him, he almost laughed.
“Have you forgotten the orders that I already gave you?”
Alicia took a deep breath. “Your grace, I’ve dealt with injured animals before. But I can’t help Bashshar if I can’t win his confidence. Now if you continue to interfere when I—”
“Bashshar is a high-strung animal. He’s a one-man horse, and to expect to work with him without my presence is simply foolish.”
She took another deep breath, and Dalton was becoming more than a little irritated with his immediate reaction to her. “You are his master,” Alicia said, the sun catching the fiery glints in her hair. She leaned her face into the sun, reminding him of a pink blush tulip opening to the dawn.
“I have no wish to infringe upon your mastery with your horse. But Bashshar must come to trust me. Trust me completely. And it will occur more quickly if I am the only one he sees. Not the stable boys, or the grooms or even the stable master. That is why I’m asking you to refrain from interrupting our sessions while I’m working with Bashshar.”
Dalton could only stare at her. Didn’t she know that men quivered in their boots when addressing him? Didn’t she know that she was breaking every civilized rule to address him with such audacity? Damn, she was giving him orders like they were equals.
She looked so small, so helpless, sitting before him. He remembered Elizabeth’s hurtful comments earlier and how hard Alicia had tried to cover up the pain he knew she felt. An overpowering need to protect her shot through him. “You must promise me you won’t take chances again with Bashshar.”
She tilted her head to the side. “I’ll make you an offer.”
He almost laughed. Damn! She’d make him an offer? He was the duke of Wexton, and she would make him an offer? Her dark eyes twinkled, and he could only wonder what she had in mind.
“Very well, what is your offer?”
Her slight smile hinted that she thought she was making progress, and the thought gave him a surprised spark of pleasure.
“I won’t take unnecessary chances,” she said carefully, “if you promise me one thing.”
He eyed her warily. “Which is…?”
Her mouth turned up in a bow as she studied him, as though judging how best to begin. “I want you to promise me that you won’t have any contact with Bashshar for…four weeks.”
His mouth dropped open. “What the—”
“And I promise to be extremely prudent in my future actions with your horse.”
“Four weeks? That’s absurd!” Dalton stepped back. “First, Bashshar won’t allow you to bring him food and water to his stall.” Satisfied that he had won the argument so easily, he chuckled. “So you see, I can’t remain away from him.”
Alicia shook her head. “I will feed and water him.”
“Bashshar won’t let you.”
“Bashshar will go hungry until he does.” Her words were said without sarcasm, merely as a statement of fact.
“You’d really let him go hungry?”
She smiled. “Bashshar is too smart to go hungry. He’ll come around, and I’ll gain his trust in the bargain.” Alicia lifted her chin. “You know there’s wisdom behind my technique.” Her smile widened, revealing a small dimple at the side of her enchanting mouth. He wondered, for a fraction of a second, what it would be like to kiss that adorable mark.
“Well, your grace?”
Dalton drew his thoughts away from her mouth. “Ah, well…no! No, I won’t allow it, and that’s final.”
“Very well.” She rose to her feet. “If you’ll instruct the stable master to send a groom for my trunk, I’ll pack while a carriage is made ready and the horses are hitched. If I leave before dark, I should be at Marston Heath by morning.”
“What the devil—?”
Alicia ignored him as she trudged past the fountains and headed along the green toward the stables.
“See here, you gave your word.” Dalton’s long strides easily kept up with her.
Alicia stared straight ahead, her stride never wavering.
“Your father will be most distressed,” Dalton added.
She marched evenly, her arms ramrod straight at her sides.
When they reached the paddock door, Dalton caught her elbow and spun her around to face him. “You are the most stubborn woman….” His words faded as he stared into her large, warm brown eyes, filled with laughter.
“You’re a vixen, Lady Alicia Spencer.” A beautiful, strong-minded young woman, one like he had never met before. “Very well. Four weeks, but not a day longer.”
Her eyelashes lowered, then swept up as she gazed into his eyes. “Thank you,” she said simply.
He expected some sign of her win, like the smugness she had shown earlier when she had won the race to the barn by diverting the way back to the stables. She was so unlike the other women he had known. Unspoiled, fresh, she had a natural grace that came from an inner wholesomeness that he found so appealing. For an incredible instant, he wanted to gaze into her lovely eyes forever. He felt mesmerized by her. Damn, but she was a vixen, a tempting siren who could cast spells upon men and beasts.
With an incredible effort, he stepped sideways to let her pass. Then an idea struck him and he touched her shoulder.
“If I remain hidden,” he said, his voice hoarse, “will you allow me to watch you train Bashshar?”
She smiled as though considering his request. “Absolutely not,” she said, opening the gate bolt and strolling inside the paddock.
He heard Bashshar whinny as she entered, and Dalton realized, for the first time since the accident, the stallion had his thoughts on something other than the explosion of gunfire that had terrified him.
For that, Dalton owed Alicia a great deal.
Chapter Five
A few minutes before midnight of the following evening, Alicia stared at the full moon through the bedroom windows above her bed. The silver light cast lacy shadows across the rumpled silk sheets. Suddenly, the clock above the mantel struck midnight. For the past three hours she had tossed and turned, unable to sleep, the unbidden face of Dalton Warfield, the duke of Wexton, haunting her.
She buried her head beneath the pillow. In spite of her busy schedule, thoughts of him had intruded into her daydreams. What was the matter with her?
Through the open window, the faint strains of a waltz floated from the manor ballroom, feeding her imagination. She could almost feel Dalton’s right hand at her waist, her fingers pressing lightly at his broad shoulder as he held her in his arms and led her in step to the music. Her blood soared with the thought.
She saw herself dressed in a low-cut gown of shimmery white chiffon, a striking contrast to Dalton’s dark good looks. They would glide across the ballroom, whirling to the music as the guests stood in awe of the beautiful couple waltzing before them.
“You don’t belong here!” screamed a shrill voice. The crowd parted and the dowager duchess scowled down from her throne, thumping her diamond-studded cane as the room fell into a deafening silence.
Alicia bolted upright in bed, her heart hammering. She glanced about the moonlit room, then finally caught her breath. Her mother always said that moonglow could drive a person crazy. Thick draperies had kept away the lunar rays at Marston Heath windows. As a child, Alicia had rebelliously thrown open the shades and basked in the moonlight after her mother had carefully shuttered the windows for the night.
Maybe her mother had been right, and Alicia now suffered from sheer lunacy. What other reason could there be for her dreaming of Wexton?
She sighed as she ran a hand through her tousled hair. She had suffered enough. Moonlight shone bright enough for her to go horseback riding. The idea lifted her spirits. She rose from her bed and dressed hastily in the moonlight. A lit candle might wake Marie, the young French maid, sleeping in the next room. Olivia had insisted the girl remain with her in the cottage and tend to her every need.
When Alicia had finished dressing, she brushed her thick, waist-length hair, securing the long curls with a green ribbon. Quietly, she tiptoed outside and made her way along the cottage path to the tall, neatly clipped boxwood that sheltered the rose garden.
When she reached the arbor, she paused to stare at the golden glow coming from the manor. A thousand candles must be burning from the hundreds of windows. She felt like a spy. The thought was frightening, yet strangely exciting. She dare not venture any farther, least she stumble upon a wayward guest.
She smoothed her hand along the empire neckline of the high-waisted jade gown. At least Alicia wouldn’t call attention to herself if one of the houseguests were to come upon her—that is, if they didn’t already know who she was.
Alicia ducked into the stable and hurried to Cinnamon Rose’s stall. The frisky mare tossed its head in greeting. When she finished saddling the horse, she stepped up to the mounting block and arranged herself on the sidesaddle. Ten minutes later, she was pacing the animal into an easy canter, heading toward the open fields.
What a glorious night! The full moon rode high in the sky, casting upon the earth almost daylight brightness. The wind blew through her hair, whipping her face with cool, clover-scented air. Horses and riding had always calmed her spirit, and hopefully a night ride, if only for the moment, might block the painful fact that she didn’t belong with the beautiful people twirling beneath the crystal chandeliers.
When Alicia had returned from her ride, the sound of hurried footsteps caused her to duck behind the boxwood hedge. She recognized Lady Olivia rushing along the path that led to the sheltered trees in front of Alicia’s cottage. “Lady Olivia, what’s the matter?”
Olivia started, then turned toward her. “Oh, Lady Alicia, I’m looking for Dalton. By chance, have you seen him?”
“Why, no. I thought he was at the ball.”
Olivia shook her head, her brows furrowed with concern. “No, he hasn’t been seen since this morning.” She wrung her hands. “Something dreadful has happened, and I must find him.”
The thought that Dalton was with Elizabeth came to Alicia’s mind. “Have you asked Elizabeth?”
Olivia’s breath quickened. “I’m afraid Elizabeth is in no condition to answer any questions.” Olivia glanced around as if she were afraid to be overheard, then she stepped toward Alicia. “Elizabeth embarrassed herself this evening with the earl of Rothbury. Mother is frantic and determined that Dalton announce his engagement to Elizabeth, before news of this becomes known.”
“Elizabeth embarrassed herself?”
Olivia’s face looked pale in the moonlight. “I think she was only trying to make Dalton jealous. But she and Lord Rothbury were drinking. Thankfully, Lord Templestone found them before anyone else saw them. He notified Mother.” Olivia paused. “Oh, my dear, forgive me for my insensitivity. This news must remind you of…”
Alicia was touched by Olivia’s compassion. “It’s quite all right, Lady Olivia.” She swallowed, realizing that Olivia, as well as the other members of the ton, knew the embarrassing details. “Then Dalton will marry Elizabeth?”
Olivia shook her head. “No, he mustn’t! I have to alert Dalton before our mother finds him.”
“I don’t understand—”
“I don’t have time now to explain it to you, Alicia. Please help me find my brother.”
“Of course.” Alicia took Olivia’s arm and urged her toward the stable. “Let’s ask the stable master if a horse was saddled for Dalton.”
“I’ve already asked Ulger. He said Dalton usually saddles his own mount. Penn said the sorrel that he favors is missing from the stable.” Olivia’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “Oh, where can he be this time of night?”
“Who are you looking for?” Dalton’s deep voice caused Alicia and Olivia to gasp in surprise. He stepped from the shadows, leading the sorrel beside him.
Relief welled within Alicia as she drank in the sight of him. Dalton was dressed in a royal-blue riding clothes. The moonlight gave a blue-black sheen to his hair.
“Dalton,” Olivia cried, clasping her hands. “Lord Templestone found Elizabeth with the earl of Rothbury. She’d drank too much and caused a great scene. Thankfully, Templestone can be trusted, but Mother is determined that you announce your engagement to her before the ton hears of this.”
Dalton glanced at Alicia, then turned his attention to his sister. “Is Mother still at the ball?”
“You mustn’t go to her!” Olivia caught herself and lowered her voice. “Not until we think of some way for you to—”
“My dear little sister, don’t worry about me.” He smiled at her with such tenderness that Alicia was caught off guard by his compassion. “Why don’t you stay with Lady Alicia in her cottage while I’m gone? I’ll return as soon as I speak to Mother.”
Before Olivia could object, Dalton stepped behind the hedge and was gone. Alicia forced back the sudden feeling of dread that threatened to engulf her. “Come, Olivia. We’ll have a cup of tea while we wait.”
Couples strolled along the moonlit gardens and the wide veranda leading to the French doors of the ballroom. Dalton climbed the stone steps and moved past the throngs of people who would linger until dawn. His gaze met Sir John Oxley, his solicitor, who immediately moved toward him.
“Enjoying yourself this evening, Sir John?” Dalton smiled at the tightly pinched face of the serious old man whose family of solicitors had served the duke’s family for generations.
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