Formidable Lord Quentin (27 page)

She took off her glove and stroked Dream’s nose, letting her
sniff. The mare nickered and tossed her head, then sought the caress again,
accepting her. Weeping, not caring how mad she appeared, Bell flung her arms
around the mare’s neck and buried her tears in Dream’s thin coat, a coat that
had once been glossy and thick, not patchy and rough.

The mare tried to eat her bonnet, and Bell chuckled through
her tears. “We’ll find you some proper feed soon, dear one. Do you have babes
here? Where are they?”

The mare nodded her head as if she understood, as she’d
always understood. Tears streamed down Bell’s cheeks, unchecked, and her heart
cracked wide open.

When Quent approached with bit in hand, her cracked heart
welcomed him. She didn’t have words for what he’d done for her. Finally feeling
free to express all her roiling emotions, she flung her arms around his neck as
she had the mare’s, whispered nonsense endearments, and kissed his ear. He
hugged her back with a ferocity that steadied her, and aroused her at the same
time. For the first time in ages, hot blood instead of ice water flowed through
her veins.

Passion burned behind his dark eyes, exciting her even more
than his strength. He reluctantly set her back on the muddy ground when the
whistle sounded again.

“Fitz and Nick are here,” he told her, his voice low and
husky. “Since they were probably at Wyckerly, I think you’ll owe Fitz a mare
and Nick a new pair of boots after an all-night journey, especially if they
have to turn around and sail right back.”

“Not to Wyckerly, to Belden Hall,” she said in excitement.
“Can they sail her?”

Quent rubbed Dream’s neck but watched Bell. “Are you sure?”

If he understood her as well as he seemed to, if he realized
how much this horse affected her—he was a man beyond all men, and her blood
raced with excitement. She nodded. “I’m sure. Let’s see if we can find her
offspring.”

She was risking her heart all over again—for Dream, for
Quent
. She must be mad. But she could no
more part from her horse again than she could let Quent go. And she would marry
the damned man to prove it.

She was no longer a terrified, helpless eighteen-year-old.
This time, she knew the flaws of the man she would be marrying. And she still
wanted him, even if Quent was likely to usurp her household and run rampant
over her wishes, unless she kept him well in hand—like a wild stallion. He’d
given her confidence that she could do it, although it might take snapping a
thousand fragile fans to make him listen.

The stallion in him would make it worth the effort. She
could scarcely think straight for thinking of ways to make him as happy tonight
as he was making her right now.

Leading Dream to the gate, she greeted a rumpled, unshaven
earl and diplomat. Fitz and Nick studied Dream’s protruding ribs as if Bell had
lost her mind.

“This is what we risked life and limb for?” Nick asked
dubiously.

“Good conformation,” Fitz said, although his expression
agreed with Nick. “Out of Eclipse, you say?”

“I do,” Bell said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Hiram
says there is a filly and a colt with similar conformation. He says the filly has
the white arrow and the colt has the black patch and a white foot. But Summerby
had word of a stallion.” She smoothed the hair over Dream’s haunch, showing the
color oddity. “She’s not good for show, but if Dream’s offspring race as she
once did, they should run like the wind.”

“I’ll keep an eye on this one,” Nick said, taking Dream’s
bridle. “I’m not a horseman. Go forth and find your babes,” he told her.

Leave it to a man with too many sisters to know she thought
of the horses as babes. Bell stood on her toes and kissed his stubbly cheek,
then let Quent tug her impatiently back to the pen. She understood. She’d be
impatient if he kissed another lady’s cheek, too. What they had was too new and
precious to share. But she rather liked that he was jealous of her affections.

Fitz was already scrambling through the smaller stallion
pen. Within minutes, he was whistling for their attention.

“Look at this one,” he crowed. “Perfect conformation, white foot,
better than the rest of this glue factory. He’s not more than a three-year old!
What a looker.” He held the stallion’s halter as it shook its dark mane.

From beside Bell, Dream nickered approvingly. Bell laughed,
feeling more light-hearted than she had in years. “Hiram lied. A stallion,
then, and not a colt. Let’s find the filly.” She petted the mare, then dived
back into the pen with Quent at her heels.

Fitz led the whinnying stallion from the pen while Bell and
Quent scanned the horses nearest to where they’d found Dream.

“I can recognize good bones and muscle when they’re led out
one at a time,” Quent complained. “But trying to see legs among a sea of tails
isn’t easy.”

She kissed his bristled cheek, too, just because she could.
“You just look at their asses, dear.”

He laughed and hugged her. “I think I like the Irish imp as
much as the lady. How much do you trust Hiram?”

“Not at all,” she said, coming down off her cloud. “He’s already
lied about the colt, hoping we wouldn’t search the stallion pen. If he stands
to earn anything from the sale of my horses, he’ll hide anything he dares.
He’ll need to. Dolly will have his carcass gutted if she learns he’s told us
where to find them. He’s probably planning on profiting enough to run and hide.”

“Then is there some chance that the filly we’re looking for
may not have the white markings?”

Bell shrugged. “Possibly, although without the markings, it
will be harder to prove she’s out of Dream. Should we torture him to find out?”

“Bloodthirsty wench. I only ask because I see a filly over
there with a dark patch on her haunch but no white arrow.” Quent nodded to a smaller
horse on the far side of the paddock.

Bell set off in that direction without a second thought. Not
until Quent pushed in front of her did she realize it made far more sense to
let his larger size lead the way. She was simply accustomed to doing everything
herself. Learning to share tasks could be complicated . . . but pleasurable.

Quent held the filly’s head while Bell examined her. The
black patch was a positive sign. The shape of her head, her stance . . . Bell’s
heart nearly exploded in her chest.

“She’s magnificent! Just look at her! Legs like that will
eat up ground. Wonder who the stud was? It’s not as if Jim could afford a
Thoroughbred.”

The filly tossed her head restlessly and stomped. Bell
dodged her hooves and let Quent yank the halter to keep her head down.

Having secured the stallion, Fitz was now making his way
through the pen to meet them. His eyes gleamed with admiration as he studied
their find.

“My word, I need to start looking here more often! None of
these would have made it to Tattersall’s,” Fitz exclaimed when he reached them.
“I wonder if there are more like yours in here.”

“Ask for the Irish loads,” Bell told him dryly. “We breed
them and lose them all the time for lack of funds. But I’ll be having these
back, I think.”

Fitz and Quent glanced at each other and grinned. Bell
ignored them. She had
all
her family
back.

They spent half a day hunting for the missing animals,
hiring grooms, buying feed, setting up stalls on the ship, and waiting for
Nick’s turn at the dock so he could load three horses.

Quent knew he should be gnashing his teeth with impatience.
He expected to find another irate letter from his father waiting in his office.
He should be taking up unfinished business instead of spending coins like
water. And they still needed to obtain the special license.

But the transformation of a decorous marchioness into a
woman who smiled and hugged and laughed and teased was too miraculous to miss. To
hell with his office. Bell’s ladylike graces had vanished. In their place was a
real woman, one unafraid to show her excitement and joy. He might regret that
later when she unleashed her temper instead of happiness, but his heart grew
lighter every time she held his hand or kissed his cheek. Even Nick and Fitz
were staring at them in surprise and awe.

Quent hadn’t done a blamed thing, and his betrothed still
made him feel as if he were ten feet tall and invincible. She made him
feel.
Common sense said he needed to run
right now. But all sense fled every time she laughed.

He did have the presence of mind to set one of the grooms to
following Hiram once the man was released. Like Bell, he didn’t trust the
former stable hand, but Quent had no authority to hold him any longer, and no
evidence to prove that Hiram had stolen the horses. They didn’t even have
documents on any of them except Dream to prove whose horses they were. Hauling
Hiram to the nearest officer of the law would be an effort in futility.

“I have to stay with Dream,” Bell told Quent earnestly once
they had the horses loaded on Nick’s ship. “Older horses don’t fare well with
change, and she’s been through so much these past weeks! I can sail on your
yacht anytime, but this time, I have to sail with Dream.”

“Fitz is perfectly capable of seeing to the animals,” Quent
argued, heart sinking. He’d hoped for more time together in the peace of the
city, where he belonged. But he didn’t want her sailing off without him. “We
could stay in London, obtain the license, close up our houses.” Finish up some
business, answer some correspondence, make love without family about . . .
“We don’t need to race out of town yet.”

“Fitz needs to go home to his wife and children. The horses
are my responsibility, not his.” She threw an encouraging look to the
auburn-haired earl lounging against the railing, waiting for the argument’s
conclusion.

“Nick can sail around to Brighton, and I can take the
animals up to Wyckerly and feed them,” Fitz suggested. “It would just require a
little more riding to my place than to yours.”

“Offloading is bad in either place,” elegant Nick offered
unhelpfully.

“Dream goes where I go, and I’m going home to my sisters,”
Bell insisted stubbornly. “We can’t be sailing them all over the Channel, so
they go with me until they’re healthy again. Then Fitz and I can talk about
breeding the younger ones.”

Starting a breeding program did not sound promising for life
in the city.

“I’ll leave my yacht docked and go with you,” Quent agreed
in resignation. He glowered at his so-called friends. “Do either of you ever
win an argument with your wives?”

Fitz grinned. Nick whistled and admired his sails.

Bell hugged Quent and kissed his neck. More than his spirits
rose to the occasion. He captured her waist and held her close, fair
compensation for business lost.

Taking this as answer to the discussion, Fitz offered his
farewells and strolled back to the dock to find his own way home. Nick signaled
for the ropes to be untied from the moorings and the anchor weighed.

Quent resigned himself to a long ride in a dark hold with
three nervous, highly-strung animals. “Do I need to slay any dragons while I’m
at it?” he asked, following Bell down the gangway.

“Your father is the dragon. If you could just stifle him . . .”
She let her voice trail off suggestively.

He smothered the fear of the angry letter no doubt waiting
at his office. In his frenzy for cash, his father would be selling off his
sisters and Bell’s both if he didn’t act soon.

“We haven’t even agreed on the settlements yet,” he said
without revealing his concern. “Hard to stifle him until then. I take it we’re
renovating Belden Hall if you’re keeping horses there now?” He helped her
remove her confining jacket in the heat of the hold. The little slip of nothing
she wore beneath it had
him
perspiring.

She knotted her long skirt high enough that he could have
seen her ankles—if she hadn’t been wearing boots.

“Renovating the Hall is probably best,” she agreed. “We’ll
need a steward to return the land to use so expenses won’t eat us up. I don’t
think either of us will succeed as farmers.”

Ah, another negotiating point in forcing his father’s hand. “I
can bring down one of my brothers to act as steward. And there are bound to be
more female relations who will gladly take up residence at the Hall as
caretakers. Both should please my father, although that won’t be enough to
persuade him to give up guardianship.”

Knowing his father, it would only make the old man eager to
see what other income he might generate from the unused estate. He had to apply
his business perspective to that and not his despair at being inundated in
family. “I see no point in renovating a house that will be empty most of the
year unless we put it to good use.”

Quent took the anxious stallion’s bit and rubbed the
animal’s nose as the ship swayed into the current.

“Since Belden Hall belongs to the marquessate, I certainly
don’t mind it being used by Hoyts,” she said. “I dislike waste and always
thought it a shame that Edward denied the Hall’s use to your family.”

“Does this mean there’s some hope of peacefully settling our
family disagreements?” Quent hadn’t really doubted that Bell would be more
reasonable than the late marquess, but differences lingered in many matters.

“My family will be living there also, and they’re seldom
peaceful,” she pointed out with a laugh. “I’m not sure how long I want to be in
a household with your stubborn but polite sisters and my stubborn but obnoxious
siblings. If I have a vote, I’d vote to leave them all in the country to fight
it out, while we retreat to the city. We can invite them to visit one at a
time.”

His optimism rose considerably. “Then you will not mind if I
maintain an office in town?” he asked. “I can’t neglect my business simply
because I’ve married a wealthy woman.”