The Earl's Wager (2 page)

“You have other, faster horses, then?” Will asked.

“Yes, of course. Do you think I’d offer you my very best stud? Give me some credit. Come. They must have already weighed in and are at the stables now. Let’s meet the horse I’ve offered up.”

Will straightened the lapels of his coat and brushed at the dust collected from the racetrack. “Absolutely.”

“But before we go…” Oliver stopped short. “Do we indeed have a wager?”

Will didn’t think getting into the thoroughbred racing business could be this easy. And he didn’t even have to spend any blunt to do it. He felt like he’d just won the race and that horse was as good as his. “Yes, I think we do, unless you think I need to evaluate my
project
first?”

“That’s entirely up to you.” Marsdale gave him a serious stare.

Will would be insane to give up an opportunity like this. Earn a racehorse—a winning racehorse, no less. He stuck out his hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

“All right, then.” Oliver shook his hand then turned to continue to the stable. The entire time he scanned the faces of the ladies in the crowd. “Speaking of my dear cousin, she was supposed to watch the race with me. I need to find her. No telling what kind of mischief she’s up to.”

Again, Will wondered why Marsdale wanted him to take on this matchmaking project. The woman was his cousin, after all. Wouldn’t he want to oversee such matters? “I am curious why you aren’t wanting to be more involved in securing your cousin a match. Why me?”

“You’re a proven matchmaker. And I need to keep an eye on your sister. Besides, you know I have no interest in the marriage mart. Whereas you are unmarried—you have more interest than I.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Will was grateful for his trust, and regardless, he owed the man a great deal. When he made the match between Marsdale and his sister, Oliver had paid off the debts Will’s father had incurred after making poor business decisions. So no matter what, he owed Marsdale.

Besides, how much trouble could one American girl be?

“Follow me,” Oliver said.

They walked amongst the throng of horses, women, and men, weaving around the people talking to their jockeys as they lead their horses to the stables. They approached the stall with an Autumn Ridge sign posted outside the gate, where a bearded older man conversed with the jockey on the opposite side of Will’s soon-to-be racehorse.

“What on earth…
Georgie
? What have you done?” Marsdale groaned. He opened the stall gate, and Will followed.

“I can explain everything, Oliver,” said the jockey.

What kind of jockey addressed an earl by his given name? Will rounded Marsdale’s shoulder and eyed the jockey in question. Long strands of walnut-colored hair sprang out from his cap. The jockey removed his goggles from a dirt-covered face.

“I’d like to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Georgia Duvall,” Marsdale’s voice rumbled, but Will was so stunned, he wondered if he’d heard the words correctly.

He swallowed hard, seeking a moment to find his words and speak in an intelligent manner.

“Georgia, this is Arabella’s brother, Will Sutton, the Earl of Grandleigh.” He raised a dark brow in Will’s direction, as if prompting him to respond. “And yes, I’d like to hear your complete explanation.” Marsdale turned to the older man. “I’d like to hear your version of events as well, Harland.”

Will surveyed the fine layer of dust covering the jockey’s face, except the ring around her eyes where the goggles had been. Blue eyes peered at him with a glint of mischievousness, as though she, too, expected Will to respond, but what was he supposed to say? And how could Marsdale be so calm? The woman had been racing!

“A pleasure to meet you.” The words emanated from her dirt-encrusted lips. “Your sister, Arabella, is a pure delight.” She turned her attention back to Marsdale.

So this jockey was the hellion cousin, the ward Will had agreed to tutor. This was insane.

“Your jockey took ill,” Georgia said. “He gave us only a moment’s notice, so I did what I had to do.”

“And what was that exactly?” Marsdale inquired. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I locked Harland in the tack room, changed into jockey clothes, and told the groom to help me mount Perseus,” she said, somewhat exasperated. Then she patted the black horse’s withers as though nothing untoward was going on.

“And the groom agreed to your charade?” Again, Marsdale sounded so calm it was uncanny, but Will did notice the fisting of his hands. Perhaps his brother-in-law wasn’t as calm inside as he appeared outwardly.

“I told him he’d never earn another shilling at Autumn Ridge if he didn’t help me. Don’t blame him, Oliver. I did threaten him. It’s not his fault. Nor is it Harland’s fault. I knew he wouldn’t allow me to ride, which is why I had to lock him up. And it wasn’t fair to Perseus not to allow him to race—it’s what he was born to do. Even Harland says he runs the best for me. Who knows if we would have won if the jockey had not taken ill?”

Marsdale nodded his head slowly. “Had the jockey not taken ill? How is it that you happen to have another pair of jockey silks?”

Her eyes widened. “We have several sets.”

“Of course we do,” Marsdale said flatly.

Still absorbing the enormity of the situation, Will found it curiously odd that no one made mention of the woman’s legs clad in jockey pants, her riding astride in public, or her participating in the dangers of racing. No one mentioned that she could have been killed. The way they all seemed to accept the barbarity of it all was very nearly laughable. But then it wasn’t.

A small man came running through the stall’s gate wearing the same jockey silks as Georgia. He approached them, breathing heavily, as though he’d run a great distance. “My lord, I apologize. I was ill, but I’m able to ride now.”

Will noted the very slight narrowing of Miss Duvall’s almond-shaped eyes.

The small man continued, “I was getting the saddle ready when I was overcome…” He looked around as though he’d just noticed the other jockey. “Miss Duvall?”

“It’s perfectly all right, Phillipe. I rode Perseus, and we won, but let’s just keep this between us. As far as the record books go, and Autumn Ridge is concerned, you rode Perseus today. So everyone is happy, correct?” Her American accent distinguished her, as if the trousers hadn’t already. Will couldn’t help eyeing the curve of her bottom as she rounded the back side of the horse. “If someone would escort me to our carriage and afford me some privacy, I’ll quickly change into my day dress, and no one will be the wiser.”

How could Marsdale ever allow such an occurrence? A woman riding as a jockey? Then lying about it to everyone? Had they all lost their minds? This was an outrage. Will finally found the composure to speak. “Well, by all means, we will escort you.” Sarcasm colored his reply.

Marsdale scowled at him, as if just remembering Will was there. “I know how this looks, Grandleigh. You think I don’t know? My cousin is an excellent rider. One of the best I’ve ever seen, but she’s gone too far this time.”

Will couldn’t keep silent. “No matter her experience, riding is one thing. Racing is quite another.”

“Excuse me, Lord Grander-er,” Georgia interrupted. “Please don’t speak about me as though I’m not standing right here. I’ve perfectly good explanations for why I did what I did.”

“It’s Grandleigh.” Will’s gut churned.

The woman jockey eyed the stables corridor then ducked behind the horse. Will turned and saw the finely dressed gentleman who’d spoken to Marsdale pass by their stall.

Silence filled the tiny stall, as though they’d all suddenly realized their subterfuge and the possible consequences of jockeying jockeys.

Everyone realized this, except, apparently, Miss Duvall. “I’ve been racing horses across my farm in Virginia since before I learned to walk.”

At least she was keeping her voice lowered now. She popped her head up from behind the horse and added, “I know the strategies. In fact, I know more than any of you might think.” She paused for barely a breath of a moment, cleared her throat, and went on, “Now, if you’ll kindly excuse me, I’d like to go to our carriage.”

Chapter Two

Georgia resisted the urge to look at Arabella’s brother as she stepped away from Perseus. Lord Grandleigh had exceeded all her expectations of how English lords acted. And not in a good way. For one thing, his posture was too stiff. Clearly, he didn’t like her racing, and he pronounced his words too exactly. In the six months since she’d arrived in England, she had never encountered any peer quite as pompous, speaking about her as though she wasn’t standing right beside him.

Luckily, her cousin Oliver, however, had defied the odds. He was different. He didn’t behave in the manner she’d always imagined British gentlemen would act. He allowed her to help Harland train the racehorses, and with the hired jockey temporarily indisposed, well, she had been the perfect solution. Maybe she had exaggerated her racing experience in America a tad, but not much—and the race had been more thrilling than anything she’d ever experienced.

“Are you ready to leave, Miss Duvall?” the English lord, Will Sutton, addressed her. His dark brows arced above his eyes, and his mouth held a straight, hard line.

He was distracting, his resemblance to Arabella remarkable. They were siblings, no doubt. He possessed the same brown hair, straight nose, and green eyes. And he was tall like Arabella, as well. He stood outside the stall with all the dignity and arrogant grace of a peer, and he glowered at her. As if she didn’t have a right to be here. Damn him and his fine English soul.

“Why are you looking at me as though I’m somehow your business, as though you have some kind of say over me?” Georgia couldn’t stop herself from saying. “Because I assure you, you do not.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken, Miss Duvall. You have become my business. Your cousin Oliver has asked that I help him in arranging a match for you, and with the London season basically over, well, we’ll have to work quickly.”

“Arrange a match? Work quickly?” Georgia couldn’t believe her ears. She’d been dreading all the changes her life had taken since arriving in England. Her mother died when she was twelve, and now at twenty-four, her father was gone, too. Had it not been for a deathbed promise to him, she’d not be here.

Her father had always regretted taking his young English bride away from her homeland to America. Georgia tried to convince him that her mother had no regrets, but her father insisted her mother did, and he had one last dying wish for his daughter—for her to marry an English peer and live the life her mother should have lived on her native soil. Georgia swallowed hard against the anguish still churning in her gut.

Hadn’t her father understood that she had no interest in anything English? She loved America, the land of her birth. But no matter what she’d said, her father wouldn’t be deterred. He wanted her in England.

“Tell me this isn’t true, Oliver.” She stared squarely at her cousin and waited for the reply she hoped not to hear.

“I’ve got the stables to run, and my wife needs extra care and attention right now.” Oliver’s voice took on a fatherly tone, which Georgia found quite annoying. “My time is quite occupied, and Will has agreed to help make a match for you. He’s quite capable.”

Heat flushed her neck and face, and Perseus pawed the ground. Apparently even
he
felt her ire building. To make sure she completely understood, she asked the arrogant lord, “And we will work quickly on what, exactly?”

“On learning English customs, traditions, things of that nature.” His smooth and efficient voice made her feel as though she was lacking somehow, as though she didn’t measure up. She didn’t like the feeling.

“There’s nothing wrong with my manners, my lord.” She was perfectly capable of conducting herself by English standards.

“I didn’t mention manners, merely English customs and—”

“Yes, I heard you. Customs and traditions.” Georgia tucked a stray strand of hair back into her cap. “I’m capable of finding my own match. Thank you just the same.”

As though she actually wanted to hear what he had to say, Lord Grandleigh continued the conversation. “Our traditions would require that you…well, a young lady, shouldn’t be doing things like riding in races and grooming horses. And wearing jockey clothes.”

She moved toward the stall gate and stood very close to Lord Grandleigh. So close she could feel heat radiating from him. “You may think America is devoid of manners, but I assure you, just like my racing experience, we know more than you think. And I certainly don’t require any of your matchmaking skills. I won’t have any difficulty. I have a particular set of requirements in whom I select to marry.”

“And I’m happy to discuss these requirements with you, Miss Duvall.” His green gaze bored into her, leaving her somewhat breathless. She had just regained her breath after managing Perseus on the racetrack, and she didn’t wish to lose it again, at least not in this manner.

Perseus nickered, and Georgia turned her thoughts to him, instead of the English gent standing so close with his scrutinizing gaze. The steed was the finest piece of horseflesh she’d ever laid eyes on. Black and muscular, tall and beautiful, she’d found a kinship with him more than any other horse in Oliver’s stable. Perseus didn’t have friends among the other horses. He always stood by himself, away from the other horses in the pasture. He was like her. Alone.

If her father had known she’d be racing horses in England, he may not have been so quick to send her away. Regardless, he’d made plans for her in his will, and she couldn’t have access to the fortune unless she was married.

She wanted access to her funds as quickly as possible. So, her plan was to marry the oldest man she could find. He’d die soon, then, as a widowed woman, she’d have control of all her money. And from what she’d seen of old English lords so far, she’d have a good selection. If she could find one who wasn’t only old, but sickly, too, she’d have found her mark.

Heat coursed through her body as her ire reached new heights. She wasn’t going to allow this Will Sutton to teach her anything, especially not in the art of matrimony or anything close to that.

But before she said something she’d regret, her first priority was Harland. She couldn’t allow him to lose his job on her account. Any other trainer wouldn’t have allowed her to train and learn from him; working with him and the horses had been her greatest joy since moving to England.

“Let us move into the carriage and get you back to Autumn Ridge before someone discovers what’s happened here,” Oliver said. “I’ve spoken to the jockey, and I’ve paid him quite handsomely to keep his mouth shut. We must leave immediately before we’re discovered.”

Georgia hadn’t thought of the consequences of her actions, only that Perseus deserved to race. He’d been training so hard. But with Harland’s employment on the line, guilt assailed her. She hurried behind Oliver and Arabella’s brother, to the carriage where her lady’s maid waited.

Oliver opened the carriage door. Inside, Eloise practically shivered in fright.

“And what do you have to say for yourself?” he inquired. “You allowed your mistress to change into jockey clothes.”

“Don’t blame her, Oliver, she was doing as I bid her.”

“Yes, I suppose she’s done her job too well.” Oliver turned his attention to Eloise. “But we must speak about how I’m the one who pays your salary, and you’re to report such…such…shenanigans to me in the future.”

“Yes, my lord, I will, my lord. I apologize, my lord,” Eloise stammered.

“Would you like her to help me change back into my day dress, or are you going to continue to berate her?” Georgia mentally scolded herself. She needed to keep her emotions in check if she was going to keep Harland from losing his job.

“Am I to assume you changed into your current attire here in the carriage?”

“Yes. Where else could I change?” Georgia asked. Instinctively, she knew it was a mistake to question him and be snide about it—she needed to rectify the situation, not inflame it further. “Perhaps, instead of changing back into my day dress, we should just get inside and go.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” Lord Grandleigh spoke up.

She shot a look at Arabella’s brother. She rather preferred it when he didn’t speak at all. It was enough handling Oliver without dealing with her self-proclaimed matchmaker as well.

Several carriages lined the streets. People and horses bustled between the buildings, the racetrack, and the stables. The area had become a sea of varying colors and noise, from people engaging in arguments, to drunken laughing, to horses whinnying.

“Excuse me, my lord, but people might question why a jockey was riding in the same carriage as the Earl of Marsdale, don’t you think?” Eloise inquired.

“It’s true, they might,” Oliver said, “but let them speculate all they want. Better for them to see a jockey riding with us than for them to see one getting into the carriage and my ward, Georgia Duvall, getting out. We shall depart immediately.”

“No one is paying attention to us,” Georgia quipped, “least of all whether a jockey gets into a carriage or not.”

“I say, Marsdale, let me get my horse to tie on the back, and I’ll ride in the carriage with you,” Grandleigh interjected, as though Georgia had never said a word.

She glared at him and bit down, lest she say something she’d regret. She was already in enough trouble.

He eyed her in return and said, “Besides, we need to discuss our tutoring schedule.”

“We will be discussing no such thing.” Georgia crossed her arms and stood her ground. She would never agree to something so silly as tutoring. She was quite capable of managing her own affairs. Especially when they entailed finding a husband.

Oliver glowered at her in that fatherly way he always did. “Certainly, you may accompany us Grandleigh, but be quick about it.” He turned to his brother-in-law. “And perhaps while you’re at it, create some kind of diversion, so when my jockey gets into my carriage no one will notice.”

Grandleigh gave a curt nod. “Of course.” He retreated, and after a few moments he went into a loud coughing spasm. As much as the man annoyed her, he did do a good job of attracting attention upon himself.

“Hurry along.” Oliver patted her shoulder. “Inside with you now.”

Georgia did as she was bid. Eloise sat on the far side facing forward, and Georgia slid in next to her, while Oliver sat across from them. Once inside the enclosed carriage, Oliver shut the door behind them, and Georgia removed the jockey cap that caused her scalp to itch. “Why are you allowing him to ride with us?” she asked.

“Because he’s correct. We have much to discuss, and maybe having him nearby will save you from me taking you over my knee and giving you a sound spanking.”

She’d never seen Oliver quite this angry before, and although she told herself not to worry, she did. “You would never do that.” She said the words, but she wasn’t quite sure she believed them.

“Wouldn’t I?” Oliver asked. “Maybe I’ll be compelled not to if Will is here to keep me from losing my temper beyond what it already is.”

“That’s still a bad excuse for allowing him to ride with us.” She closed her mouth knowing she’d said too much, although inwardly, she fumed. Her goal was to make sure Harland stayed in their employ, and she mustn’t rile Oliver’s temper further.

A knock sounded on the door, followed by Grandleigh’s voice. “It’s just me, Marsdale. Is it safe to open the door? No one is paying me any mind.”

Oliver pushed outward on the door, and Will Sutton slid in beside him. “I’ve given my horse to your groom to secure.”

The man was so tall, his knees nearly touched hers. His green eyes pierced her with such intense focus, she felt something shift inside her. She refused to acknowledge him and instead looked past Eloise to the window and the curtain covering it.

Once Oliver tapped on the roof, they departed for Autumn Ridge. The carriage rocked, and silence filled the tight quarters. Georgia knew this was as good a time as any to make her plea on Harland’s behalf.

“Oliver, please don’t dismiss Harland, I beg of you. It wasn’t his fault. The blame is entirely with me. I locked him in the tack room. There was nothing he could do to stop me.” She paused to gather her argument in some semblance of order in her head. “You know, once I make up my mind, how I am.”

He sighed. “Yes, I know how you’ve convinced me to let you partake in horse training and racing. From now on, I’ll never be obliged to do so again.”

“You know that’s the only thing that’s made my stay here even remotely bearable.” Tears pricked her eyes. Without Harland, or access to horses and racing, she’d have nothing. Well, not completely nothing. She did have Arabella, at least, but in her increasing state, she couldn’t be at the stables as much as she’d like.

“Things are going to change, Georgia,” Oliver said very simply. “You’re to marry. Grandleigh has agreed to tutor you in some of our customs. He’ll make sure that you’re skilled at dancing and whatever else it is debutantes do.”

She couldn’t allow this, couldn’t be maneuvered like a puppet with strings. “I can dance acceptably. I don’t need anyone teaching me anything. Besides, by your English standards, because I’m four and twenty, I’m already a spinster, so really there’s no point.”

“You won’t have access to your funds if you don’t marry. How can you want that?” Oliver asked.

“I will marry. I have plans for that, but I certainly don’t need any instruction to accomplish it.” Georgia sighed. Despite the predicament she was in, Oliver was a good man and cared whether she had some small modicum of happiness. He had to know that without access to the horses, she’d never be content. “I can’t be happy without Harland and the horses. I just can’t.”

Hard lines etched across his forehead, Oliver gazed at her. “I haven’t decided whether I’m keeping Harland on or not.”

“The question should be, do you want to win races or not?” Georgia cried. “He’s the best trainer there is.”