To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance) (24 page)

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Authors: Adrienne Basso

BOOK: To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance)
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“By respectable, I assume you mean winning.”
“What else?” He grinned enthusiastically. “Actually, since I have so recently acquired him, I’ve never seen the horse run against others. But your brother Jason insists Rascal is a prime animal.”
“If there is one thing that Jason knows well, ’tis horseflesh,” Meredith agreed.
“True. I feel lucky he was willing to part with the horse.”
Meredith’s spirits deflated. Both Jason and Jasper had been so sincere about trying to change their gambling habits. She had almost begun to believe it was possible, thanks to Trevor’s encouragement. Yet it seemed all three men were still very much involved with high stakes betting. It was a most disheartening admission.
“So you are now wagering to win racehorses as well as carriage horses,” Meredith commented dryly. “ ’Tis a step up, I suppose.”
“Wager?” The marquess shook his head. “I did not win Rascal in a card game. I bought him.”
“From my brother?”
“Yes.”
“Truly?”
The marquess narrowed his eyes. “I detect the beginnings of a scowl on your face, madame. Do you doubt my word on the matter? Would you like to see the bill of sale?”
“That is hardly necessary,” Meredith replied. She knew she should make some sort of apology for her ungenerous remark, but the marquess’s righteous indignation rankled her. After all, it was not as if he had never won and then lost a pair of prime cattle on the turn of a card. She knew for a fact he had done both.
“The horses are nearly at the starting line, but there is still time to place a small wager.” He glowered at her. “Unless you object?”
“I am not such a prude as to make a fuss over a side bet of a few shillings,” Meredith retorted.
“I am pleased to hear it.” He stared hard at the racecourse. “So whom do you chose to win?”
Meredith looked down in dismay at her reticule, which contained a second pair of gloves, smelling salts, and a linen handkerchief. “I brought no coin with me.”
“I shall advance you a stake. You may reimburse me from your winnings.”
Meredith could not contain her laugh. “And if I lose?”
His eyes searched hers. Then his lips curled in a devilish grin. “I imagine we can devise some other form of payment.”
His head was bent low, his face close enough that she could feel his warm breath upon her cheek. It was too tempting not to risk it. Meredith tilted her chin and let her lips settle on his.
She could feel his initial jolt of surprise at her action, but there was no resistance. Instead, he parted his lips and opened his mouth to her. The kiss deepened. Softness and warmth spread through her, making her heart beat faster and her insides quiver.
Yet it was Meredith who reluctantly ended the kiss, mindful that they were in a most public place.
“A bonus for the crowd today,” she whispered. “They get several exciting horse races along with a show from the Marquess of Dardington and his bride.”
The look he gave her sent a thrill along every inch of her skin. “Blushes from a woman who challenged me to frolic naked in a fountain? You are a fraud, madame.”
With a seductive wink, the marquess backed away. Blushing anew, Meredith reached for the parasol she had set beside her, but found it missing. How strange. Leaning over, she glanced at the grass below to see if it had fallen. It was no where in sight.
“Is anything amiss?”
Meredith somehow managed to swallow her scream of fright. She straightened and faced her husband. “How did you manage to place our wagers and return so quickly?”
He grinned boyishly. “I have not had the chance to place a bet. You never told me which horse you wanted to wager upon.”
“Rascal, naturally.”
“An optimist. I like that in a woman.”
She swayed toward him, for one wild moment thinking he might kiss her again. Their gazes remained locked, but then sanity prevailed. Pulling back before making an utter ninny of herself, Meredith lowered her eyes. “Hurry, or else you will miss the race.”
Only when she was certain Trevor had gone did Meredith lift her head. As she combed the foggy recesses of her confused mind trying to understand her husband, she remained certain of only one thing. Invitation. It was there in his eyes, in his smile, in his heated body and teasing words.
Just a few days prior, Trevor had spoken so openly about passion and physical desire, had adamantly insisted their relationship remain at a physical distance until it could be managed. Yet it that today he had not let one moment pass when an invitation had not been clearly issued to her.
A sexual, sensuous invitation.
She was acting just as bad, teasing and flirting with him for all she was worth. Yet she knew what she was about, knew her actions had been deliberate. Ever since her wedding night, Meredith had wanted nothing more than to break through the wall of indifference Trevor had erected between them.
She felt as if she had finally managed to chisel away a few of those staunch bricks. And the afternoon was not yet over!
The marquess returned just as the race began. The starting gun sounded and Meredith stood in excitement as the animals leaped forward, manes flying, hooves thundering along the hard-packed earth.
“Looks like our boy is making a slow start,” Trevor observed. “He’s dead last.”
“They have barely rounded the first turn,” Meredith protested. “Give him a chance.”
The horses turned into the back stretch, a jumbled mass of glistening coats and long powerful legs. Meredith stretched forward as they approached the next turn, amazed that the animals could endure such a difficult pace.
“It looks like he might be gaining,” Trevor declared.
“Then he still can win.”
“It all depends on how he runs the final stretch.”
Meredith bit her lip as she saw the pack approaching the finish line. One horse, a sturdy looking black, was clearly in the lead, but Rascal was next and moving up with impressive speed.
Meredith grabbed Trevor by the arm and squeezed, her nervous excitement escalating as the crowd set up a cheer.
“We won!” She turned to him, laughing with delight. “How marvelous! We won!”
“So we did.”
“I never knew it would be so rousing,” she yelled to be heard above the shouting. “This is wonderful.”
“Winning always is.” The marquess reached into the basket he had carried from the carriage and pulled out a bottled wrapped in a white napkin. Holding it under his arm, he rummaged with his other hand for the goblets.
“Can I help?”
“Hold these.”
Meredith obediently accepted the glasses. She watched with undisguised glee as Trevor expertly popped the cork on the champagne bottle. Her laughter bubbled over as the foam spilled down the side of the bottle.
“Steady,” Trevor cautioned as he filled each goblet. With a smile, he handed her one. “To Rascal.”
They clinked glasses, then sipped. The wine slid down her throat, the effervescence delightfully tickling her nostrils. “Delicious.”
Trevor took another sip. “’Tis refreshing, though I prefer my champagne served a bit colder.”
Meredith rolled a mouthful around on her tongue, then swallowed. “We are celebrating Rascal’s win. It tastes like ambrosia.”
“Victory is always sweet.” His gaze was intense, yet oddly tender. “Yet never more so than when it is shared.”
That look sent a funny little flutter to her stomach that she deliberately ignored. She marveled anew at how her husband’s mercurial moods could have such a strong hold on her emotions.
And she wondered again why he bothered, when he claimed to be devoid of feeling for her. Was it simply something he could not control? A man of his experience, his reputation, had no doubt been with scores of other women. By his own admission, he was a rogue and a womanizer. Was this heat and invitation he seemed to be casting her way such a part of him that he did it without thinking? Without considering who she was? Or was it more?
The crowd let out another loud cheer, breaking into Meredith’s musings. She looked onto the course and saw Rascal being brought before the crowd. It seemed as though everyone wanted to celebrate the stallion’s victory.
“Thank you for bringing me today,” Meredith said. “I cannot remember the last time I had so much fun.”
“It feels good to scream and shout, does it not?”
“Oh, yes.” Her heart tugged oddly. “Tell me, whom do you favor to win the next race?”
By the end of the afternoon, Meredith’s reticule was weighed down with pound notes and coins. She had wagered, and won, on each race. Never again would she so forcefully criticize her brothers for their gambling indulgences, for she now understood how exhilarating the experience could be.
The crowd had begun to thin as everyone made their way home. While Trevor stopped for a moment to receive congratulations from a group of high-spirited young men, Meredith proceeded to the carriage. It had been a glorious afternoon. The tip of her nose felt a bit tight, for without her parasol she had nothing but the poke bonnet to shield her face from the sun.
She imagined her nose must be pink, perhaps even red, but it did not matter. Nothing could spoil her delight and enjoyment of the day.
The marquess’s carriage was easy to identify among the many coaches sequestered in the area. Its sporty yellow wheels stood out among the more somber black conveniences. Deciding she had had enough exposure to the sun already, Meredith moved to wait in the shade.
As she did, she noticed something in the carriage seat.
How strange, I am fairly certain we left nothing behind
. Curious, Meredith took a step forward. Then another. Her heart began a thunderous pounding when she realized what is was—or rather, what it had been.
Her parasol. That colorful bit of silk and lace that had mysteriously disappeared just before the first race began was now wedged on the carriage seat at an obscene angle. It fluttered gently in the slight breeze, jagged edges of fabric and lace hanging disjointedly from the exposed frame.
Meredith’s stomach clenched in a knot and her vision blurred as a wave of cold fear washed over her. Someone had savagely and violently ripped the parasol to shreds, then deliberately left it here for her to find.
 
 
“Harper mentioned you were looking for me earlier. Is there something we need to discuss?”
Trevor looked up as his father sauntered into his private sitting room. He shuffled the papers crowding the table where he sat, more for effect than organization. He had been trying to read them for over an hour, with little success. The profits of his country estate were the last thing on his mind.
Upon returning home from the racecourse, Meredith had gone to her room to rest. After her initial outburst of distress, she had said nothing else about her mangled parasol, dismissing the notion as a childish prank.
Trevor did not know if that was a good or bad sign. He only knew the sight of such a personal article of Meredith’s viciously destroyed nearly beyond recognition disturbed him greatly, enough so that he welcomed an opportunity to discuss the incident with his father. The marquess’s lips twitched. Fear made strange allies.
“I am glad to see you,” Trevor said. “Please, sit down.”
“You are glad to see me?” The older man hesitated. “I never thought I’d hear you say those words unless there was a gun pointed at your chest.” The duke pulled up a chair and sat facing him across the table. “What is wrong?”
“ ’Tis Meredith. I took her to a horse race this afternoon, and she had a most unsettling experience.”
“Did you run into one of your mistresses?” The duke snorted. “A wife can find that to be a rather lowering occurrence.”
Why must he always think the worst of me?
Though he wanted nothing more than to hotly refute the statement, Trevor held his tongue. He had been a less than perfect husband thus far. The duke’s scorn was not entirely misplaced.
“Not that it is any of your business, sir, but I have given up my mistresses.”
“Frequenting the brothels, then? Whores can be less tedious in the long run, yet even the best houses have women who carry diseases. I hope you are careful.”
“I have not set foot inside a brothel in years.” Trevor sighed. It appeared this conversation was going to be far more difficult than he feared. “ ’Tis only because of my concern for my wife that I will allow you to insult me, sir. Yet I warn you even I have limits.”
“All right, all right. We shall save the discussion of your flaws for another time.” The duke tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “What happened to Meredith?”
Thankfully the older man listened attentively while Trevor described the incident.
“Horse racing attracts all sorts of characters,” the duke said. “This could be the jealous reaction of a rival owner whose horse lost to yours, or a disgruntled gambler who placed a wager on one of the animals that Rascal beat. Or it could just be some youthful mischief.”

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