“I’ll saddle my horse at once.” He pocketed the list, finished the tarts, scooped up his supplies, and went in search of Rachel and Genevieve. He found them next to a bluff, their head close together examining some bit of greenery. “I’m going into the village. Do you need anything?”
Rachel waved him off, too engrossed in the study of the plant.
“Yes,” called Genevieve. “I’d like some colored pencils. I thought perhaps we could mark subjects by color. And Rachel needs more ink and paper.”
Christian nodded. After convincing the troll in the stables that he wasn’t stealing the mistress’s horse, he saddled Erebos and made his departure. Though the village was more like a hamlet, Christian found everything he needed, except a cobbler to get some shoes for Genevieve. The nearest cobbler was miles away. Perhaps they could pay a visit to the cobbler when he purchased passage on a ship to the continent. Genevieve hadn’t complained, but wearing poorly fitting shoes couldn’t be comfortable. Prepared to return to Rachel’s cottage, he crossed the road and headed for his mount he’d paid a village boy to hold.
“Christian Amesbury?”
He paused, carefully balancing his parcels, and turned. A tall, lanky man waved.
Christian grinned. “James Ingel. You old dog! What are you doing in this hovel?”
“Visiting my grandfather and trying to stay in the will.”
“Oh? Who’s your grandfather?”
“The duke on the hill.”
Christian raised his brows. “The duke is your grandfather?”
Ingel chuckled. “Don’t worry. Fourteen people would have to die before I’d inherit, thank goodness.”
“Oh, that’s a relief. You might have to be responsible, else.”
“I shudder to think. Can I buy you a drink? The alehouse has a very rich, dark ale.”
Christian nodded. “Let me put these packages away.”
Ingel walked with him to where he’d left Erebos in the care of a boy. He let out a slow whistle. “What a beauty. A Friesian, eh? What’s his name?”
“Erebos.” Christian tucked away the parcels and asked the lad to take the horse for another short walk to keep him warm.
Ingel rubbed Erebos’s nose. “Is he a good jumper?”
Christian allowed himself a smug smile. “He’s never lost a steeplechase.”
Ingel clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Ah! Care to test that against my Fleet?”
Christian snorted. “I’ve seen you race. I could beat you even if you were riding the mythological Pegasus.”
James Ingel let out a hearty laugh. “Excellent.”
Christian adjusted his saddle bags and walked with Ingel to the alehouse. Inside the darkened room, they found a table and placed their orders. A young serving girl brought them their tankards, leaning over to give them a full view of her
décolletage
. As she caught Christian’s eye, she paused and looked him full in the face. Then she smiled, slow and seductive, a clear offer.
Christian smiled politely and handed her an extra coin, hoping she understood that he wasn’t interested in her offer, but meant no offense. With a broadening grin, and a touch of relief in her eyes, she tucked the coin away. As she turned, she glanced back over her shoulder, still grinning, before she moved to another table.
Ingel huffed. “Lucky devil. Does that happen to you everywhere you go?”
Christian took a long drink. It was indeed a rich ale. “Does what happen?”
Shaking his head, Ingel snorted. “Never mind. So, what brings you to this remote spot?”
“I’m visiting my sister Rachel.”
Ingel’s face lit up. “Rachel is here?”
Christian chuckled. “Not that it should matter. She hates you.”
“Why would she hate me?” Ingel was the picture of innocence.
“Because, among many other things, you threw her into the river!”
Ingel wore a look of puzzlement. “I was twelve. Twelve year old boys are supposed to be mean to girls.”
“She couldn’t swim.”
“I pulled her out again.”
“By the hair.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
Christian shook his head. “No wonder you’re not married yet.”
“I’m not married because I’m enjoying bachelor life too much.”
“Yes, I have heard about the ways you enjoy bachelor life.” To call him a rake would have been an understatement. It was a wonder the man hadn’t caught some horrible disease, yet.
“Besides,” Ingel added, “I’m not the marrying kind. You are, though. Why aren’t you married yet?”
He held himself still at the reminder that he’d lost his chance to marry Genevieve. “I’m several years your junior.”
“Oh, right. I keep forgetting. You followed Jared and me around so much, I guess I sorta accepted you as one of us.”
“When you weren’t trying to frighten me with stories about the ogre that lived under the bridge, you mean.”
Ingel slapped his thigh and let out a gusty laugh. “I forgot about that one.”
“It gave me nightmares.”
Ingel sat back and sobered. “It’s good to see you, Chris, really. How’s Jared?”
“Believe it or not, he’s happily married to a respectable widow with a son.”
“Who would have thought? By the way, my mother shows off the portrait you did of her to anyone who visits.”
Christian allowed himself a small smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Ingel sipped his drink. “How are your sisters?”
“Margaret rules London society like a queen and avoids her husband. Rachel is feeding her bluestocking tendencies.”
Ingel’s gazed flicked to him, looking a little too interested. “Rachel is still not married, I presume?”
Christian looked at him askance. “No, and she’s quite content to keep it that way, so don’t get any ideas about my sister, you lecher.”
Ingel chortled. “She’s old enough to decide who she will accept as a caller.”
“And I’m old enough to string you up by your lungs if you go near her.”
Ingel gave a half laugh, but sobered as he studied Christian, obviously trying to decide if he were in earnest.
Christian glanced outside at the lengthening shadows. “I should go before it gets dark. Thank you for the ale.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
Christian paused. “The steeplechase?”
“Unless you’re inviting me to have dinner with you and your sister.”
“Over my cold and lifeless body.”
“I have it.” Ingel snapped his fingers. “We’ll raise the stakes a bit with a friendly wager. If I win, I get to pay a call on Rachel and you put in a good word for me.”
“You just told me you aren’t the marrying kind, and I’ll have to kill you if your intentions toward her are not honorable.”
Ingel held out his hands. “I just want to see her. For old time’s sake.”
Christian considered. Seeing a rake such as Ingel would be the last thing Rachel needed. But if Christian won, and he always won, he could secure Ingel’s word as a gentleman he’d stay away from her. Permanently. Besides, he hadn’t indulged in anything as exhilarating as a steeplechase in months and the lure was more than he could resist.
He nodded. “And if I win, you’ll stay away from her. Forever.” He gave him a stern look but Ingel only grinned.
“Agreed.”
“Tomorrow at daybreak. Meet at the church?”
Ingel nodded. “Of course.”
“You’ve run it before, so you’ll have the advantage.”
“Worried?” Ingel asked with raised brows.
“Just making a note of it so you’ll appreciate how thoroughly I’ve beaten you.”
Ingel laughed again. “Duly noted. And I see that you’ve also given yourself an excuse if you lose.”
“I never need excuses because I never lose,” Christian shot over his shoulder as he headed out the door. It sounded arrogant, and an awful lot like Cole—or Jared, for that matter—but a little psychological pressure on his opponent surely wouldn’t hurt his cause.
As he rode back to Rachel’s cottage at a near gallop, he laughed at the wind in his face, exhilarated with the speed. A rabbit darted across his path. He slowed. If he brought home a rabbit, he could convince Mrs. Fletcher to make her mouth-watering rabbit stew.
He picked up his gun, took careful aim at the rabbit’s zigzagging body, and fired. The rabbit dropped. As a youth, he’d been driven to shoot as well as his brothers. Later, when he realized he’d never go off on adventure like they had, but rather, his role was to care for his parents and help manage the estates, he hunted more for sport and to bring home game rather than to prove himself. Still, it gave him some satisfaction to know he was as good a shot as Grant who had an impressive reputation as a sharp shooter in the war.
Whistling, Christian retrieved the rabbit and put it in a bag on his saddle before returning to Rachel’s cottage. He braved the wizened troll in the stable who was more pleasant about receiving horses than about letting them go. In the house, he presented the packages and the rabbits with a flourish to the cook and Mrs. Fletcher who rewarded him with a tasty morsel.
“Hmm,” he mused. “I fetch, and you feed me. I feel like a hound.”
Mrs. Fletcher laughed. “You eat better than most hounds.”
Inside Rachel’s study, he found Rachel and Genevieve, their heads bent over their paperwork. He whistled as he turned a circle amidst neat stacks and labeled boxes filled with notes. “I actually see progress.”
“Nice of you to say.” Genevieve smiled as if she knew a secret.
“Either be useful, or get out of the way,” Rachel muttered as she tucked a quill behind her ear and blew at a strand of dark hair that had worked itself out of her chignon.
Christian made a tsking sound. “Productivity makes you grouchy. And ungrateful. I braved many dangers to bring you your parcels.”
“Then you must have loved it,” Genevieve said. “Did you manage to find a dragon to fight, as well?”
“Three.” He set the wrapped packages on the desk, grinned at them both, and paused to bask in Genevieve’s smile. “Good thing I remembered my sword.”
Later, as they sat down to dinner, Genevieve said, “We’re making amazing progress.”
Rachel beamed at her. “I would never have accomplished so much without you.”
“Hmmm,” Christian mused. “That sounds like I’m about to receive the gratitude I so dearly deserve for bringing you an efficient and hard-working assistant.” Christian placed a finger behind one ear in order to catch every word.
Rachel grimaced. “Yes. All right. I admit it. You had a great idea.”
“What was that? I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Thank you for bringing Genevieve to help me, you arrogant oaf.” Rachel grinned.
Christian bowed his head graciously. “You are most welcome, O sister of mine.”
Genevieve smiled at with such affection that for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it might have been like to have married Genevieve and invited her into the family.
Rachel’s voice cut in. “You’re feeling particularly pleased with yourself—even more so than normal. What trouble did you get into when you went into town?”
“Trouble?
Moi
?”
Genevieve coughed into her pudding, her eyes dancing with mirth. “You might fool others with that innocent face, but it doesn’t work on those of us who know you.”
He grinned. At last, she’d thrown off the last of the haze of sorrow that had surrounded her and unburied the sense of humor that had delighted him in Bath. “But my innocent face has served me so well.”
Rachel groaned. “You are looking far too smug. Don’t tell me you found some poor, witless fool to challenge to a steeplechase.”
He chuckled. Keeping secrets from Rachel had always been difficult. She seemed to read him like a fortune teller. “You are mistaken. I met up with an old friend and
he
challenged
me
to a steeplechase.”
Rachel’s face reddened and fire leaped out of her eyes. Her mouth opened, no doubt to spew some sort of dire prediction about the race.
“Christian!” Genevieve interjected, cutting off whatever Rachel was about to say. “I don’t understand this insane need you have to take such a pointless risk. You are so sensible otherwise.”
Christian leaned back in his chair and smirked. If she were this concerned over him, it must mean that on some level she cared. Not that he dared dwell on that thought. “It’s not actually a pointless risk—there is a point to it. And racing is one of my few indulgences.”
Rachel let out a sound of disgust. “Men! Why am I cursed with brothers bent on getting themselves killed? Don’t do it, Chris, I cannot take the strain of another brother putting his life at risk.”
He sobered at the reference that both Cole and Jared had recently suffered near brushes with death. “We’ve already agreed upon it. As a gentleman, I cannot in good conscience call it off.”
Not to mention, if he called off the race, he’d be forfeiting, and he’d have to allow Ingel to call on Rachel. Ingel might be an acceptable friend, but as a libertine, he was not an acceptable suitor for a respectable lady, especially Christian’s sister.
Rachel threw her napkin at him. “Why won’t you be reasonable?”
He considered. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. “I might be persuaded to call off the race if you leave here tomorrow and board a ship to the continent.”
She folded her arms. “Why is everyone so upset that I am here? I am perfectly happy as an eccentric old maid.”
“Old?” Christian bristled at the word. “Good heavens, Rachel, you’re all of thirty-two, not ninety. Plenty of ladies marry at your age, and older, even.”
“I won’t be marrying at this or any age and I have nothing to say to anyone in society.”
“I’m not asking you to re-enter society. I want you to come home. Or go to France or Italy, anything except sequestering yourself here alone with nothing to do but fester the wounds of the past.”
“I am not festering wounds of the past, I am realizing a dream!”
“A dream you invented as an excuse to flee from civilization.”
Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. The fire left her eyes. She glanced at Genevieve, who was half standing as if to rush to her rescue.
Genevieve swallowed, glanced and Christian, and touched Rachel’s arm. “Your family loves you. They’re worried about you. I will gladly serve as your companion if you go on a Grand Tour.” She offered a small smile. “I’ve always wanted to see France.” She glanced at Christian. “And Italy.”