"Palmer has taken the bait," he said.
"What is his horse like?"
"I don't know," said Max, grinning when her eyes grew wide. "I know Palmer's sort. He'll have a showy, prime piece of blood, but when it comes down to it, he won't have the faintest idea how to get the best out of his horse. But don't worry, I have sent Needham, Lord Cravenwell's groom, to find out all he can about the horse."
"When is the race?"
"Tomorrow morning. It will be a near run thing, I can tell you."
"Oh, Max, I hope ..."
He placed a finger against her lips before winking at her and giving her another of his warm smiles. He was so handsome, she thought. If only ...
"Do not worry. I will not fail you. And in the afternoon, when your father is getting ready to take your mare to Tattersall's, you will calmly present him with Palmer's horse as a substitute."
"He will be so angry," she said. Then, with a giggle, she added, "Mostly, he will be angry that he did not think of it himself."
"And that he missed the race."
"There is that, too," she said, and they shared a laugh.
"Well, no time like the present to put the old boy through his paces. Will you ride with me?"
"You know I will," said Kate. "Bobby, give us a signal, will you?"
The groom nodded, took his handkerchief out of his
pocket and held it in the air. "Ready ... steady ... go!" he shouted, letting the handkerchief flutter to the ground.
Thunderlight leaped ahead, but the big gray soon caught up. The two huge horses careened through the park, their hooves churning up the turf. Kate watched as Thunderlight slowly edged ahead. She marveled as the gray began to tire, but Thunderlight continued on, as strong as ever.
When she finally reached their starting point, Max was already there, cooling Thunderlight by walking him in a wide circle.
Joining him, she said, "He is the fastest horse I have ever seen—at least, when you are riding him. He really wants to please you."
"And he does," said Max, leaning over the big stallion's arched neck and patting him fiercely.
Kate felt her heart catch in her throat. She fought the urge to shout at him, to demand that he cease all the nonsense about courting Philippa Beauchamp. Max Darby was perfect, but not for such a retiring little chit. He was perfect for her—Kate O'Connor! Why could he not see it?
"Is something wrong? No, no, don't tell me. You are still worried about tomorrow. We will win, Kate. Trust me.
He put one hand over hers and gave a squeeze. Kate gazed down at the strong, leather-clad fingers and wished with all her heart she could tell him what she was really thinking. She could not, of course. For one thing, he would be shocked. She was certain he had no idea what wild emotions he had stirred in her heart. And secondly, he had given her no indication that he might share those sentiments. No, she would have to keep her thoughts and emotions to herself.
She lifted her eyes and smiled at him. "I do trust you, Max. As a matter of fact, I am placing all my trust in you."
"I will not let you down," he said, bringing her gloved hand to his lips and kissing it.
With a jaunty grin, he released her hand and slid to the ground. Taking her by the waist, he took her off the gray as if she weighed no more than a feather. When she was on her feet, she looked up at him, the smile freezing on her lips.
With the horses on either side of them, he pulled her close and kissed her mouth—a deep, searching kiss that made her forget all her good resolutions.
Then he released her, and the horses moved apart. Without a word, he signaled her groom, and they quickly switched the saddles back. Max threw her onto Thunderlight's back before swinging onto the big gray gelding.
"At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Bobby. See that you have your mistress here, with Thunderlight, on time."
"Aye, guvner," said the groom.
"Good-bye, Kate. Until tomorrow morning."
And he was gone before she could say a word. Not that she was capable of speech at the moment. That kiss had absolutely shocked her—and warmed her from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. She had received a number of kisses, but never one as earth-shattering as Max's—or as disturbing.
"So much for my good, sensible intentions," she muttered under her breath as she turned Thunderlight for home.
"Wot was that, miss?" asked the groom.
"Nothing, Bobby, nothing at all. Just remember what
Mr. Darby said. I shan't send to the stables, for it might arouse suspicion. Instead, tell Mr. MacAfee that I am joining a group of friends for an early ride. He will not question that."
The groom looked incredulous at this, and Kate grimaced. "Oh, just tell him. The only way he can question it is by coming to the house and asking me, and he will not dare do that so early in the morning."
"Yes, miss," said the groom. After a moment, he asked, "This isn't something we're goin' t' be doin' on a regular basis, is it, miss?"
"No, Bobby. This is a one time thing. After tomorrow, it will all be over."
"I hope so, miss. I surely do hope so."
"So do I," whispered Kate.
After returning his horse to the Marquess of Craven-well's mews, Max walked back to the small town house he and his brother shared. With a distracted greeting for their servant, he made his way to his room and pulled off his boots.
He was restless, though he did not go so far as to question his plan to win another horse for Kieran O'Connor. He was certain he and Thunderlight would win. As for Kate...
Max rose and took a quick turn around the small room. He picked up his boots and placed them in the cupboard. Then he took them out again.
"Barton!"
"Yes, sir," said the servant, appearing immediately.
"These need shining," he said, pointing at the boots.
"Indeed yes," said the servant, hurrying across the
room and gathering the boots to his chest. "Is there anything else?"
"No, not now."
"Very good, sir," said Barton, backing out of the room.
Max removed his snugly fitted coat and waistcoat, throwing them over the small chair. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror over the mantel. He was frowning fiercely. With an effort, he relaxed his expression, but his image reflected his uneasiness.
"Bah!" he said, flopping down on the chair. "Kate, what the devil have you done to me? All I wanted was a light flirtation ..."
He groaned in frustration. A light flirtation with her while courting Philippa Beauchamp. It was working out just as he had planned. So why did he feel so bad?
Kate was hardly a child. She knew how things were between them, and he had made no secret of the fact that he planned to wed Philippa.
Ah, but the passion he had felt in that kiss! That was what troubled him. Max tore his cravat from his neck and cursed.
Women! They were more trouble than they were worth! No wonder he preferred horses!
"Max, that you?" asked Tristram, opening the door and poking his head through.
"Yes, it's me. What do you want?"
"Whoa. Nothing, brother. I just wondered if I should come in and wish you happy. You had mentioned last night, after the theater, that you thought you might speak to Philippa's father today."
"What? Oh, yes. Sorry, Tris. No, I haven't gotten around to that yet. I was just going to get cleaned up and change."
"I ... I see. Max, are you sure about this? I mean, do you really want to marry Miss Beauchamp?"
"Want to? What has that to say in the matter? I have no choice. One of us has to wed money, if not both, and I don't see you rushing about looking for a likely prospect."
"Well, no, I haven't. I have been a little preoccupied, finishing the next book and all. You're right. I shouldn't question you when I have done nothing to help out. Sorry."
Max rose and smiled at his brother, saying, "No, I shouldn't have spoken so. And you have helped out. You have spent hours telling Miss Beauchamp what a wonderful chap I am, have you not?"
"Uh, yes, that's true."
"Then do not worry about it, Tris. I shall marry the heiress, and you will reap the reward, too. That's how we Darbys handle things, right?"
"Precisely," said Tristram. He pushed his blond hair off his forehead and opened his mouth. Then he shook his head and said, "So you are going in a few minutes."
"Yes, as soon as I rid myself of the smell of the stables."
"Oh, that's where you have been," said Tristram. "Trying out Thunderlight with Miss O'Connor?"
"Yes. She is quite a horsewoman, you know. She rode the big gray and nearly kept up with us all around the park. I was very impressed."
"Funny, isn't it?"
"What?" said Max, removing his cambric shirt.
"Well, I mean, there you are with Miss O'Connor, who loves her horses as much as you do, and ..."
"What? Are you saying I should be asking for Kate instead of Philippa?"
"No, I.. ."
"Well, if, as Monsieur Pangloss told Candide, this were the best of all possible worlds, then perhaps that is how things would turn up, but this is .. . oh, blast! Barton! Where are my clean shirts?" shouted Max.
Tristram chuckled. "This is quite a day for you, Max. Here you are, quoting Voltaire, and I am advocating that you and the horse-mad Miss O'Connor are quite well suited. I believe we have had a shift in the universe. At the very least, our world is slipping on its axis."
"What are you talking about, Tristram? Ah, there you are, Barton. Where are my shirts?"
"I put them in the top drawer, Master Max. See, right where they always are. You must have looked in the wrong one. Let me," said the servant, taking out a shirt and helping Max put it on.
Max turned to his brother and said, "Look, Tristram. I am going to see Mr. Beauchamp, and hopefully by the end of the day, I will have secured my heiress. Why don't you get out of this house and see if you can manage to meet someone, too? Leave it, Barton. I can tie my own cravat, remember?"
"Very good, sir. Shall you be wearing the bottle green coat?"
"If you will just step this way, sir."
Max followed the butler along the wide marble hall, turning down a short corridor until he was ushered into a spacious library.
"Come in, Mr. Darby," said the little man behind the huge desk. "Won't you have a seat on the sofa? I will be with you in a moment. I am in the middle of something."
Max did as he was bid and sat down. All four walls were covered with books, from floor to ceiling. A huge rolling ladder was attached to one of these walls. Several narrow tables were scattered about the room, each containing stacks of books. Max thought to himself that this would be Tristram's idea of heaven.
The butler, who had followed him inside, said, "Would you care for something to drink, sir? Mr. Beauchamp has a very good port, and the brandy ..."
"Try the port, Mr. Darby. You can never go wrong with a stout port," said the figure behind the desk.
"The port will be fine," said Max.
After handing him the glass, the butler withdrew. Max sipped the ruby liquid and continued to watch his host surreptitiously.
Finally, with an audible sigh, the little man closed the ledger he was poring over and rose. Without speaking, he went to the table with the decanters and poured himself a large glass. He waved the decanter at Max in question.
Max shook his head and waited while the other man joined him on the sofa.
"Now, young man, what did you wish to see me about today?"
"I shall get straight to the point, sir. I am interested in your daughter."
"My daughter? I see. I find that rather amusing, sir. Last night at the theater, I would have guessed that you were interested in my wife."
This was delivered with a wheezing gasp that Max supposed passed for laughter.
"While I may admire your good wife, Mr. Beau-champ, it is your daughter who has gained my complete attention."
"Humph. I see. What color are her eyes?"
"Her eyes?" asked Max. "Why, they are as blue as the ocean."
"Actually, the ocean is usually more gray than blue, my boy, but you would not know that since you probably spend a great deal more time studying horses and women than you do books."
Max stiffened. "I assure you, sir, I have not been ..."
"There, there," soothed the small man. "I did not mean any insult. Very few people spend as much time with books as I do. So you want to marry my sweet Philippa. She is nothing like her mother, you know."
"I... I did guess that, sir."
"And you do not mind?"
Max thought privately that if Philippa were anything like her mother, he would not be where he was at that very moment. Philippa's being the direct opposite of her mother was the most pleasing of her attributes.
"Not at all," he said quickly.
"Good, that's good. Are you aware that Philippa has an inheritance of her own, deliverable on her marriage?"
"No, sir, I was not."
"So you only hoped that I would settle enough money on her to fix up that sad little bit of land."
"There is a house on the property," said Max, forgetting to question how Beauchamp could possibly know about his own prospects.
"A house? A shack, more like, but that is neither here nor there. No, you need not worry about that scrap of property. I will gladly settle a fine estate and ample funds on the man who weds my little girl. However, you must win not only my approval and my wife's, but also my daughter's. Come back next week after you have
done what you can to please my daughter. Then we will speak of this matter again."
"I ... I don't understand, Mr. Beauchamp," said Max.
"You must make Philippa want to marry you, Mr. Darby. It is as simple as that. If you succeed, then you shall have my blessing, as well as my wife's."
He rose and returned to his vast desk. Max stood and walked to the door.
"I will do so, sir. May I take her driving this afternoon?"
"That is the trick, is it not? Managing to take Philippa for a drive without her mother's interference. I wish you luck, Mr. Darby."
"Thank you, sir," said Max, turning the handle.