Marrying the Marquis (20 page)

“This was my mother’s wedding ring,” Ross told her. “I thought ye could wear this until yer betrothal ring is finished. If the notion appeals to ye, I would be pleased if we used my mother’s ring for yer wedding band.”

“You honor me with your mother’s ring,” Blaze said, looking from the diamonds to his black eyes. “I will cherish it always.”

Ross leaned close and planted a chaste kiss on her lips. “Yer blushin’, lass.”

“We need a toast.” The Duke of Inverary set three crystal tumblers on his desk and poured a measure of whisky into each. “This has been aged eighteen years.”

Ross raised his glass. “I salute my bride, only a bit older than the whisky.” He sipped the amber liquid and then set the tumbler on the desk. “I’ve another gift for ye, but we must go outside.”

The four stood and left the office, stopping at the drawing room to show her stepmother and Celeste MacArthur the betrothal ring. “What an exquisite ring,” the Duchess of Inverary gushed. “Don’t you agree, Celeste?”

“Yes.” Celeste MacArthur looked like she’d sucked a lemon.

“The ring belonged to Ross’s mother,” Blaze told them. “I’m wearing it until my betrothal ring is finished, and then I’ll wear this as my wedding ring.”

“Family heirlooms carry more meaning,” the duchess said. “I love diamonds almost as much as my husband.”

“Thank you for that, dearest,” the Duke of Inverary said, smiling. “I’ve always wondered which of us—diamonds or me—you loved best.”

“Magnus, you are a rare jewel among men.”

Ross escorted Blaze out of the drawing room. They walked down the stairs to the foyer.

“Congratulations, my lord,” Tinker said, opening the door. “Best wishes, Miss Blaze.”

“Thank you, Tinker.”

“Brace yerself.” Ross placed the palm of his hand on her back and ushered her outside.

A Campbell groom held the reins of a donkey. Wearing a puzzled smile, Blaze approached the animal.

The brown donkey had long ears and an erect mane. A dark stripe ran along its back, and another crossed over the shoulders. Dark stripes banded its legs.

“I want ye to meet yer animal sanctuary’s first guest,” Ross said. “I caught two boys beatin’ the beast and knew ye’d want me to rescue him.”

The donkey stood statue-still, allowing Blaze to stroke its head. “You poor, poor donkey,” she cooed.

“I named him Beau.”

Blaze smiled. “I like Beau.”

“Beau is his nickname,” Ross said. “His full name is Flambeau.”

“Flambeau?” she echoed.

“His stubbornness reminded me of ye.” Unexpectedly, Beau erupted into braying hee-haws. “What did he say?”

Blaze looked at him, her expression deadpan. “Beau said hee-haw.”

Pegasus was poised to gallop into horse-racing legend, the filly that flew as fast as mythology’s winged horse. Excitement grew in Newmarket each passing day, and the Jockey Club basked in the filly’s glory.

Blaze could not suppress her own excitement. Winning the Second Spring meant Pegasus would run in the Epsom Derby, the first of the Classic Races.

Race day dawned sunny, nary a cloud marring a brilliant blue sky. A fast track, no rain interfering with legends.

All classes of people crowded the grandstands and surrounding areas, maneuvering for the best place to see the race. The spectators were unusually noisy, extreme agitation raising voices.

Blaze loved the track’s scents. Ladies’ perfumes and musky horses mingled with hay and dung.

“Dinna fret,” Ross said, escorting her across the paddock. “Yer sister predicted Pegasus would win.”

Blaze greeted Pegasus in the usual way.
Love Peg
.

Me love
.

Peg run?

Run, run, run
.

“I’ll connect with Peg,” Blaze told Rooney, “but if you can take the early lead, no one will catch you.”

The bell rang, and Bender gave Rooney a leg up on Pegasus. The jockey passed her the whip, saying, “I’ll see you in the winner’s circle.”

Ross and Blaze walked in the direction of the grandstands. Instead of going to the Duke of Inverary’s reserved area, they stood near the start line. Only a wooden fence separated them from the horses.

The crowd cheered as the first thoroughbreds appeared on the track. Rooney and Pegasus came into view, and the grandstands reverberated with shouts, whistles, and chants.

Blaze ignored the pandemonium. She kept her gaze on the official holding the flag. And then the flag dropped.

Peg run
.

Run, run, run
.

Pegasus and Rooney bolted off the start line to take the early lead, and Blaze knew no horse could catch her. Pegasus lengthened her lead, racing against herself, galloping into legend.

The filly led by fifteen lengths at the half-way mark. Her pace increased. The three-quarter point saw her lead at twenty-five lengths.

And then the filly connected with Blaze, slamming into her consciousness.

Run, run, run. Hurt, hurt, hurt. Run
—

“Stop the race,” Blaze shouted, already moving to enter the track. “Rooney, stop running.”

Ross looked at her. She was yanking her hand out of his grasp, but he pulled her back. “What’re ye doin’?”

Desperate to reach her horse, Blaze smashed her fist into his cheek. Striking hard. Hard enough to snap his head to the side. Hard enough to loosen his hold.

Blaze slipped through the track gate. She ran down the Rowley Mile after the thoroughbreds.

Wrapping his mind around what was happening wasted several seconds. Screaming like a madwoman, his bride-to-be was chasing the thoroughbreds down the Rowley Mile.

And then he understood.

Ross leaped over the fence and chased her. Reaching her side, he grabbed her hand and ran with her.

The last judge raised the Campbell colors, signifying the filly’s win. The crowd in the grandstands cheered and then gradually quieted. Seeing the Marquis of Awe and the Duke of Inverary’s daughter running down the track shocked them into silence.

Ross was almost dragging Blaze by the time they reached the Devil’s Ditch. The two raced down the incline and struggled up the other side.

Pegasus lay on her side. With tears streaming down his face, Rooney knelt beside the fallen horse.

“No!” Blaze fell to her knees beside the struggling filly.

“Tell Peg to lie still.” Ross watched Blaze lean closer, her lips moving silently, and the filly calmed.

“I dunno what happened,” Rooney said, a sob catching in his throat. “We crossed the finish line first, and then she dropped.”

Crouching beside Blaze, Ross scanned the growing crowd around the filly. The Duke of Inverary and Bobby Bender managed to cut through the throng.

Bender knelt beside Pegasus and gingerly examined her for any obvious injuries. He looked over his shoulder at the duke. “She broke both front carpal joints.”

“What is that?” Blaze asked.

“Pegasus broke both front knees,” Ross answered.

“You can fix them, Bender,” Blaze said. “Can’t you? People break their legs all the time.”

Bender turned his head away. The trainer’s throat was bobbing as the man tried to swallow raw emotion before speaking.

“Bender?”

Ross heard the fear in Blaze’s voice.

The trainer looked at the Duke of Inverary. “We need to put her down.”

“Pegasus is
not
dying today,” Blaze told them, a river of tears streaming down her cheeks. “Bender, I demand you fix her.” She looked at her father. “Papa, we don’t put people down.”

The Duke of Inverary cleared his throat. “Pegasus cannot stand on broken knees, and lying down will kill her slowly.”

“We’ll make a body sling to hoist her up,” Blaze said in desperation. “That will keep her standing and her front legs off the floor until they mend.”

The Duke of Inverary shifted his gaze to Ross, his eyes pleading for help.

“Ye love Pegasus and dinna want her to suffer,” Ross said, his tone gentle, his arm around her. “Do ye love Peg enough to let her go?”

Blaze bowed her head and sobbed, a gut-wrenching howl of pain that Ross hoped never to hear again. He’d never seen a body wracked with sobs, but he did now.

A Jockey Club official handed the Duke of Inverary a pistol. The duke shook his head and passed the pistol to the trainer.

His expression grim, Bender moved around to the filly’s head. He looked at Ross and nodded.

In a flash of movement, Ross lifted Blaze away from the horse and backed away. He held her tight, her face pressed against his chest. Her body jerked at the sound of the pistol shot.

Blaze broke free and dropped to her knees beside the dead filly. She stroked her horse and wept.

Ross knelt beside her and prayed he would never witness such misery again. He put a comforting arm around her shoulders but said nothing. There was nothing to say. No words could console her.

The Duke of Inverary cleared his throat. “Come away, Blaze. Let the workers dispose—”

Ross leveled a deadly look on his future father-in-law, silencing him. “Let her grieve, Yer Grace.”

The Duke of Inverary nodded and walked away. Bobby Bender handed the official the pistol and followed his employer.

Hours passed, the sun never pausing its westward journey to mourn the filly’s untimely death. The curious onlookers faded away, leaving the woman to grieve in privacy. The grandstand emptied, the day’s remaining races postponed.

Only Blaze, Ross, and Rooney knelt beside the fallen horse. Eventually, the horse grew cold and the tears were spent.

“Blaze?” Ross thought she might have cried herself to sleep. “We need to leave Pegasus and let the staff—”

Ross winced when she looked at him. Her eyes had swollen into slits. She held her hand out and stood with his assistance.

“Burn Pegasus.” A steely determination had entered her voice. “No man or animal will feed on her flesh.”

“I’ll give the staff yer instructions,” Ross said.

“Burn Pegasus now.”

Ross studied her grim expression and knew Blaze would never budge until the filly was ashes. He crossed the short distance to the waiting Jockey Club staff. “Miss Flambeau wants her horse burned. Fetch whatever ye need.”

“My lord, we always—”

“Always doesna mean this time,” Ross interrupted, passing each worker a gold sovereign. “Miss Flambeau willna leave until it’s done.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Within twenty minutes, kindling covered Pegasus. Ross lit a torch and tossed it on the filly.

Blaze watched Pegasus burn. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks, but the heart-wrenching sobs were silenced. She refused a handkerchief when the stench of burning horseflesh permeated the area.

“Raven was right,” Blaze murmured. “Pegasus won the race.”

She had never imagined or even wanted a wedding day.

On the first day of June, Blaze stood in the back of St. Agnes Church and prepared to marry the Marquis of Awe. The guests were seated, the groom awaited, and two violins were playing in the choir loft.

Blaze felt like a princess in a cream-colored satin gown adorned with hundreds of seed pearls. The form-fitting bodice had a squared neckline and a dropped waist. The long sleeves formed a bell shape at her wrist. She carried a bouquet of fragrant orange blossoms. Much to her stepmother’s chagrin, the fashionable bride ended there.

Blaze had insisted she was who she was. She’d already created two scandals, jockeying a thoroughbred and chasing the thoroughbreds down the length of the Rowley Mile. Creating a flurry of gossip seemed insignificant.

Refusing a veil, Blaze had left her head uncovered, her fiery mane cascading down her back almost to her waist. The duchess had loaned her a jeweled tiara.

“You sired seven lovely daughters,” the Duchess of Inverary told her husband, “but their taste in fashionable coiffeur leaves much to be desired.”

“Roxie, my daughters are setting the trends,” the Duke of Inverary teased her.

The duchess’s dimpled smile appeared. “I suppose the coming year will see an abundance of brides leaving their hair loose and wearing tiaras.” She turned to the four unmarried Flambeau sisters. “Come, my darlings. The guests are waiting for our entrance.”

The Duchess of Inverary led her charges down the aisle. Like a queen, the duchess nodded at family, friends, and foes.

Only Raven lingered behind. “Something borrowed?”

Blaze pointed to her tiara.

“Something blue?”

Blaze lifted one side of the gown to show her blue garter.

“Something old?”

Blaze slid one of her sleeves up to show their mother’s butterfly bracelet.

“Something new?”

Blaze held her right hand out showing her betrothal ring, a butterfly created with diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. Ross had commissioned the betrothal ring, and she would wear his mother’s wedding band as her own.

“You have been wanting to ask me a question,” Raven said. “The answer is I sensed Peg’s win, not her death. I would have warned you if I had known.”

“Thank you.”

Raven turned away to follow her stepmother and sisters to the front pew.

Gazing down the aisle, Blaze noted the seated guests and the white flowers decorating the front of the church. Flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the walls and sunbeams streamed through two stained-glass windows.

God did not dwell in this house of worship. Why would He hide inside four walls when He could walk the earth and enjoy His wondrous creations?

“God isn’t here,” Blaze whispered.

“I know,” her father said, “but please do not mention that to the clergy.”

“Papa?”

“We’ll speak later,” the duke said, looping her hand through the crook of his arm. “Ross is fidgeting like a ten-year-old at the altar.”

Blaze giggled at that, and two hundred guests turned in unison to look over their shoulders at her. Her father started forward, forcing her to step with him.

Elevating her status seemed incredibly easy. One moment she was an illegitimate miss, albeit acknowledged. A few words magically transformed her into a marquise and a future duchess.

Only one tiny thing marred the short ceremony. Blaze could feel the witch’s basilisk stare on her back. A confrontation seemed inevitable.

Smiling, Ross turned to her at the end of the ceremony. He lifted her hands to his lips, his gaze telling her that all would be well.

“Are ye ready to begin yer life as my wife?” he whispered, leaning close to plant a chaste kiss on her lips.

“Do you think you will survive having me as your wife?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Less than an hour later, Ross and Blaze walked into the Inverary ballroom. Beneath her stepmother’s supervision, the ballroom had been decorated for their wedding reception. Musicians played at the opposite side of the rectangular room. Round tables had been positioned around a small dance floor. Garlands of blue and white forget-me-nots adorned the hall while vases of white roses served as centerpieces for each table.

Wisely, the Duchess of Inverary had planned a reception menu with no meat or poultry served on bones. The main courses consisted of beef and chicken slices as well as poached salmon with caper sauce. Beluga caviar was kept out of the bride’s sight.

Blaze ate baked eggs without the ham, calf’s liver salad without the calf’s liver, and a spinach and nettle souffle prepared especially for her. Her husband ate what she ate. Not one morsel of beef, chicken, or salmon passed his lips.

“Eat whatever you want,” Blaze whispered against his ear.

Ross turned his head and planted a kiss on her lips. “I want to eat ye, darlin’, but we’ve created enough scandals.”

Blaze blushed. “I adore my butterfly ring and will always cherish your mother’s wedding band. When our son marries, he will give it to his bride.”

“That’s an outstandin’ idea.” Ross kissed her again. “My mother would have adored ye.”

Blaze smiled at that. She wished the son would adore her. He’d married her because of their baby, and now she needed to win his love.

Loving a man was dangerous, though. When a woman gave her heart to a man, she lost her peace of mind.

The Duke of Inverary approached them and looked at Ross. “Take good care of my daughter.”

“Yes, Yer Grace, I was plannin’ to do that.”

“Juno is breeding,” the duke told Blaze, “and I’m giving Rooney the nod to ride Thor in the Derby.”

“I hope Rooney continues abstaining from spirits.” After her father walked away, Blaze glanced at her husband. “You wanted to sell Juno to the knackers.”

Ross lifted her hand to his lips. “I admit ye were right aboot Juno.”

“Taking Beau with us to Scotland would be right,” Blaze said. “We’re taking Puddles.”

“Beau is a donkey,” Ross said, “and Puddles is a dog.”

“How incredibly observant.”

“If we were travelin’ by land,” Ross said, “takin’ Beau would be fine, but we’re takin’ the Kazanov ship to Oban. Beau wouldna feel comfortable on a ship. Juno and Beau will be safe at the Inverary stables.”

“Where else would they be?”

“The vows we spoke made ye a MacArthur,” Ross answered. “We’ll be livin’ at MacArthur House.”

“You will need to hire a food taster to protect me from Celeste,” Blaze said.

Ross laughed in her face. “Shall we dance?”

“Whirling around the dance floor will make me regurgitate my dinner.” Blaze lifted her bouquet of orange blossoms. “I want to visit my mother’s grave.”

Ross stood when she did. “Shall I walk with ye?”

Blaze did not want him to know her mother had been buried in unhallowed ground. “I like visiting her alone.”

“I understand.” Ross nodded, though he could not mask his momentary hurt.

Blaze circled the dance floor, heading for the door. She felt guilty not taking her husband with her, but he would have known her mother had taken her own life.

Leaving the ballroom, Blaze nearly bumped into her sister. Raven lifted her hand. The star ruby had darkened, warning of danger.

Blaze looked from the ring to her sister’s face. “The murderer is a wedding guest?”

Raven nodded. “I’m going to find Alex and insist we review the guest list, especially the men with blond hair.”

Leaving her sister, Blaze ducked into the withdrawing room and was relieved to find it deserted. When Celeste MacArthur walked in a moment later, she suffered the uncanny feeling the woman had followed her.

“Ross would have married Amanda,” Celeste said, “if you hadn’t spread your legs and trapped him with a pregnancy.”

Let the confrontations begin
, Blaze thought, steeling herself for combat.

Blaze knew frustrated ambition incited Celeste to lash out at her. Refusing to rise to the bait would frustrate the woman even more.

Blaze gave her a serene smile. “Ross told me he wasn’t interested in Amanda.”

“My stepson did not want to hurt your feelings.” Celeste returned the serene smile with one of her own.

And Blaze realized the MacArthur duchess was experienced in the art of insult. How fortunate for her that her own stepmother, a master of the insult, had tutored her and her sisters.

“My
husband
”—Blaze placed special emphasis on the word—“moved to Rowley Lodge to prevent falling into your marriage trap.”

The older woman faltered for the briefest moment but recovered herself. “Remember, little girl, the marriage vows last only ‘till death us do part.’ Ross may be free sooner than you think.”

Blaze arched a copper brow at the woman. “Are you threatening me?”

“Life is uncertain.”

“Indeed, life
is
uncertain.” Blaze smiled, wanting her to think she was amused. “Women of your advanced age should beware.”

“You are a bastard and—”

“I am also a bitch,” Blaze interrupted, satisfied with the woman’s surprised expression. “Underestimating me could prove unfortunate for a vicar’s daughter. Strange, how rumors spread when one least expects it.”

“How true.” Celeste regained her composure again. “Like someone’s mother being a suicide.”

Blaze managed to keep her expression placid, a lesson learned from her stepmother. “Or a woman murdering her first two husbands.”

“Spread that rumor,” Celeste said, stepping toward her, “and you will regret it.”

Blaze stood her ground. “You don’t frighten me.”

“Oh, what a heartwarming sight. You are becoming better acquainted,” the Duchess of Inverary said, walking across the withdrawing room. “Blaze dear, I thought you might be ill.”

“I feel wonderful,” Blaze said, smiling at her stepmother, “but poor Celeste may need your help. She’s developed a chronic pain in her arse.” With those parting words, she swept out of the withdrawing room.

Leaving the mansion by the rear door, Blaze walked slowly through the formal gardens. The first skirmish in her war with her stepmother-in-law had left her emotionally drained. She knew one thing for certain. The woman was dangerous and highly sensitive about being thought a murderer. Which meant she had probably murdered her husbands, but Blaze doubted anyone would believe her without proof. Her own husband would not thank her for upsetting his father.

Blaze crossed the wide expanse of lawns and circled the gazebo. Then she took the less-traveled path to a small clearing. The tiny area contained two gravestones and a bench.

“Papa?” She had never seen her father here.

The Duke of Inverary glanced over his shoulder and beckoned her forward. “I’m visiting your mother.”

Blaze placed her orange blossom bouquet between the gravestones. One read: GABRIELLE FLAMBEAU, BELOVED OF MAGNUS CAMPBELL, DUKE OF INVERARY. The second gravestone read: JANE SMUDGE, DEVOTED FRIEND.

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you,” Blaze said, sitting beside him.

“Calling you daughter makes me proud,” the duke told her, putting an arm around her shoulder. “You believed in Pegasus when no one else did, you proved bold and brave by jockeying the filly, and you demonstrated true love running down the Rowley Mile trying to stop the race.”

Blaze blushed. “The gossipmongers will feed on that for a long time.”

“Do not forget your husband believed in you and stood beside you every step of the way,” the duke said. “I gave you Pegasus to teach you a lesson about the horse-racing business, but I was the one who learned a lesson.”

“I don’t understand, Papa.”

“You shamed me into remembering what I had forgotten,” her father told her. “Horse racing takes heart and means more than making a profit.”

Blaze nodded in understanding and then asked the question she’d harbored inside for a long time. “Why did you bury Nanny Smudge here?”

“Smudge requested I bury her beside Gabrielle,” he answered. “She’d taken care of your mother all those years and didn’t want her to rest alone.”

Blaze raised a hand to cover her mouth and struggled against the aching emotion. Two teardrops rolled down her cheeks, but her father brushed them aside.

“Smudge described you perfectly,” her father told her. “Your tough exterior hides a tender heart, more sensitive than any of your sisters.” He paused a moment and then added, “Do not worry about your mother and Smudge. The clergy could not refuse blessing Smudge, and the promise of a generous donation persuaded him to bless Gabrielle.”

A noise behind them drew their attention. Ross stood there. “I apologize for interruptin’ but I was worried aboot Blaze.”

The Duke of Inverary rose from the bench and gestured to it. “Sit here, son, and enjoy a few quiet moments with your bride. Roxie will be wondering where I’m hiding.”

“I don’t think so,” Blaze said, her lips turning up in a smile. “I left her calming Celeste in the withdrawing room.”

“Is Celeste ill?” her father asked.

“Celeste discovered a chronic pain in the arse had married into the MacArthur family,” Blaze answered, making them laugh. “She was expecting meekness but got me.”

When the duke started down the path toward the mansion, Ross sat beside her on the bench and put his arm around her. “Like all bullies, Celeste will leave ye alone if ye stand yer ground.”

“I bullied Celeste.” Blaze gave him a sidelong glance, adding, “I threatened her in the withdrawing room.”

He was smiling at her. “That’s my girl.”

“I threatened to spread a rumor that she was a vicar’s daughter and a murderess.”

His smile became a chuckle.

“She did bury two husbands and improve her finances each time she married.”

His chuckle grew into a laugh.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Celeste murdered Charlie and drugged me,” Blaze said. “She is the bone sucker’s mother, after all.”

“Yer the most amazin’ woman I’ve ever met,” Ross told her. “What would Celeste gain?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure that out,” Blaze said, noting his gaze on the gravestones. “Shall we return inside?”

“I’m yer husband now,” Ross said, and gestured to the gravestones. “I want to know everythin’. Ye can start with Jane Smudge if ye want.”