Then Claire recalled the issue at hand. “You cannot sit astride in a manner unsuitable to a female. This was supposed to be a test of ladylike accomplishments.”
“Then you should have invited ladies. But you did not, knowing they would not have come. I did. I am in the contest. I shall ride.”
Fidus did not like the commotion. According to Daniel, he did not like anything or anyone but Harry. Simone spoke softly to him again, stroking his ear, and had Jem give her a leg up. The poor boy looked to be near tears, but he did his job, holding the horse by the halter in case Fidus tried to get rid of the new burden on his back before she was settled in the saddle.
“I’ll just take him around the paddock a bit, to shake the fidgets out.”
“The race is due to start in ten minutes.” Claire pointed to the nearby track Gorham had built. “If you are not there, you are disqualified.”
“Of course.” Simone gave Fidus his head, and he almost took off a nearby gambler’s. Fidus sailed over the fence of the paddock where the trick riding had been held. He kicked up dirt there, knocked over one of the flambeaux, did as many acrobatic moves as Maddy’s horse, but without Simone’s direction or decision. She stayed on his back by luck and skill and sheer determination. When her hat sailed off she laughed and shook out her red hair to flow behind her. She fought Fidus for control, and won enough that she could turn him. Someone ran to open the paddock gate for her. This time the stallion went through it, instead of over.
“Good boy.” He wasn’t even breathing hard by the time they reached the starting line. Claire was.
The ballet dancer had pretended to swoon when she thought Simone would be thrown, so she could collapse into Danforth’s arms rather than race. Sandaree bowed low to Simone from outside the oval ring. Jem was as white as a ghost. Harry hadn’t come.
*
Harry dressed, looked at the clock, and knew he had a few minutes. From a window at the end of the hall he could see the large crowd around the stables, Gorham’s servants, villagers, and guests. He could not see Simone over the heads of the men, and hoped she had not lost the opportunity to ride. He regretted her disappointment, but that couldn’t be helped. He did see the Indian girl in her distinctive dress standing alone, then spotted Danforth placing bets with a badly dressed man in a straw hat. So he went and searched Danforth’s rooms.
He did not have time to be as thorough as he wished, but he found nothing, no hiding places, no journals or letters. Damn. Then he heard a loud cheer from outside so he left and loped off around the house, past the stables, and to the track just in time to see Gorham raise his pistol.
Oh, hell.
He couldn’t get there fast enough to stop them. Couldn’t watch. Couldn’t not watch. Couldn’t breathe. Bloody, bloody hell.
Daniel hurried over to him. “I tried. I swear, I tried. Then I looked everywhere for you.”
Gorham fired in the air. The horses kicked up so much dust, no one could see the start, only a white streak shooting ahead, Claire’s Arabian. Then four other horses set out to chase them twice around the oval. Simone and Fidus were left at the starting line, with the black stallion trying to leave the ring altogether. Fidus was circling, crow-hopping, rearing. The crowd groaned. Harry tasted blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten his lip.
Harry watched Simone lean over his horse’s shoulder and talk to him. Whatever she said must have worked because Fidus gathered himself, took one mighty leap, then set off at a gallop on the right course. In seconds he flew past the slower horses, past the spectators for the first lap, then he slowed down. He did not seem to notice Simone’s heels dig in any more than he would have noticed a gnat. The watchers shouted, as if to urge Fidus on. Or was that Harry yelling? His tongue was too numb to tell.
Claire was half the track ahead of them, on her final lap. She turned to look back to check her position, and then she held up her whip and waved it at Simone in triumph.
Fidus did not like whips.
He increased his speed a notch. Simone leaned forward, her weight on her legs, not his back, as if that mattered to the massive stallion. They gained ground.
Claire started using her whip on the Arabian. Fidus lengthened his stride. They were almost at the mare’s tail.
“Don’t you go getting ideas now,” Simone warned when his ears pricked forward. “You are racing, not courting. And that is a lady. You have to ask permission. Now go impress her!”
He went. And defeated the mare by two lengths. Of course Simone couldn’t bring him to a halt for another half of the oval, until Harry stepped onto the track in front of them.
Simone was afraid he’d be trampled. Then she saw the look on his face and was afraid he wouldn’t be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Aren’t you going to kiss me for congratulations? Everyone is watching.”
Harry recalled the rest of the world, not just Simone and the horse and the dust and the pounding of his heart. He pulled her off the horse and into his arms. Then he kissed her, hard and fast, without tenderness. She tasted of track dirt and still he felt aroused.
“You’re alive.”
For now. Simone was glad he held her, because her bones were like butter. She’d never ridden so hard or so fast. Or so close to death. Between the race and his kiss, she’d never felt so exhilarated, so sure she was right where she belonged: in his arms, in the winner’s circle. “I won!”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Harry said when well-wishers came toward them. He put his arm around her in case she thought to escape, and tried to put a smile on his face for the spectators. When Jeremy came to take Fidus, he stopped trying to look delighted that his hired companion had stolen his horse, right under his servant’s nose. “I’ll talk to you later also.”
“She told me and Mr. Stamfield that you gave permission.”
“And you believed her?” He turned to where Daniel was taking Fidus’s other side, but not even the stallion’s great size could hide Daniel from Harry’s piercing blue eyes. “
You
believed her?”
“Hell, no, but what could I say? Asides, you should have been there to stop her. Your horse, your lady and all.”
Harry was already annoyed with himself for letting the female out of his sight, especially when he knew she was counting on the race to add to her nest egg. “Aren’t you expected somewhere?” he asked Daniel. “That family business we spoke of last night?”
With one more look at his furious cousin, Daniel decided it was time for him to leave as soon as he collected his winnings, and hers.
“You bet on the gelding?” Harry asked her.
“I bet on myself.”
Daniel returned with a fistful of brass that he poured into Simone’s hat someone had recovered for her. The black bonnet couldn’t be worn again and its feather was missing altogether, but Simone thought it looked far more beautiful as a money pouch than it did on her head.
Daniel claimed an appointment in London, made a hasty bow in light of his cousin’s blue-dagger glance, and promised to be back for the ball.
Lord Gorham brought Simone the winner’s heavy leather purse and kissed the air above her smelly riding glove. “Good race, Miss Royale, even if it cost me a fortune and Claire’s good will.” He sighed. “Not for the first time, or the last, I suppose. My darling is not a good loser, I fear. Harry, I’ll be speaking to you about using your stallion as stud. Both of you owe me that for cutting up my peace.”
Harry did not say yes or no, but Simone whispered to Gorham: “I promised Fidus the mare. That’s why he ran so fast.”
Gorham went away laughing, determined to avoid his not-so-darling, smoldering mistress for the rest of the day.
Three men handed Harry his winnings, then the straw-hatted oddsmaker brought him more.
“You wagered on me?”
“I thought I was betting on my gelding.” He checked to see the count was right, then added it to the pile in Simone’s bonnet. She kept one hand beneath the hat, in case the stitching gave way under the weight of all the pound notes and gold and silver coins. She had no idea how much money was in her hands, but she was rich!
“You’re giving your winnings to me?”
“No, I am paying in advance for flowers for your funeral if you ever do anything that crazy again. Devil take it, Si—sweetheart, I thought you were going to be killed any second.”
“You care?”
Now that Harry was a little calmer, and had a glass of wine in his hand from the victory toast, he admitted he cared. “A broken neck could ruin all my plans. I’d have no excuse for staying on till the end of the party next week.”
“No, you care.” Simone stood on her toes and kissed him again, softly, slowly. “Say it.”
“I care.” The words tasted as sweet as her lips, without the track dirt.
*
Luncheon was a delight for everyone. Claire did not attend. Without the hostess to maintain the manners of polite society, the company relaxed. They talked across the table, used their fingers to pass rolls, and speculated on plans for the afternoon.
Alice thought they ought to hold the billiards tournament without Claire, so someone else had a chance to win. Since she’d spent half her life in a gaming hell, Alice was confident of her skill, if the baby did not get in the way. Ruby was all for the archery contest. She’d been practicing.
Simone felt she had to discourage them. Holding either event would not be fair to Miss Hope. Everyone laughed to think of Claire and fairness in the same breath, even Lord Gorham at the head of the table.
He raised his glass to her, “A real lady.” Since she won, he said, she ought to decide the afternoon’s activity.
Simone wanted nothing more than to spend the time with Harry. She thought about getting lost in the famous maze with him, but knew the others had no desire to tromp through high hedges for no prize. Besides, Miss Susan Baylor announced that she had to practice her ballet routine, with Miss Hanson at the pianoforte. Maura Doyle giggled and said she was also going to dance that evening, an Irish jig, to her own singing. She supposed, she said with another giggle directed to her lover, Lord Caldwell, that she ought to practice.
If those two practiced the jig that afternoon, pigs would sprout wings. Simone ignored the smirks and titters and her own desire to be with Harry. “Does anyone play chess?”
That received more hoots of laughter. What did she think this was, a club for retired generals? Only Gorham and Harry and Captain Entwhistle were willing to play. Simone’s next suggestion was a drive to the nearby village. She’d heard it was market day, with farmers and peddlers bringing their wares to the little town. She wanted to speak to Harry first, but she finally had an idea for her performance and needed to make a few purchases. For the first time in her life, she had more than pennies to spend on herself without worrying about rent or food or Auggie’s education. In fact, she’d send him a pound note that very day, as an early birthday gift.
The women were happy at the chance to shop for fripperies. The goods could never match the quality of London shops, they all agreed, but they might as well look for a new ribbon or a bit of lace trimming, perhaps a bonnet if one of the local women was talented. Alice said she needed to start buying fabric for baby clothes, and Daisy offered to help with the sewing. Sandaree really needed a warmer cloak, so she asked Lord Gorham for some of her money that he was holding. She did not wish to get further in debt to Lord James Danforth. Miss Baylor decided she needed no practice; she needed a new feather for her costume more. Miss Hanson had already memorized the ballet piece, and thought she could get her banker to fund a new pair of gloves, at the least. Six pairs of eyes lit up in hope of finding a local jewelry store.
The gentlemen were not as enthusiastic about the proposed jaunt, once they heard the ladies’ eagerness to spend their blunt. Lord Gorham urged them on with hints of the excellence of the local pub’s ale, and the chance of prime horseflesh for sale.
Lord Gorham was going to stay behind to help Claire get over her headache—someone cleared his throat; Maura giggled—but he sent for carriages to carry his guests, and a wagon for their purchases.
Harry regretted that he had too much correspondence to deal with, so could not go along.
“Are you still angry at me?” Simone wanted to know. She’d thought they could speak about last night, the race, and her performance while walking through the village.
“Not at all,” he said, but his mouth was twisted in the way Simone recognized as evidence of his displeasure. “In fact, buy yourself something from me.” He reached into his pocket.
She stopped him with a hand on his arm and for a moment she could see the old Harry of her imagination, laughing and holding her hand. She hoped she had not lost that dream altogether with her daring, and her lie. “No, I am well to pass, remember. And you have done so much already. I shall buy you a present. Do you need anything?”
“Peppermint drops.”
“For your digestion?”
“For my sanity.”
Before she left, Simone handed him her spare reticule that was full of her winnings, minus what she thought she might need that afternoon. “Not that I do not trust the servants, but I cannot feel right leaving such a sum lying about.”
He took the heavy bag and watched her go, regretting not being at her side. He’d like to purchase her a new riding hat, a new necklace, a horse of her own, a pair of silk stockings he could ease down her shapely legs. The reticule fell to the floor.
“A lovely woman,” Gorham noted while Harry recovered the purse and his composure.
“Very.”
“A cut above your usual companion at Lydia Burton’s, eh?”
“I am beginning to think Miss Noma Royale is a cut above everyone’s companion, Miss Hope excepted, of course.”
“Too bad she’s damaged goods,” Gorham said, speaking more to himself than to Harry, thinking more of Claire than Simone. “She’d make a deuced good wife.”
“Ah, but would I make her, that is, any woman, a good husband? I doubt it. Nor do I consider Miss Royale in any way imperfect.”
“No gentleman would marry her.”