Four Nights With the Duke(50)

Gently he slid Mia's head from his shoulder and stood up. His blood had a  slow thrum, as if he'd never experienced pleasure before. As if the  only thing worth doing in the world was kissing the woman in his bed.

Of course, he'd felt this much pleasure before. At the moment he  couldn't remember precisely an occasion, but there must have been other  women who drove him into a frenzy of lust.

He pulled on clothing without bothering to bathe or to shave. Jafeer  would make his debut appearance at the races in the afternoon, on a  track only two hours from Rutherford Park, virtually next door to  Starberry Court, Thorn's country house.

He had to retreat to the stables and recover whatever the hell it was he'd lost last night. Part of his heart, maybe.

That was unacceptable.

He strode down the stairs, waving away Gaunt, except the man wouldn't be  brushed off and trotted after him as he burst out the front door.

"Your Grace!"

Vander turned around with a growl. "What is it?"

"You asked me to find out"-the butler bent over, gasping-"about Her Grace's fiancé; do you remember?"

Of course Vander remembered, though he'd never mentioned the request to  Mia. Why worry her with the idea that Sir Richard may have killed her  beloved Edward?

"He's alive," Gaunt said, holding his side. "Blimey, Your Grace, you walk faster than a sow in heat."

"Excellent," Vander said, dismissing the subject of Edward Reeve from his mind. "Glad to hear it."

"But he's been in prison!" Gaunt said, raising his voice.

Vander froze. "Prison? Where?"

"Old Tolbooth, Edinburgh! The Bow Street Runner only found him after the man organized a prison break."

"Trumped-up charges," Vander surmised. No man would voluntarily leave  Mia. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd always known that.

Gaunt nodded. "Indeed, that is so, Your Grace. The Runner will stand  Crown's evidence that Sir Richard Magruder had Mr. Reeve sent to prison  on a fallacious charge, under another name, without due recourse of law.  Mr. Reeve almost died due to a head wound he suffered while being  captured, and the charge will include attempted murder."

Vander cursed under his breath.

"It seems that Mr. Reeve was transported to Old Tolbooth under a  falsified order stating that he had been given a life sentence and that  he was a recalcitrant, lawless criminal unsafe to keep in England."  Gaunt sniffed. "As if Scottish prisons were any better than English  ones. He was about to be transported to Botany Bay when he made his  escape."                       
       
           



       

Naturally the man broke out of prison to return to Mia. To return to  Charlie, too. Reeve had the right to both of them. Nausea broke over  Vander, but he fought through it.

"Where is he now?" he asked Gaunt.

"Mr. Reeve is on his way here, Your Grace." Gaunt's face was agonized.  "To see the duchess. Likely he'll arrive here tomorrow morning; the  Runner sent a messenger ahead."

"Right," Vander said. A strange calm had descended on him. Vander had  one more day with her. One more night. "Not a word to Her Grace."

Gaunt's brow creased.

"I will not have her disappointed again, if the man doesn't appear,"  Vander said grimly. "I will inform her myself, tomorrow morning."

He had felt like this before: at age nine, after his father supposedly  mistook him for a burglar and knocked him into the scullery wall; again  one year ago, when the High Constable arrived to report that his mother  was dead. "Prepare a bedchamber but tell no one the identity of our  possible visitor."

"You don't plan to inform her until tomorrow morning?" Gaunt asked.

If then.

The last thing Vander wanted to witness was the dawning joy on Mia's  face when she learned that Reeve had never meant to jilt her or to  abandon Charlie. That her beloved Edward adored them both, and had  broken out of prison to return to them.

He himself would have broken out of the Tower of London to return to Mia.

"No," he replied, as the truth slammed into him: he was as enthralled by  her as his father had been with his mother. The late duke had died  within days of the news of his duchess' death, as if the mere fact she  was no longer in the world made him defenseless to pneumonia.

And yet his mother had been in love with another man. His wife, the current duchess, was also in love with another.

In short, he had somehow managed to replicate the domestic ménage à trois that had sent him to Eton reeling with rage.

Right, then.

He had one day left. One night. Suddenly, the irony of it struck him. Tonight would be his fourth night with Mia.

Fourth and final.

"Please inform the household that I shall escort her and Charlie to the  Nestleford Races to see Jafeer run his debut. We will depart in an hour  or so."

The butler nodded.

"Gaunt," Vander warned, "I shall be extremely unhappy if even the  slightest hint of this news were to reach Her Grace before tomorrow  morning. Have I made myself clear?" He thought he detected pity in  Gaunt's eyes, but he didn't give a damn.

"The duchess will hear nothing from me, Your Grace. I would note,  however, that there is a chance that Mr. Reeve will waste no time. He  may arrive earlier than tomorrow morning."

"We will not be here," Vander said. "We shall spend the night at Mr.  Dautry's residence, Starberry Court, as it is close to the racecourse.  As always, if guests arrive at Rutherford Park, make them comfortable  until I return."

Gaunt nodded and Vander turned to go back upstairs. He wanted to prepare  Jafeer, and a hundred other tasks awaited him in the stables as well.

But first, he wanted to wake Mia.

In his own way.





Chapter Twenty-eight




The ducal household was not ready to leave for the races in an hour; at  least, the duke and duchess were not, since they were still ensconced in  their bedchamber and no one dared enter.

But a couple of hours later, the house and stables were bustling.  Charlie was wild with excitement to see his first race. Dobbie's leash  was tied to his crutch and the two of them were milling about in front  of the house. Chuffy too had made it downstairs at an unwontedly early  hour, resplendent in a gaudy saffron coat and fawn breeches.

Besides Jafeer, the Pindar Stables was running two geldings and a filly.  Grooms ran hither and thither with arms full of the duke's colors;  jockeys strode up and down, striking their thighs with their crops.

Mia could barely take it all in. Vander was the calm center of the  storm: servants, grooms, jockeys swirled about him. For his part, Jafeer  did some sidling and complaining, until Mia and Charlie joined him.

Mia leaned on his cart and Charlie actually climbed inside and sat back  against the low wall to rest his leg. Jafeer settled down instantly and  looked about with an alert, interested expression.

"He'll do," Mulberry said, stopping briefly. "If you'd told me a week  ago, Your Grace, that Jafeer would tolerate a child near him, I'd have  said you were daft, begging your pardon."

Charlie had brought a small notebook with him, and was writing down  everything he overheard about horses and racing, because-as he had  explained to Mia-he meant to train the finest racehorses in all England  someday. "Just as the duke does!"                       
       
           



       

As if answering Mulberry, Jafeer leaned down and snuffled Charlie's hair.

"Jafeer has adopted my nephew," Mia said with some pride.

"That's right," Mulberry affirmed. "You and he are his herd." He leaned  over and patted Jafeer's neck. "I wouldn't be surprised at all if he won  his race this evening. He's got the heart for it now."

Jafeer's coat was shining and he looked like a king among horses, one who could race the wind.

Once they reached the Nestleford racecourse, Vander escorted Mia and  Charlie to his special box-which had its own footman-and left them  there. "Thorn and India will be along at some point," he told her.

Something was odd about Vander's manner, but Mia told herself it was  probably nerves over the race. While he exhibited no obvious signs of  apprehension, he had paid more for Jafeer than had ever been spent in  England on a single horse. Of course he felt some tension.

Journalists from every newspaper in the kingdom including, of course,  The Sporting News, were running up and down the racecourse. As far as  she could tell, no one was speaking of anything but Jafeer. Chuffy and  Charlie were leaning over the front of the box, eavesdropping  enthusiastically on passersby.

Mia wore a new gown. Thankfully, her breasts were fairly well covered.  She had a shawl as well, and between that and her strongest corset, she  felt quite pretty.