Authors: Newmarket Match
Anita Mills (20 page)
It was late by the time the carriage drew up in front of Standen House, so much so that Harriet despaired of finding her husband at home. She’d rehearsed her speech a hundred times in her mind, planning what she would say to him, and now it appeared she’d have to wait. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she scarce noted the fond gazes that passed between O’Neal and Millie.
“Do you think he will have gone to one of his clubs?” she asked anxiously. “I knew we should not have eaten at that inn.”
“Here now, yer ladyship—’tis angered his honor’d be if we was to bring ye all the way here without feedin’ ye, wouldn’t he? No, ’tis early yet fer the city—his honor don’t go till at least eight. And who’s t’ say he don’t mean to be home, anyways?”
As the carriage pulled into the drive at the side of the house to disgorge its passengers, Richard came out the door. And, standing beneath the yellow glow of the gaslight, he looked like the Corinthian he was. His black hair brushed into a rather wavy Brutus, his snowy cravat perfectly tied, his evening coat smoothed over his perfect shoulders as only Weston could do it, he stood for a moment staring as she stepped down.
“Harry! What the devil … ?”
“You have not sold Two Harry yet, have you?” she demanded without preamble.
“I am sorting the offers still.”
“You did not ask me if I wished to sell my half, did you?”
Incredibly, she was smiling as he’d not seen her smile since he’d come back. His eyes traveled over her approvingly. “Harry, did you come to make me an offer?”
“Yes. But I cannot stand out here in the cold waiting to be asked in, you know. O’Neal, you will see to the bags, if you please, as I do not see a footman just now.”
The Irishman looked up, catching Richard’s still-stunned expression, and winked, bringing an understanding smile.
“I thought you would wish to be rid of the horse, my dear.”
She stepped past him and pushed open the door. “Alas, you thought incorrectly then. How much is the best offer?”
“Ten thousand pounds, but I think I can do better still. Harry, you did not come all this way to stop me from selling Two Harry, did you?”
“Not entirely. Richard, is there someplace where we may be private?”
A wicked gleam sprang to his eyes and his smile broadened. “My dear, I can think of one for certain.”
“I should like to settle Two Harry first, I think.”
“Then by all means let it be the front saloon—there’s a fire already laid in it.” He reached to open the door and stood back to let her pass. “Ten thousand pounds is a deuced lot of money, my dear.”
“Fiddle. If you sent me but half his winnings, he should be worth much more than that.” She turned to remove her pelisse, bonnet, and gloves, laying them on a small table. Her heart pounded and her speeches deserted her as he shut the door and moved closer. “I… I’d like to buy your half, Richard.”
“Harry, he threw you! He cost you the child!”
“Yes, but it wasn’t his fault, Richard—it wasn’t his fault! I … I …” She looked up, meeting his eyes briefly, then looked away. “He did not want to jump the hedgerow, and—God forgive me—I made him jump. All these weeks that I have punished you, I … I have punished myself also. The fault was mine, Richard.” A hard lump formed in her throat, threatening her composure. “Two Harry did not want to jump,” she repeated in a whisper.
“Harry … Harry …” His arms closed around her, drawing her close.
“Can you forgive me? Can you?” she sobbed against his chest.
“Can you forgive me?” he countered softly as he swayed back and forth, rocking her. “Can we begin again?”
“You have not answered me,” she choked. “I’m telling you that I lost your child.”
“And I grieve for him, Harry—believe me, I do—but I grieve more for you. If anything should happen to you, I could not go on.” He lifted her chin with his knuckle, searching her face. “Fool that I am, can you still love me?” he asked, his voice suddenly quite husky.
“Oh, yes!” And then, with the perverse nature of woman, she wanted more. She wanted to hear once more what Millie had said. “But have you not forgotten something yourself?” she asked, leaning back against his arm and smiling through her tears.
“Ah, the declaration. All right, Harriet Standen, light of my existence, source of my joys and sorrows—”
“Richard!”
“Harry, you silly goose!” he murmured fondly, lifting her and swinging her around in his arms. “Of course I love you! You have well and fairly caught me! I am the happiest of men! What else would you have me say? That I shall worship you until I die? I shan’t, you know, but I’m willing to say it if ’twill make you happy.”
“Really, Richard—”
“Oh, that does not mean I shall not love you forever, Harry, for I shall. But do not be expecting me to dote on you from afar, for I mean to be right there with you every day of our life together. We shall live in each other’s pockets, and—”
“Richard, ’tis unfashionable, and—”
“You don’t wish me to live in your pocket?” he asked, setting her down.
“Of course I do—I shall like it excessively.” Her arms crept up to clasp his neck and pull his head down. “But I want you to make no promises you will come to regret.”
“ ‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,’ or so the bard said, as you will recall.” His face was but inches from hers, so close he could feel her breath against his cheek. “But there have been too many words between us, I think,” he added softly, leaning closer to touch her lips with his.
The hurt and the bitterness melted in the heat of a single kiss. She clung to him, her hands clutching his shoulders, as the nearly forgotten fire surged between them, igniting a passion that left her breathless. And when he finally released her, she had to hold on to his arm for support.
“When we get back from Italy, Harry, I’m going to buy you the finest gowns to be had, and we’ll take in every rout and masquerade, every glittering ball, until you are dizzy from it.”
“You will not regret you did not get an Incomparable?” she asked, trying not to giggle.
“Harry, I’ve got an Original—anyone can find an Incomparable, but only I shall have you. I shall have the only viscountess named Harry in the world.”
He kissed her again, a long, searching kiss, blotting out everything but the nearness of him. As his hands moved over her body, she felt again the thrill of being touched by him. And with the last tiny bit of rational thought, she managed to whisper against the warmth of his skin, “Will you mind very much if I should prefer to take my horse to Newmarket?” Then, feeling his body go taut, she slid her arm up his back again, holding him close. “I’d rather race than dance any day, I think.”
“The 2,000 Guineas?” he murmured, reaching around her to unhook her gown. “If you register your half, I scarce see how my half can refuse to go.”
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