Candice Hern (29 page)

Grace had always been beautiful, but she had blossomed overnight into a radiant creature full of merriment. She smiled constantly. Her gray eyes never stopped twinkling. And she laughed often. That rich, throaty laugh added to the notion that she was his doxy. It was a laugh straight out of the bedroom.

Their first lovemaking had been new and shocking to her, but every one since then had seen her uninhibited, experimental, and even playful. She was open to anything, and he had taught her how to please him as well as herself. He had never been with a woman who was so thoroughly honest in her sexuality, without pretense or artifice, frank in her pleasure, open to providing pleasure to him. It was refreshing to be with someone who was not practiced or jaded, someone who genuinely enjoyed being with him.

Rochdale was accustomed to women who were thrilled by his dangerous, wicked reputation, and used him for adventure. It was different with Grace. She wanted him, openly and honestly. Not for the thrill of the forbidden, but for ... him. She wanted
him
. The realization threatened to suck the air clean out of his lungs.

"We'd better hurry if we are to place your bet," he said, lacing up her stays. "We have already missed the first race."

She looked over her shoulder. "Oh no, tell me we haven't missed Serenity's run."

"Not a chance. I would not have allowed you to distract me if she were running next."

"Ah, but you are so easily distracted, my lord."

She grinned flirtatiously, and bounced about the room like a giddy schoolgirl as she dressed. Her high spirits were infectious, and the two of them left the inn grinning like a couple of fools.

He took her to one of the betting posts, where she placed a small wager on Serenity to win. Since the odds were in Serenity's favor, Grace would recoup very little from her wager, but the very act of placing the bet excited her.

"The only other wager I've ever made in my life," she said, "was the one with you about the line from Proverbs."

"And look where that wager got you."

She smiled and wiggled her eyebrows up and down suggestively. "Yes, look where it got me. In Newmarket with a dashing gamester."

They were jostled and nudged by men eager to place bets. Rochdale kept Grace close at his side as he steered them through the crowd, and she kept her head bowed, as he'd requested. Several gentlemen of his acquaintance approached Rochdale outside the betting post, consulting him on the upcoming races, asking his opinion on various horses, and so on. Grace remained silent by his side. Some gentlemen ignored her completely; others eyed her with interest. Rochdale did not encourage any of them to ask about her or speak to her, and fortunately, they did not.

He'd hired a viewing box from which to watch the race. It was one of the royal boxes, not in use during a privately-funded race, set well above the course and away from the prying eyes of nosy Corinthians. It was large enough to hold a sizable party, but Rochdale had reserved the entire box for just the two of them.

It was ornately decorated in red and gold, but Grace expressed surprise at the shabbiness of the furnishings.

"This doesn't look worthy of royalty to me," she said.

"The crown is responsible for maintenance of the boxes," he told her, "though it cannot be high among their priorities at the moment."

Since no one could see into the box — unless he was riding past on horseback, in which case he would have other things on his mind and in his sights — Grace removed her veil so she could get a better look at the action.

She peppered Rochdale with questions about the track, the rules, the colors – Rochdale's riders always wore black and red – and the horses. She was fascinated by the Judge's Box, a large open-air structure on wheels that was moved from one winning post to another. Their box was adjacent to the current winning post, so they would have a good view of the end of the race.

The courses were short today, only a mile and a half, so there were several races. Grace was overwhelmed by the noise of the first race: the pounding of dozens of hooves on the dirt track, the shouts of the jockeys, the louder shouts from the spectators. As they passed beneath their window, the horses sounded like a thundering herd about to careen smack into the box, and Grace grabbed on to Rochdale as though in fear for her life. By the second time around, she had become accustomed to the din and was sitting on the edge of her chair, caught up in the race, leaning forward to glimpse the winner's colors displayed by the judges.

By the time Serenity's race began, Grace had left her chair altogether and was standing at the window. Rochdale watched his prize mare closely, making sure that O'Malley, the little jockey from Kildare, was not running her too hard or too close. But his attention was drawn to Grace, who was so overcome with excitement when Serenity took the lead that she bounced on her toes and shouted along with the rowdy crowd in the grandstands below, pumping her hand in the air. The finish looked like it would be close, but at the last instant O'Malley whipped the mare into a final sprint, and she crossed the line in the lead by half a length or more.

When the judges waved the red-and-black flag to indicate Rochdale's victory, Grace shrieked and threw her arms around him while still jumping up and down. She rained kisses on his face, laughing joyously, and he lifted her off the ground and swung her around and around.

Rochdale had been watching horse races for most of his life, but he'd never enjoyed a finish more than at that moment. He'd become so involved in the details of breeding and training, and even the complexities of odds and betting, that he'd lost some of the pure enjoyment of the sport. He found it again that day, by watching Grace.

"Oh, John, that was the most exciting thing ever! How stupid that I never thought to go to a horse race before. I can't remember when I've had so much fun. And I won my bet!"

"We must return to a betting post to collect your vast winnings, my dear. And I should go congratulate Serenity and O'Malley."

But she would not let go of him, keeping her arms tight around his neck. "I've had the most wonderful time, John. Thank you for bringing me here with you." And she kissed him, sweetly and briefly, without passion.

His heart did a little dance in his chest as he looked into her bright eyes. In that instant, he knew he was falling in love with her, with this new Grace — passionate and radiant with happiness. No, she was not new. She was
re
newed. The fire and passion had always been there. They just needed letting out. He kissed her back with equal tenderness, and the look in her eyes afterward robbed him of breath.

They left the box arm in arm, and several men shouted out bawdy remarks he wished Grace did not have to hear. But she pressed herself closer against him and laughed. The sound of her sultry laughter brought more whistles and hoots, which made her laugh more. He wondered if she had ever laughed so much as she had in the last two days.

They made their way to a secondary track, where O'Malley was walking Serenity to cool her down. Rochdale put an arm around her slick, warm neck and blew into her nostrils. "You're a fine lady," he crooned softly, so that only she could hear. "The finest there ever was. Thank you for this victory, and all the others as well. You make me so proud. I fear there will never be another like you, my girl. Unless we find a fine Arab worthy to cover you someday. But not for a few years yet. For now, you just keep running like the wind, my fine Irish darling."

He rested his cheek affectionately against her neck and gave her a quick scratch between the ears. He stood back and beamed at her like a proud father. Serenity responded by playfully knocking his hat off. When he bent to pick it up, she nudged his bottom. Grace laughed delightedly and stroked the mare's neck, congratulating her on the win, and for treating her owner like the rogue he was.

As they walked away, Grace said, "Oh, I do like her, John. She has a charming, mischievous personality. Just like her owner."

"I love her madly," Rochdale said. "She is the best horse I ever had."

"And you run her next at Goodwood later in the month?"

"Yes. She goes back to Bettisfont until then."

"I should like to see her run at Goodwood," Grace said. "Perhaps you will invite me."

Rochdale looked at her and grinned. "What a brazen hussy you have become."

She laughed. "I know. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Come along, my little doxy. We must collect your winnings."

They strolled arm in arm to the nearest betting post, waited for the rush of bettors for the next race to disperse, then cashed in her wager. It was only a matter of a few pounds, but Grace giggled with glee at having won at all.

As they turned to leave, Rochdale saw a familiar round figure approaching. Damnation, it was Lord Sheane, with that same ladybird on his arm he'd had with him at the opera. Rochdale quickly glanced at Grace to insure her veil was in place.

He put his arm around her. "Turn your face into my shoulder," he whispered. "A London acquaintance is coming near and will no doubt speak to me. He knows you, for I have seen him at your charity balls and he tried to insinuate himself into our box at the opera. He is just the sort of fellow who will spread tales if he recognizes you. Take care, my dear. Here he comes." He tightened his arm around her and turned her so her face was hidden against his shoulder.

"Rochdale! Well met, old man." Sheane was dressed as usual, in a gaudy waistcoat that served to accentuate his girth. The buxom young redhead on his arm was no less gaudy, with too much jewelry dripping from her neck and too many plumes on her bonnet.

"Sheane." Rochdale nodded an acknowledgment.

"I just saw that mare of yours take the last race," Sheane said. "A fine horse. It would be a shame to lose her, would it not?"

"She ran a good race. But if you will excuse us, I have business to attend to."

"And, if I may be so bold to observe, you also have bigger fish to fry than this bit of muslin clinging to you like lint on velvet. One large Christian fish in particular. Goodwood is less than a month away. Time is running short. Of course, the more you dawdle here, the better it is for me, is it not? My stable awaits its newest occupant."

"Good day to you, Sheane." Rochdale moved away quickly before the wretched fellow could say more.

"What was that all about?" Grace asked when he finally released his death grip on her. "What did he mean about a large Christian fish?"

Rochdale waved away her question with a flick of his fingers. "Nothing to concern you, my dear. It has to do with horse breeding. Euphemisms for certain intimate animal behaviors you would not care to know about, I assure you. Now, let us go see about that purse Serenity just won for me."

* * *

It was surely one of the happiest days of her life. The skies were blue, the sun was bright, and all was right with the world. With her world, anyway. Grace had become a Merry Widow at last, probably the merriest widow of them all. She was so pleased with herself that her cheeks hurt from smiling. She was ready to burst with joy.

All because she had allowed Rochdale to become her lover.

Being with him had changed her even more completely than she had expected. Awakening the passions in her body seemed to have stirred every sense into new life. Everything was more vivid, in the way a shortsighted person might feel when putting on spectacles for the first time. Colors were brighter, sounds clearer, flowers more fragrant, food more flavorful. And she felt as though she wore a new skin. She was sensitive to everything that touched it, aware of the textures of every fabric, aware even of the air upon it. And she relished every new sensation. It seemed she had been slumbering through all of her life, and only now had come awake.

Newmarket, as it happened, was a grand place to be when one's physical being was awakened. There was so much to stimulate the senses. The crowds of people, the horses, the turf, the heath. And Rochdale. Nothing brought her senses to life as he did.

Grace stood to the side as he spoke with a gentleman outside the Jockey Club about the purse Serenity had won. Her eyes greedily drank in the sight of him. She could no longer look at him without picturing the body beneath the finely tailored coat and tight-fitting pantaloons. She was acutely aware now of how tight they really were, aware of every muscle and contour. He was as beautiful an animal as Serenity. Each movement sleek and powerful, sinuous and graceful. She could not take her eyes off him, and was glad the veil shielded her face. If anyone were to see it, they would know she was as smitten as a schoolgirl.

Her feelings for Rochdale were too jumbled up to express. They had spoken of everything together, but not about this, about how they felt. Grace's emotions were so intense, so singular, it had to be love. Or was it simply the rush of her first real sexual encounter — the novelty of pure carnal lust? She thought it was more than that, but was not inclined to examine her feelings more closely, especially since Rochdale had spoken no words of love to her. He would not, of course. This sort of thing was routine for him. If she were to lay bare her confused heart to him, he would no doubt think her naïve and foolish. So she said nothing. But her heart was full and her spirits sang.

They remained at the race course for several hours, taking in a few more races, with Grace placing more bets and winning. They visited the stables again, where Rochdale discussed with Samuel Trask plans for returning Serenity to Bettisfont. When they finally made the walk back to the King's Head, fatique was causing Grace to flag. Considering how little sleep she'd had the night before, it was no wonder.

"I have only just realized," she said as they approached the inn, "that we are staying a second night here. I mean, of course we are, but how strange that I have not been thinking of going back home."

"I had hoped for another night with you," he said. "One night was not enough."

She smiled at him. "No, it was not." How many nights would be enough? How long would this hunger for him last? "Besides, I would not have missed today for all the world. It was such fun, John."