How to Marry a Rake (19 page)

Stephen nodded.

‘It started me thinkin’. Then I heard a name.’ He sighed. ‘And I knew.’

Puzzled, Stephen frowned. ‘A name?’

‘A name that can only mean bad news. A man who goes by the handle o’ Peck.’ Cray was watching closely for Stephen’s reaction. ‘Heard o’ him?’

‘No. Should I have?’

‘Depends. He’s an ugly sort. The worst. Peck is short for Pecked to Death, which is what he done to the first toff what he killed—killed him slow with his knife, bit by bit.’

‘Charming.’ Stephen grimaced. And then he stilled. ‘You heard this man’s name in connection with Pratchett?’

‘In connection with Ryeton. You should understand, Peck’s name is not well known. The man’s practically a trade secret for unsavory sorts. He keeps his head low and his hands dirty. The men who hire him are usually desperate enough to agree to his outrageous terms.’

‘And now Ryeton’s hired him?’

‘That’s what I heard. And I asks myself, why would the earl need a man like Peck on his payroll? And in his stables, no less?’

Stephen’s heart rate ratcheted. ‘I think we can both make a good guess why, can’t we?’

‘He’ll ruin me.’ Cray’s shoulders drooped. ‘I’ve won and lost fortunes in this business, but if that horse races and wins—it will finish me. I won’t have a
sou
left to my name.’ His expression hardened. ‘And somehow I doubt that I’m the only fool he’s convinced with his play-actin’. He’s goin’ to bring that horse out in the
morning—miraculously rescued! Back from the dead! Ryeton will be swimming in sovereigns by night’s fall tomorrow.’

Stephen sat, silently marvelling. It was a brilliant plan. He could scarce believe Ryeton had nearly pulled it off.

Cray growled low in his throat. ‘It’s no more than I deserve, lettin’ a dastard like Ryeton get one over on me like that.’

Stephen stood. ‘You won’t be ruined if I stop him.’

‘And how do you propose to do that?’ The leg sounded amused at his presumption.

‘Simple. I’m going to search the earl’s stables. And I’m going to steal Pratchett back.’

Cray laughed. ‘You’ve got spirit, boy, but Peck is dead skilled with a knife. You wouldn’t make it within three feet of him without his blade piercin’ yer heart.’

His mind was racing. ‘Then I won’t go alone.’

‘Damn me if I wouldn’t join you—were it not for this blasted leg.’

‘Maybe next time.’ Stephen turned to go. ‘Thank you for sharing your information.’

Cray watched him go. Stephen was nearly to the door when he barked out his name. ‘Manning?’

Stephen stopped at the urgent tone in the leg’s voice.

‘Come here and pick up one of those damned pieces of paper from the floor.’

Impatient to be off, Stephen nearly refused. But then he thought better of it. He did as the man asked.

‘I’m making up a plan of Ryeton’s stables for you.’ Cray had pulled a pencil from his pocket and started
scribbling. ‘You fetch the satchel out from under this chair.’

Stephen did.

‘Outside pocket. Small leather bag. It’s yours.’

‘What is it?’ He held the bag up.

‘Opium balls. What?’ Cray barked at the expression on Stephen’s face. ‘I told ye I never poisoned a horse, not that I never drugged one.’ He cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘And be thankful that I did, for you won’t be getting Pratchett to go anywhere with you without one o’ them.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Wait a minute. Hand it back.’ He took the bag and hefted it. ‘Let me think. Too little and it will act as a stimulant. Too much and he’ll be passed out on the stable floor. Let me …’ He fetched out a few of the pellets inside and stuffed them in his pocket. ‘There. That should be good to make sure he’s only drowsy and docile.’

Stephen rubbed his brow. ‘I can’t believe I’m even thinking about doing this.’

Cray grinned. ‘Yer father would be proud.’ He handed over the map. ‘One more thing. Peck’s a right fearsome opponent. But he does got a weakness for fine French brandy.’

A slow smile spread over Stephen’s face.

‘Excellent.’ A plan was already formulating in his head. ‘I know just the person to serve it to him.’

Chapter Sixteen

L
ady Toswick had planned a small soirée for the evening. What she got was a genuine crush—practically unheard of in Suffolk. But all the signs were there. Too many people stuffed into rooms too small to hold them? Stifling heat from hundreds of candles and a similar number of bodies? A riot of colour from flashing jewels, elaborate gowns and embroidered waistcoats? The list was complete.

It was to her great good fortune that nearly everyone was in a jovial mood. The first day of racing had been accounted a huge success. The races went off as scheduled, many of the favourites had won, but there had been enough surprises to give everyone something to talk about. Not to mention the fact that there was still all of the excitement of the Guineas to look forward to tomorrow.

Mae, for one, was glad of all the excitement and anticipation in the atmosphere, mainly because it masked her own agitation so well. She stood with her
mother and several other ladies near the door to Lady Toswick’s largest parlour, watching people enter. She took her gaze off of the entrance long enough to glance at her mother. No matter what else might happen, there was one reason why she would always remember this week fondly—her mother’s new-found confidence in her circle of friends.

Her father approached, towing yet another eligible young gentleman in his wake. Mae suppressed a sigh. This one held a partnership in a bank and part-ownership of a four-year-old that had won his heat today. But Mae held absolutely no interest in him. She kept half an ear on the conversation and kept watch on the new arrivals. After a few minutes of mundane chit-chat, the gentleman retreated. Her father shot her a look of disgust.

She glanced back towards the door, watching for Stephen, but so far there had been no sign of him.

‘Good heavens, but I recognise that look,’ her mother said. The wistfulness in her tone caused Mae to look back. Her father had departed, no doubt in search of another candidate to offer up.

‘I’m sorry, Mama. What was that you said?’

‘Perhaps I should say that I recognise the feeling behind that look. I’m sure my face held just the same expression every day—as I waited for your father to pass by
my
father’s shop on his way home from the dockyards.’

Embarrassed heat rose upwards from her chest. Mae was sure her cheeks must have gone red, but she didn’t deny the implication behind her mother’s words.

‘Your father and I have worried for you, Mae. It seems like for a very long time.’

‘I’m fine, Mama.’

‘You certainly seem happier since we returned to England.’ A frown marred her mother’s still smooth brow. ‘Did we do the wrong thing, taking you away?’

Mae reached out to grasp her mother’s hand. ‘Absolutely not. I needed to get away. To grow up, I suppose. You did what you thought was right and I never thanked you for it. But I will now.’ She leaned down and kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘Thank you.’

‘I love you, Mae.’ It came out in a whisper.

‘As I do you. I’m sorry if it was a hardship for you—all the travel, I mean.’

‘I would do anything for you, dear.’ Her mother smiled. ‘But I am glad to be home.’ The smile faded and Mae could see that nerves still lurked. ‘Tell me just one thing, please. He is a good man, isn’t he?’

‘Who?’

‘The one you are watching and waiting for.’

‘I’m not …’ Mae started to protest, but she stopped herself. ‘He is, Mama,’ she said softly. ‘He’s not perfect. He’s flippant and can be horrendously bossy, and sometimes he does things that don’t seem to make a bit of sense. He hasn’t a clue what he wants, and he makes me insane, so that I don’t either.’ She sighed. ‘But I know he’s a good man. With all my heart.’

‘Your father and I only want you to be safe and happy, dear.’

‘I’m trying.’ She took her mother’s hand again and squeezed. ‘But it may not be easy.’

Her mother’s chuckle held a definite ring of irony. ‘It never is with you, Mae.’

Impatient, Stephen pushed his way through the crowd gathered at Titchley. Who knew that there were even this many people
in
Newmarket?

He forced his way into the largest parlour. The air was close and warm in here, despite the energetic waving of many fans. Frustration loomed, but he swatted it away. At first he had planned on missing this gathering entirely. But it would be hours before he could do anything about Peck, and he didn’t plan on doing it alone, in any case. He craned his neck to look for the real reason he had taken the time to suit himself out in evening dress.

Mae. He couldn’t wait to share with her what he’d discovered. Very privately, he admitted to himself that he was hoping to inspire a particular look upon her face—that old expression of pleasure and admiration that used to grate on his nerves, but now he found he longed to see again.

A space opened up to the right. Stephen wormed his way along the wall. Nearly halfway in, he paused to scan the crowd again. Now at last he caught a glimpse of Mae. She stood across the room, speaking with her mother. Stephen pulled up short, stunned just a little. How beautiful she looked. He needed a moment just to savour it. My God. When had he begun catching his breath at the sight of her?

She was dressed in a gorgeous, cream-coloured gown, cut tight and clinging about the bodice and on to the tiny, cropped sleeves. Rich, scarlet brocade
sashed her small waist and trimmed her skirts. Matching creamy kid gloves encased her arms, fingertip to elbow, but above and beyond lay a gleaming expanse of soft, glowing skin.

Everything tightened at the sight of her. He felt he might drown under a great wave of pure
want.

His view was blocked, suddenly. Her father had stepped up next to her and brought another man along with him. Stephen craned to see. He waited, fists clenched as the introductions were made and the small talk began. Stephen’s blood began to sing, a dark song of impatient possession. He took a step towards them.

And the gentleman turned in profile and Stephen realised just whom it was. Barnett, a horse breeder of some renown and heir to the Marquess of Badesworth.

Silent and eloquent, Stephen began to swear. Damn and blast her mission and his own doubts. Deep down, though, he knew that wasn’t really what was bothering him. Mae was not the sort of woman to be swayed by a title.

But he was beginning to wonder just what would sway her. She’d said she was searching for a husband. Yet to his eyes she appeared to be more vested in the search for Pratchett. She hadn’t shown any marked interest in any gentleman he knew of, save perhaps for Matthew Grange.

Stephen ignored the surge of irritation that rose up at the thought.
He
was the one she’d been kissing, rolling about in the hay with, tempting beyond all reason. And yet he had the sinking fear that Mae had only been exploring passion with the same zest and zeal with which she pursued everything else in life. After all,
in her eyes, who could be safer than the man who had never wanted her?

But it was becoming clear he did want her, and not just for a roll in the hay. He was also beginning to wonder if the unthinkable had happened, and for the first time,
Mae
did not know what she truly wanted.

She had said she only wished to be happy. If he was certain of anything it was that she deserved no less. She deserved to fall in love and spend her life using those prodigious skills of hers to drive her husband to distraction—and spoil him rotten and make him blissfully happy. He wanted to be that man. He felt better for making the admission to himself. But could he do it without making her miserable, as she said, for the rest of her life? He just didn’t know.

Mae glanced up just then and caught sight of him. He relaxed a little as her face lit up. She bent and said something to her mother, excused herself from the group and started towards him.

He moved forwards as well, but they found themselves caught, with the crowd working against them. The countess’s musicians had begun to play and footmen were clearing a space for dancing. Mae was caught in the flow of those wishing to dance as they filed eagerly in. Stephen was stuck behind the column of others moving to escape.

He craned his neck and met her gaze. Heat sprang to life between them, tangling through the throng, connecting them in some elemental and deeply satisfying way. Doubt receded. She smiled. He shrugged, then cocked his head towards the back of the room and pointed to a bank of potted trees.

They were moving then, following invisible strands and angling toward each other. Suddenly he’d arrived and she was pushing past a group of spectators. Eyes dancing, she reached for his hands.

‘Stephen,’ she gasped.

At the same time he began, ‘Mae—’

‘It’s Ryeton!’

Their words emerged in unison, and so did their shocked laughs. Stephen, rueful, shook his head. Trust Mae to steal his thunder! But that thought faded as he took her in. There it was, the look he’d been waiting for, but altered slightly. She radiated surprise and delight, but that edge of anxiety that he remembered from long ago was gone. It made him glad. It was so much better, more fulfilling, to meet as equals.

‘We’re a pair, aren’t we?’ He didn’t give her a chance to answer. Instead he tugged and pulled her a little farther into the corner. Suddenly conscious of the many eyes in the room, he dropped her hands.

‘Listen, Mae,’ he said urgently. ‘You were right all along. Ryeton is financially strapped.’

‘Yes, all the signs were there at the Ryetons’ estate today. It looks as if they’ve been selling off valuables.’

‘Probably to raise mercenary fees,’ Stephen replied sourly. ‘I would have never have suspected the earl of such a nasty piece of business. He hired a thug to do the dirty work, kidnap the horse and keep his secrets. I have to admit, it’s brilliant in its own way. The price has long since gone out on that thoroughbred to win the Guineas. But Ryeton is betting on him, and if he produces Pratchett and wins—he could collect a fortune several times over.’

‘So that’s it!’ There was wonder in her voice and a grudging respect. ‘I’d worked out it was Ryeton, but I couldn’t make out how he was going to profit on his scheme.’

‘I’m going to need help dealing with this man he’s hired.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘But we have to do it. This is suddenly about more than trying to coerce Ryeton to race at Fincote Park. That part of our plan is dead now.’ He felt a fleeting regret for the loss of that perfect opportunity. ‘But he’s trying to perpetrate a fraud on the entire racing world. We have to stop him—which means we have to get Peck to tell us where Pratchett is.’

She started. ‘Stephen—I already know where Pratchett is! That horse in the barn—with Miss Hague’s Minna—he’s nothing but a decoy! Ryeton switched the horses. Pratchett was never kidnapped—they only painted white feet on him and moved him to a different stall. And moved the other horse out into the country.’

‘What?’ He listened, stunned as she told her tale. When she had finished, he simply gazed at her a moment. He scrubbed a hand in his hair and it stuck there a minute, while he stood frozen. No one else could have pieced so many disparate clues together to come up with the frighteningly simple truth. ‘I’m speechless,’ he finally admitted. ‘I hesitate to damn you with faint praise, but quite simply, you amaze me.’

‘Thank you.’ He’d pleased her with the compliment. He’d also awakened a hunger in her eyes. And unless he was mistaken, a vivid memory of their last encounter had caused the sudden twisting and clasping of her hands.

He knew exactly how she felt. Excitement coursed through his veins just from the thought of what they had done—and all that they had yet to do. It fought for space along with gratitude and determination and the nearly irresistible desire to touch that glorious expanse of skin. He took a step to close the space between them.

And stopped as his foot was crushed beneath the blunt end of an elaborately carved wooden peg.

‘Do excuse me, Stephen!’ Matthew Grange’s eyes were sparkling with repressed laughter. ‘Clearly I am still learning my way with this thing.’ He bent to lovingly thump his wooden leg. At the same time he lowered his voice and addressed the both of them. ‘I do believe it is time to break up this little tête-à-tête. People begin to talk and the lady’s parents are growing concerned.’

Stephen glanced up. Across the room Barty Halford frowned in their direction while his wife whispered furiously in his ear. He wanted to groan. They still had so much to accomplish and he had to find a way to do it without alienating her father and ruining his chances with Mae and with Fincote.

But nearer to hand, couples formed and swept on to the dance floor as the first strains of a waltz began. He looked back to Mae and held out his hand. ‘Shall we dance, then?’

She nodded. Her hand eased into his and the fire banked inside of him blazed suddenly high. Without another word he swept her into the dance.

Later, if asked, Mae would vow that it was the dance that changed her life. Stephen’s arms closed solid and
warm about her. More than anything she wished she could let go and just melt against him. Her body sighed. It was the only word for the complete release of tension and the longing she felt to mould herself against his hard form.