In The Prince's Bed (18 page)

Katherine nearly snapped that she didn’t care what “the beautiful hill” ofFrancewas wearing, but Alec responded first, smoothly ignoring her mother’s fracturedFrench. After apologizing for not having been to France, he quickly launched into a discussion ofPortuguesebonnets to placate her. Giving Katherine no choice but to mull over his revelations. She knew he was still hiding something. His tale seemed too contrived to be true—the estranged heir to an earl sent abroad, where he found joy living the simpler life of aPortuguesenoble? Hard to believe this sophisticated man had gained his knowledge of the world by breeding horses.

Although it explained why he rode so well and how he’d acquired his Lusitano, why not tell her the truth in the first place? Why not tell
everyone
the truth? There was nothing ignoble in it. Eccentric perhaps, but not ignoble.

The man was pure enigma. Sometimes he was a perfect gentleman, giving her a brooch meant for his mother and promising to pay her family’s debts. Sometimes he was suspiciously smooth, like when he handled Mama as expertly as he handled his mare. And sometimes…

Sometimes he was a bold conqueror who dragged her into his arms to demand kisses. Unfortunately, she liked the conqueror as much as the gentleman… possibly even more. Truth be told, her craving for the conqueror’s kisses had become insatiable. She often lay awake at night for hours, trying to remember how he’d tasted and felt, reliving the wicked caresses of a scoundrel. If Alec really was a scoundrel. She hardly knew anymore.

The surprises continued when they reached the Royal Amphitheatre. He’d reserved a private box, which was never done here. Tickets were issued by the person, and boxes weren’t rented. If he was trying to impress them, he was certainly succeeding.

They had excellent seats—close enough to see the exaggerated expressions of the clowning “tailor” who was dragged about by one horse, pinned beneath another, and chased through an open window by a third. Then came the hippodrama, “The Blood Red Knight,” about the beautiful Isabella, whose evil brother-in-law carried her off to a set of a castle.

Mama was bored, of course—she would preferVauxhallGardens—but Katherine couldn’t tear her eyes
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from the action in the sawdust ring, or the romantic tale being played out on the huge stage behind it. Cornwallhad nothing like this. And though she missed her quiet country life, she also enjoyed these Londonentertainments.

Glancing at Mama, who was dozing now, Alec draped his arm over the back of Katherine’s chair and leaned close. “Well?” he asked in a low rumble. “Is it what you imagined?”

“Even better. How do they get so many horses to behave?”

“Lots of carrots,” he quipped.

“Very funny. But really, do you know how?”

He smiled. “Training a horse merely requires patience and plenty of rewards. For example, if you want to accustom a horse to the jingling of armor—or a soldier’s gear—you tie a metal flask containing a coin to his saddle. You put the horse through his paces, moving the flask around. Once he’s used to one coin rattling, you add more coins, then more flasks, until the horse ignores any metallic sound coming from his rider. And to accustom him to pistol shots—”

“You certainly know a great deal about training horses.”

Alec blinked. “Sorry, I… get carried away on the subject.”

“It’s all right. I find it fascinating. I didn’t realize you knew so much.”

He fixed his gaze on the stage. “I helped my uncle.”

She said quickly, “I suspect that training horses isn’t as difficult as training humans. Take that fellow on the stage there—” She gestured to a rider whose horse kept shying from crossing the stage bridge other horses were stepping blithely over. “He doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing.”

Alec nodded. “He’s giving the horse mixed signals— pressing too hard with his heels while reining him in too much. He’s clearly not experienced with this sort of riding. I wonder why Astley would use him at all. Astley is very particular about his employees.”

“Do you know Mr. Astley?”

“I… er… met him once.” He slid his hand to cup her shoulder. “But what do you think of the famous Miss Woolford? She’s good, isn’t she?”

Sneaky devil, trying to distract her from all her questions. “Indeed she is. I’d love to learn how to ride like her.”

He shot her a heated look as he caressed her shoulder. “I could teach you.”

Her mouth went dry. The very thought of Alec and her alone, his large hands moving over her legs to correct her seat on the horse, one of them resting on her thigh while he gave some instruction—

“I can’t imagine why I’d need such lessons,” she said, fighting back a blush.

“Why not do it for fun?” As if he’d read her thoughts, he bent close to whisper, “I promise I would
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make it fun.” When he punctuated that promise with a kiss to her ear, a shiver of anticipation ran through her.

“Stop that, Alec.” She cast Mama a furtive glance. “You really shouldn’t—”

The door to their box suddenly swung open with great force, and a swarthy man with his arm in a sling strode in. “Senhor Black!” the man exclaimed as he hurried to Alec’s side. “Thank God Senhor Astley was right, and you are really here.”

Alec rose to face the stranger. “França? What are you doing inEngland?”

“Did the senhor not tell you I work for him now? No matter, he sent me to find you because—” The man broke off as he caught sight of Katherine. He gave a quick bow. “Forgive me, senhorita, but we are in urgent need of Senhor Black.”

Alec scowled, and Katherine waited for him to demand that he be addressed by his title. Instead he said, “I already told Astley—”

“That you would ride for him another time, yes. But surely you can oblige him tonight. I broke my arm in a foolish stunt last night, and we are desperate.”

The noise had awakened Mama, and she came up out of her chair sputtering, “What is… who… young man, what do you think you’re doing in our box?”

Alec’s jaw tightened. “Mrs. Merivale, Miss Katherine Merivale, this is Mr. Miguel França, a friend of mine fromPortugal. He has come to… er…”

“Beg Senhor Black to helpus.” Mr. França flashed Mama a courtly smile. But she was having none of it. “If you want his lordship’s help, you should address him properly.”

“Pardon?” Then the man’s confusion turned to surprised pleasure. “So Senhor Astley was not joking? You truly are a lord, my friend?
Magnifico
! I suppose that I must now call you Lord Something-or-Other—”

“That isn’t necessary, França,” Alec said.

“You should call him Lord Iversley,” Mama put in helpfully.

“Thank you, senhora. Now if you will excuse me, I must steal your Lord Iversley away. The cavalry officer Senhor Astley hired to replace me tonight has not appeared. Since he only demonstrates cavalry cuts and does a few tricks on horseback, we thought perhaps Senhor Black—that is, Lord Iversley—”

“It’s out of the question, França,” Alec snapped. “I’m not dressed for it, and I won’t abandon my guests.”

“Don’t worry aboutus.” Katherine rose, thoroughly intrigued. “I’d love to see you ride in the arena.”

And that would keep her from falling prey to his amorous attentions yet again. Alec’s gaze narrowed on her. Had he guessed why she was so eager to send him off?
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“Yes, yes, Lord Iversley,” her mother put in, “you should do it, most assuredly. What a lark!”

“It would be rude of me to leave you here alone.” Alec turned to França. “Give Astley my sincerest regrets, but I cannot oblige him tonight.”

França began to fiddle nervously with his sling. “Ah, but Mr. Astley said that if you refuse, I am to remind you that he was kind enough to offer—”

“Right.” Alec bowed stiffly. “Very well, I suppose I can manage it.”

Relief spread over Mr. França’s face. “You can wear my uniform. And if you do not want to leave the lovely senhorita and her mother alone, bring them withus. They can watch from behind the scenes.”

Alec shot Katherine a considering glance. “I have a better idea. What if Miss Merivale were to participate in the interlude, too?”

Mr. França’s face lit up. “
Magnifico
, senhor! That flaming red hair and that smile… she would charm the audience.”

Alec nodded. “And keep them from noticing my mistakes.”

França waved his hand dismissively. “Then we can perform ‘The Angry Wife’—it is simple enough for her, don’t you think?”

“Are you both insane?” Katherine broke in. “I couldn’t possibly ride well enough to do tricks.”

“You need not ride at all, senhorita,” Mr. França said. “ ‘The Angry Wife’ is more like—”

“Theater,” Alec put in. “You only have to stand still while I ride past and steal your hat and such with my sword. It’s mostly acting—you just pretend to be angry with me.” He grinned. “Surely you can manage that with no trouble.”

“But—”

“Do you have a costume that will fit her?” Alec asked Mr. França.

“Most certainly. But her hair will have to be dressed differently.”

“Now see here,” Katherine broke in. “I haven’t agreed to this. I can’t—”

“You can.” Alec caught her gaze. “What’s more, you know you want to.”

She sucked in a breath. He was right. She did want to. This was quite possibly the most exciting thing ever to happen to her. But still… “It isn’t proper, and you know it. If anyone recognizes me, I’ll be considered fast, or worse.”

“Don’t be such a prude,” Mama said. “It sounds like jolly good fun to me.”

Katherine whirled on her. “You can hardly find this acceptable, Mama—”

“We can put a mask on you,” Mr. França broke in. Clearly, he would do anything to gain Alec’s
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compliance, and if Alec wanted her along, then he would oblige. “Senhor Black can wear a mask, too, if he wishes.”

Mama scowled at him. “As long as
his lordship
promises to look out for my daughter, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Of course I’ll look out for her.” Alec gazed warmly into Katherine’s eyes. “I promise not to let anything hurt or embarrass you.” He lowered his voice. “Take a risk, sweetheart. You might enjoy it.”

She simply couldn’t resist the intriguing idea. “All right. But you must put a mask on me. And the dress mustn’t be too… well…”

“It will be beautiful, do not worry,” Mr. França put in, oblivious to her real source of concern. “Now come, we must hurry.” He glanced to the stage, where the fair maiden was being rescued from the burning castle by a dashing fellow on horseback. “We have little time to prepare for the interlude.”

As they hurried out the door, Mama took her seat again.

Katherine stopped. “Aren’t you coming, Mama?”

“No, indeed. How can I see everything from back there behind the stage? I shall stay right here and watch your adventure. Go on, my angel. I’ll be fine.”

Katherine hesitated. But arguing with Mama was pointless, so she left with Alec and Mr. França. As they hurried down the stairs, Mr. França began explaining which maneuvers Alec would perform.

“Wait a minute,” Katherine broke in. “You expect him to know these cavalry maneuvers?”

“Of course,” Mr. França answered. “Senhor Black invented two of them.”

“Really?” She glanced at Alec, who was avoiding her gaze all of a sudden. Her eyes narrowed. “Was he in the cavalry?”

“No, althoughWellingtontried many times to convince him to join. But Senhor Black is stubborn and would only agree to teach riding to the recruits.” Mr. França smiled. “That is how we met. I was in the Portuguesecavalry, and he was my teacher. I owe everything I know about good riding to him.”

“Nonsense,” Alec put in firmly as they reached the bottom floor. “Now about this interlude—”

“But I thought he helped his uncle breed horses?” Katherine said, refusing to let him change the subject.

“He did—when he first went toPortugal. But not after the army hired him.” Mr. França laughed. “Not unless he flew to southPortugalon a winged Pegasus each night. The cavalry training camp was inLisbon, in the west. And he lodged at… what was the name of that little hotel, Alec?”

“St. John’s,” Alec bit out behind her. Then he launched into a flow of what had to bePortuguese. Mr. França certainly understood it. And judging from the tone of his reply, he offered an apology. When they spokeEnglishafter that, every word concerned the cavalry maneuvers Alec was to demonstrate.
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But Katherine had found out quite enough. She’d been right to think Alec was hiding something—but it wasn’t what she’d assumed. Why hadn’t he said he’d been in the thick of the war? Because earls’ sons weren’t supposed to work for money. Ironically, he could serve as an officer without reproach, but teaching for pay was beneath him.

Surely he realized she wouldn’t care about that. Then again, she
had
been awfully conscious of propriety around him. Otherwise, why would he prefer she think him a wastrel rather than a man hired by the army?

Well, she would set him straight after this was over. She would tell him how proud she was that he’d served his country, no matter how. Because the truth was, she was tired of fighting him, tired of staying on her guard, tired of assuming the worst, when he clearly wasn’t what she’d thought. Suddenly, her attention was arrested by something Mr. França said. “What do you mean, ‘as long as the senhorita can stay still for the final cut’?”

Alec grinned as he led her out the arena’s back door. “That’s the last part of the ‘Angry Wife,’

sweetheart. You lift up an object that I slice pieces off of as I gallop past.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “You can do that?”

“Without a second thought.”

Then it must be a very large object. “What is it? Because if it’s too heavy for me to lift—”

Alec and Mr. França burst into laughter. “It won’t be,” Alec said, as they headed toward some outbuildings. “It’s a pear.”