Chapter Nineteen

“It almost seemed like you were happy to see Lady Willingham,” Niall remarked under his breath. His handsome face was dark with confusion for a moment, before his courtly smile slid back into place.

Flora flicked her fan open, and held it to her mouth. “I think I am happy to see her. She may be vapid, but she is kindhearted.”

Slowly turning his head, he stared at her. “What happened to you?”

“What you mean?”

Niall jerked his chin at the butler when he stepped forward to announce the next guest, his eyes not leaving her face. “I don’t think I have ever heard you look for a positive attribute in another person before.”

“Well, that’s not fair. I overlook all your flaws every day in favor of your less priggish ones.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “There’s my sister. I almost thought my Flo had been abducted and replaced with this cheerful substitute.”

“Unfortunately for you, no. I am still just as sarcastic and ill-tempered as always.” She batted her eyelashes at him in an exaggerated fashion.

“It’s a relief, I must say. I have always been rather fond of you just the way you are.”

Taken aback, it took Flora a full minute to understand her brother’s words. And although she did not count, she was certain that it took her another minute to regain her poise to object. By that point, the next guests were upon them, offering their greetings.

After she’d helped Niall welcome their guests, she stood by as he addressed them with a short speech, clapping when expected and smiling on cue. Except that, this time, her smiles were genuine.

When his speech was complete, Niall escorted her out onto the dance floor to open the dancing. They tried to perform the Scottish reel, specifically chosen out of a sense of national pride, with a sedate sense of propriety. It lasted all of two minutes before they began to swap ridiculous faces and amusing quips, which lead to smothered bursts of laughter.

Flora could not remember having this much fun with Niall in…well, in a very long time. She could barely contain her joy.

“Flo, I have not seen you smile this much in”—Juliana’s keen gaze swept over her—“well, since I don’t know when.”

“The night has been diverting,” Flora said, taking a sip of champagne from the glass her sister handed her.

“Tell me, are you this happy at,” the duchess dropped her voice, “Amstead Gardens?”

The question made Flora pause, and she nibbled her lip as she considered it. She was tempted to say “Of course not,” in loyalty to their brother, but Juliana would see through such a claim. “More so, if that is possible.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Juliana took a sip of champagne, her eyes not leaving Flora’s face. “After the risks you have taken and the ruination you have courted, I’m relieved to learn it’s been worth it.”

“Have you heard any gossip concerning me?” The mere idea that her secret might have been discovered caused sweat to dot her forehead.

“I’ve been in Yorkshire, as well you know, so I am not a reliable informant.” Her sister’s shoulders dropped. “This is actually the first time I have been away from the baby.”

Flora’s first niece had been born just a month earlier, and she longed to hold the babe and shower her with all the love only an auntie could give.

She squeezed Juliana’s hand. “She will not forget you while you’re gone.”

“I should hope not.” Her sister frowned. “I am her food supply, after all.”

Snorting, Flora looked to where Niall spoke with several guests. “But you have not heard of any gossip that would cause you to believe our brother thinks I have been anywhere but Ashwood Place.”

“No. But again, I am not the best source to ask.”

“I intend to ask Allie and Charlotte as well.”

Alethea, the Duchess of Darington, and Charlotte, Lady Firthwell, were the only real friends she had made in London. The only real friends she had made…ever. She had greeted them earlier in the evening, but had yet to speak with them at great length. She would do her best to rectify that.

But the ball was a crush. It seemed that the entire ton was in attendance, which was not surprising as Niall was well liked and well respected, for all that he was a Scot. If she were to find her friends, she should start now.

Before she could excuse herself, Juliana kissed her cheek. “I see Ashwood. He penciled his name in for this waltz, and I do not want to miss it.”

Flora laughed at her sister’s retreating back. “Do not tell untruths, Juliana. You penciled it in for him!”

Juliana’s soft chortle faded as she disappeared into the crowd.

After drinking the last of her champagne in one large gulp, Flora discarded the glass on a passing footman’s tray and squared her shoulders to enter the fray. She did not get far.

“Well, Lady Flora, it’s like I’ve seen a ghost. I was beginning to think you had expired, because it’s been so long since I’ve seen your face.”

The voice caused a wave of dizziness to overwhelm her, and she stumbled a step. Recovering as best she could, she pasted a winning smile on her face and spun toward the speaker.

“Your Grace, I believe you are right. It has been too long since I have had the pleasure of your company.”

The Duchess of Claremore offered a harrumph, her blue eyes slits of critical inspection. “How have you been entertaining yourself this last year? Haunting graveyards? Scaring poor parishioners at the rectory on Ashwood’s estate in Yorkshire?”

“I frighten them by sitting in a pew every Sunday morning. I sing the hymns in Gaelic, and suddenly the entire bench is mine.” Flora raised her brows. “Surely Inverray has told you of my exploits.”

“I doubt what most men tell me,” the elderly woman said with flip of her lace handkerchief.

Flora permitted herself a chuckle.

“Tell me, gel, if you were not causing a fuss in Yorkshire, where would you be?” The duchess’ voice was soft, but it made the hairs on Flora’s arms stand up ominously.

She reached for blitheness. “The only other place worth being is the Highlands, Your Grace.”

“I have heard it said Lord Inverray intends to announce his plans to stand for Prime Minister tonight. Is that true?”

“My brother’s plans are his to share.” Flora dipped her voice and leaned closer. “But wouldn’t he would make an excellent Prime Minister?”

“Of course he would. That’s why I am here. Still…” She finally pulled her crisp gaze from Flora and scanned the room. “When a man stands for such an important position, his whole family stands with him. Not only will all his flaws and shortcomings be measured, but so, too, will theirs.”

Flora’s throat was suddenly bone dry. “His time as an MP has certainly prepared us for the scrutiny.”

“Has it?” The duchess angled her head. “It would seem you could use a reminder.”

Her blood roared in her ears. “I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace.”

“Of course you do.” The Duchess of Claremore grasped Flora’s limp hands. “Your disguise only works if the people around you do not take the time to really consider it. I learned long ago not to make that mistake.”

Flora swayed as she fought not to rock back on her feet. The duchess had known all along she was working at Amstead Gardens, and she couldn’t say she was surprised. The old dragon had always been perceptive and wickedly clever. But what really stood out was that the woman had not shared her secret. It would have been so easy to slip such an explosive detail into an afternoon visit with friends. To whisper it as an aside at a soiree. To pen it in a letter to a family member. Yet, as far as Flora could tell, the duchess had kept it to herself.

But why?

As she struggled with her composure, the older woman continued, “Do not be so flippant as to think I’m the only one capable of discerning your true identity. Amstead hosted a house party with several members of the ton in attendance. If any of them had seen you, your reputation could be in tatters, you silly gel.”

“But they didn’t see me,” she whispered between her teeth, sweat creeping down her spine. “When his lordship provided tours of the stables or hacked out with them, I made sure to be elsewhere. I was very careful.”

“Are you sure? No one saw you?”

“No one—” Ice solidified in her chest and limbs. “Mo creach!”

The duchess’s mouth compressed into a displeased line. “Who was it?”

Flora pressed shaking fingers to her lips. “Lady Hightower.”

“That chit has been trying to bring Amstead to heel for several years, it seems.” Her Grace accepted a glass of brandy from a footman and took a sip. Flora longed to grab the glass and gulp the contents.

Instead, she swallowed a good deal of her pride. “Why has he not married her? By all appearances, they would be a good match.”

The words were like barbs on her tongue. Christian would be bored in a day with a woman like Lady Hightower. But she was wealthy and well-connected. If he wanted a proper society marriage, he could do a lot worse than the widowed countess.

“As I am not a confidant of the marquess, I’m not privy to his thoughts. But he has always struck me as an intelligent, logical man.” The older woman lowered her voice. “He may have enjoyed having the countess in his bed, but probably not so much at his breakfast table.”

Pressing a hand to her stomach, Flora inhaled deeply.

“But regardless of Lord Amstead’s regards for the lady, if she determines it was you she saw at the Gardens, it could destroy not only your reputation, but his as well.” The older woman stared at her, unblinking. “Investors will abandon him, regardless of how well Asad runs.”

“She would not dream of ruining him,” she gasped.

“Maybe not him, but she would delight in ruining you. I warned Amstead to watch her. I feared she’d find a way to trap him. Do not underestimate a woman determined to be a marchioness.”

Flora squared her shoulders. “What do you suggest I do?”

“You need to—” She stopped abruptly, swatting at the oversized feather tucked into her coiffure that kept brushing her cheek. “This idiotic thing is a menace, but Yvette was so pleased with it.”

“Yvette?”

“My maid. She was proud of the”—the duchess flicked her fingers at her head—“arrangement, and I did not have the heart to tell her how appalling I found it.”

“But, she’s your maid. Of all people, shouldn’t she know your thoughts?”

“Naturally. But as I do not have firm opinions on my hair, I allow her leeway.” The older woman glanced about the ballroom. “When you reach my age, you learn who is deserving of your wrath, and the servants rarely are.”

The duchess handed Flora her empty glass and leaned close. “Stay out of sight. As long as the countess doesn’t lay her marquess-hunting eyes on you, she probably won’t make the connection. If she does…” She arched a brow, leaving the worst unsaid.

Her Grace swept away, the crowd splitting like the Red Sea before her.

Decidedly queasy, Flora was contemplating the best way to sneak to her room unseen when Niall appeared at her side, his expression smug. Taking her arm, he said, “I would like to introduce you to someone.”

She swallowed, allowing him to tow her away. “Of course.”

He came to a stop behind a tall, dark-haired gentleman with broad shoulders so familiar to her that she felt the room tilt, vertigo overwhelming her.

“Amstead, may I introduce you to my sister?”

Christian turned, and Flora did not comprehend how much she had missed him until she saw his handsome, dear face. “I would be honored to finally meet her.”

The moment his warm brown eyes locked with hers and surprise transformed into comprehension, she wanted to weep.

…

Christian wondered how his brain was able to think two very different thoughts at exactly the same time.

While Inverray introduced him to his sister, his mind registered that the beautiful woman who stood before him, dressed in an exquisite red gown that flattered her fair coloring and set off her ebony curls, was his mistress.

At the same instant, he grasped that his mistress was in fact a lady. And not just any lady. A duke’s daughter.

His Flora Grant was actually Flora Campbell. Lady Flora Campbell. The elegant, poised woman before him had rested in his arms just the previous week, sharing memories of her childhood in Scotland. That charming, lighthearted woman now seemed an ocean away.

A burning sensation filled his throat and he grasped for his dignity. Thankfully, Flora saved him from giving voice to the harsh accusations that leapt about on his tongue.

“Your lordship, I’m happy to make your acquaintance. Your reputation certainly precedes you.”

Her low voice sent a tingle up his spine, and he resented it.

She had lied to him. Again.

When he’d discovered her previous subterfuge, she should have told him who she really was. She could have told him that she was a lady. The daughter of a blasted Scottish duke. The sister of an Amstead Gardens’ investor.

Christian saw red. If Inverray learned of their affair, the man would see him destroyed.

For all the Scotsman’s wit and charm, he was not above exerting justice in the vein of his warrior ancestors. The way the man looked at his sister with a mixture of pride and affection—and was that exasperation?—made it more than apparent that Inverray would have him standing on a brisk field before dawn.

How could she do this to him?

He might not have known she was a lady, but she sure as hell knew he was the Marquess of Amstead. She knew how important it was for him to restore Amstead Gardens to its former glory. She knew how much his success relied upon his group of investors, of which her brother was a part.

Blinking away his rage, he bowed curtly, his gaze holding hers. “I’m sure the pleasure is mine, my lady. If I had known Inverray had such a lovely sister, I would have asked for an introduction ages ago.”

Thankfully, the Scotsman’s laugh distracted from the awkwardness that ebbed between Christian and Flora. She smiled at his words, but he knew her well enough by now to recognize it as polite. A true smile from Flora Grant—Flora Campbell—could dazzle the most jaded of hearts.

He knew from personal experience.

“My sisters were safely tucked away in the Highlands until just a few years ago,” Inverray said, bumping his shoulder into Flora’s. “Life has not been quite the same for me since they arrived in London.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you only have yourself to blame for that.”

Although her tone was playful, something in the pinched lines about her eyes made him suspect there was much more to the story than they were sharing.

But why in the hell did he care?

Christian crossed his arms behind his back and curled his hands into tight fists as frustration swept through him. Why did he care about Flora’s relationship with her brother? She had deceived him. She had placed him in a position where he had to smile and laugh and act like he did not know her in the deepest, most personal way a man could know a woman. As if he did not know every one of her smiles, every one of her laughs, every damn one of her looks.

He had to act like the woman he loved was a stranger to him.

The truth overwhelmed him, and he clenched his eyes shut for a moment. Christ, what a vexing time to realize he was in love. Wasn’t love supposed to make him feel joyous? Optimistic? In contrast, anger and betrayal boiled in his veins.

When he opened his eyes, Inverray was smiling at a passing guest and had not noticed his momentary lapse. Dragging his gaze to Flora, Christian found her staring at him with luminous green eyes. If he did not know any better, he would think she appeared distraught. Mournful, even.

But then, hadn’t she already proved how little he knew? Over and over and over again.

“So tell me about your colt, Amstead. As the Guineas approaches, the papers are filled with gossip about his talent, especially since you have not yet raced him. A risky gamble, don’t you think?”

Never had Christian been more thankful for a change of subject. Mentally shaking off his useless emotions, he said, “I would consider it more of a strategic move than a gamble. Asad raced in Egypt with great success as a two-year-old, but the voyage to England was difficult. The team and I decided that he needed time to adjust to his new home and that, once he became comfortable, his race times would improve. And they have. I’m pleased with his performances.”

Inverray nodded, but Flora listened as if every word out of his mouth was new and interesting.

“You brought a trainer with you from Egypt, isn’t that right?”

“Indeed I did. I managed to convince Mr. Mubarak to come work for me, and I am quite lucky he did.” Christian lifted a palm. “Mubarak was a trainer of great renown in Egypt and had worked with many winning horses there.”

“Whatever made him decide to come here instead of staying in Egypt?”

“His wife. Her sister had married an Englishman and emigrated, and his wife was unhappy without her.” Unconsciously, his eyes met Flora’s. “My offer was convenient.”

She swallowed and looked at her feet.

“Your offer was fortuitous for you and him.” Inverray’s smile dissolved. “Tell me, will Asad be ready for the Two Thousand Guineas?”

“Definitely. I have every confidence in Mr. Mubarak and his assistant trainer that the beast will be in pristine condition.”

A bout of coughs exploded from Flora. She clasped a lace handkerchief to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

“Mo creach, Flo, are you all right?” The marquess placed his hand on her shoulder, his face tight with worry.

“I’m well.” She breathed in deeply, avoiding eye contact with Christian. “I inhaled some bubbles, I’m afraid.”

“You know you should not be drinking champagne. Why would you give the matrons something to gossip about?”

“Niall, please,” she whispered.

His heart clenched. Flora was six-and-twenty years old and hardly in need of a nursemaid. Yet, her brother admonished her for simply enjoying a glass of champagne like the other young women in the room. Despite himself, a thread of sympathy wove about him.

He snipped that thread ruthlessly.

“I look forward to seeing Asad race next week, Amstead.” Inverray lifted his glass to a passing gentleman, then turned his gaze to Christian once again. “I have never invested in racehorses, but seeing as how Flora is the family expert in all things equine, I paid special attention to her impassioned letters outlining your Egyptian-bred stallion’s pedigree and the feats he could be capable of. Based on her good word, it seemed the time to finally engage in some speculation.”

Christian shifted on his feet. So Flora was the reason the marquess had invested with him. He did not know what to think about that. “I’m honored you decided to invest with Amstead Gardens.”

Inverray smacked his shoulder. “Make no mistake, I invested in you. While it sounds as though Asad is a singular horse, Flora was confident that it was you who would make him spectacular.”

A reluctant smile creased his face.

Conflicting emotions waged a battle inside him, but he allowed his gaze to rest on her for a fraction of a moment, taking in the flush of her cheeks.

Suddenly, a perfumed body pressed close to his side. “Goodness, gentlemen, I believe I underestimated tonight’s ball.”

Regina, Lady Hightower, was dressed in a gold-colored gown with elaborate embroidery along the low neckline, no doubt designed to draw attention to her ample décolletage. She presented a generous display; with her blonde curls and flirtatious red lips, Regina was beautiful. Yet she now left him cold.

He could now tell the difference between gold and brass.

As Christian took in Lady Hightower’s coy smile, Flora stepped back from her brother’s side, her face pale. Christian’s stomach turned as understanding washed over him.

Regina had tussled with Flora when she was disguised as William. Lord, if the woman put together who Flora really was, she would relish the opportunity to make trouble.

Thus, when Regina’s hand slipped over his arm, he did not object. It was to his benefit not to reveal how her touch now repelled him.

“How did you underestimate the ball, my lady?” he asked, patting her hand. “Lord Inverray is a leader in Commons. The heir to a prosperous dukedom. Of course it would be a crush.”

Regina’s saucy smile took in both him and Inverray. “I did not realize that so many handsome men would be on hand to discuss politics, of all things.”

“You are aware, your ladyship, that men are capable of discussing more than just drinking, gambling, and women?” Christian tossed out dryly.

“Forgive me if I have had reason to doubt,” she said with a laugh.

“I understand why you are in disbelief, my lady. But add horseflesh to the list, and Lord Amstead would have nothing to object to,” Flora interjected. She seemed to recognize her folly because her irises widened and she immediately snapped her mouth shut.

“Oh, I am well aware of his lordship’s propensity to think that every conversation provides license to discuss his beasts,” Regina said, sending him an exaggerated wink.

Pushing down the disgruntlement he felt at her words, he attempted to steer the conversation away from Flora and her comment. “I can discuss political matters when the situation calls for it. I do try to vote my seat when I can.”

Regina patted his arm. “You are a man of many talents.”

Christian was certain he would have missed the way Flora’s mouth curled in distaste if he were not so focused on her every movement. If he were not trying to follow the course of the conversation in an attempt to prevent disaster, he would surely be counting her every breath.

“I suppose you expected all the political types to be gray haired and doddering,” Inverray remarked with an amused smile.

“My late husband opined day and night on political issues…but then he was gray haired and doddering,” Regina teased, her blue eyes sparkling. “But I’m sure I cannot think of anything more important than the wellbeing of our country.”

“Hear! Hear!” Inverray toasted her.

Without warning, Regina directed her gaze to Flora, her blue eyes sharp. “Have we been introduced?”

“Please forgive me, my lady.” Inverray gestured to Flora with his hand. “Flora, allow me to introduce to you Countess Hightower. My lady, this is my sister, Lady Flora Campbell.”

“I am surprised you do not remember me, my lady.” Flora smiled sweetly, her dimples as charming as ever. “My first season in London was the same year as your debut. You liked to taunt my sister and me that we would never find husbands because, as you put it, ‘who would want to marry dirty, ignorant Scots?’”

An awful silence ensued, and Christian was aghast that Flora would criticize Regina when the risk of discovery was so precarious. Yet…he was proud of her. Not many people would chastise their former bully. Christian’s anger grew at the thought that Flora had been belittled and hurt by anyone, least of all his former mistress.

Sneaking a look at Inverray, he found the man staring silently at Flora, a thunderstorm brewing in his gray eyes.

“You do look oddly familiar,” Regina said, her eyes narrowed as they traveled over Flora’s face, “but I am sure I do not know you from any ballroom or drawing room.”

Christian gaped at her, flabbergasted that she did not seem at all ashamed of her hateful words.

“If you will excuse me, brother. My lord, my lady”—Flora executed a perfect curtsey—“I believe I see a dear friend.”

In the stunned silence of Flora’s departure, Regina took the opportunity to make observations about the guests and the Season in general. Christian paid her little heed. Instead, he watched as Flora wove her way through the crowd, pausing to greet guests here and there, before sweeping up the stairs.

Inverray excused himself several minutes later, intent on greeting another guest, and left him standing alone with Lady Hightower. She seemed to notice their private moment, for she took a step closer to his side.

“I’ve just made a discovery.”

“An exciting development, I’m sure.”

Regina laughed. “Indeed, for now I know where I’ve seen Lady Flora before. I cannot believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”

His blood crystalized into ice shards in his veins. “Realize what sooner?”

“The insolent boy from the stables is Lady Flora Campbell.”

Christian blinked, hoping his show of disbelief was credible. “Surely you jest, my lady.”

“I would not joke about this, Amstead.” She grabbed her skirts and swished them as she turned away in a huff. “The lad who refused to saddle Asad. Your assistant trainer is Lady Flora.”

He shook his head, feigning confusion even as dread crashed through him. “I know who William is, and I met the lady just now, but I am afraid I do not understand how you think they’re connected.”

“Goodness, I was unaware of what a credible actor you are.” Regina chuckled, the sound like harsh sandpaper against his ears. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you were unaware the lady was in your employ? And dressed as a man?”

“I believe you have been tippling the cordial a little too generously.” Christian stepped back, raising his hand to a footman. He needed a drink. “I can’t countenance any other reason for this nonsense you’re spouting.”

Her hand shot out, her nails sinking into his arm even through his coat. “I do not want to create trouble, but I will if you force me to it.”

Narrowing his eyes, he pried her claw from him. “I am not forcing you to do anything. And this is hardly the place for such a discussion.”

“Very well,” she said, angling her chin demurely. She looked a lovely picture. “I will meet you in the library just down the hall in ten minutes.”

Without another word, she whipped away, leaving Christian feeling decidedly panicked. After tipping back an entire glass of brandy, he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and squared his shoulders. Noiselessly opening the library door some minutes later, he slipped into the dim space. Once his eyes adjusted to the low light, he spotted Regina sitting primly on a low chair under the windows. He approached her as though he were walking the plank, sharks snapping their jaws below.

“I will get directly to the point, my lord,” she began without preamble. “I know that your precious stables are the most important thing in the world to you. I know that the investors keeping your enterprise afloat expect you to be free of scandal. Just think of what would transpire if word spread that a duke’s daughter was working for you. I’d wager that more than one investor would abandon ship.”

Rage boiled through him. He didn’t know how he kept his voice level when he said, “What do you want?”

“I’m sure you know. It’s what I have always wanted from you. I want a marchioness coronet.”

His stomach dropped. “I did know of your desire to be Lady Amstead, but I was honest about the nature of our relationship. We enjoyed each other’s bodies—nothing more.”

Rising slowly to her feet, she sauntered over to him, her hand slipping under his coat to caress his chest. “And we can continue to enjoy each other…if you simply make me your wife.”

Christian jerked away as if her hand were poisonous. “There is only one woman I have ever wished to marry, and you are not she.”

Her blue eyes flashed even as she chortled. “Your wishes are no longer of importance to me. I have been patient with you, but now I must insist. We will marry, or you can watch your precious Gardens fall to ruin.”

Impotent anger surging through Christian’s blood, his gaze followed her as she disappeared out the door. This was just the scenario he had feared when he had learned Flora’s true identity, and despite his best efforts to the contrary, scandal had found him. It was his nightmare come to life.

Why, then, was he more concerned for Flora and the ruination that hung over her head like a sharpened guillotine?

Prowling from the library not along afterward, he searched the crowded ballroom for a discreet manner in which to escape. If he were to survive this trap, he needed to consider how to best extract Flora and himself from Lady Hightower’s clutches.

“There you are, my boy. I wondered when you would ask me to dance.”

Blinking, he met the piercing gaze of the Duchess of Claremore. In her ice-blue evening gown and with plumes of feathers on her head, she looked regal. Intimidating.

Yet, somehow, her presence soothed the tension pulling his skin taut.

The beginning strings of a waltz filled the room, and Christian smiled. “I would be honored if you would join me for this dance.”

Her Grace sniffed. “Seeing as how I don’t want to stand up with any of these idiots, I suppose so.”

Christian twirled the duchess about the dance floor, debating whether he should ask for advice, when she suddenly chuckled.

“Was tonight the first time you learned your trainer was a lady?”

Catching himself from stumbling, he stared down into her diverted face. “I should have known you knew. Was it that day in the stables?”

She snorted. “While her disguise was good, she could not hide those green eyes of hers.”

“They are rather striking,” he grumbled begrudgingly.

“Which begs me to ask how you were so easily fooled?”

“I had never met her before.” He gritted his teeth. “I suppose I saw what I expected to see.”

The duchess mumbled under her breath, but he swore he heard the words “typical man.”

He did not know how to argue such an assessment, so he went on the offensive. “Still, when things progressed, she should have told me who she really was. We risked so much.”

The duchess cocked her head. “And does that risk now threaten you?”

He nodded. The anger and injustice of the situation stole his words.

“Well, then, marry her.”

Christian jerked his chin back.

“Don’t give me that look, young man. A marriage between the two of you would protect her reputation and save Amstead Gardens from scandal. Plus, as a duke’s daughter, she possesses the pedigree appropriate for a marchioness. It is the perfect solution.”

“Yet, it does not take into consideration our desires,” he managed to bite out.

“What are your desires in the face of your ruination?” The lines of her face deepened in displeasure. “You are a talented trainer with a bright future. She is a delightful, intelligent gel with more spirit in her smallest finger than you have in your entire body. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Christian opened to his mouth to say…what? All thoughts had fled.

Her Grace of Claremore smiled up at him. “I have seen the way your eyes have darted about, as if hoping for another glimpse of her. And heaven knows, that girl has finally found something other than her horses to hold her interest. It would seem that the two of you belong together.”

“Be that as it may, Your Grace, I do not think she would consent to marry me.” He bit back a taste of bile. “She has indicated she does not wish to marry.”

“All women say such things until they meet a man who makes them change their minds. And even if you haven’t convinced her, she does not really have a choice now, does she? When you play with fire, you sometimes get burned. But the alternative is that the whole house burns down.”

“I would prefer any other metaphor but a fire one, thank you.”

“Of course you do.” The duchess squeezed his hand. “That was ill-done of me, and I offer my apologies.”

He nodded, Her Grace’s sincere words a salve.

“You must talk to her, Amstead, for you must marry. You were willing to roll the dice when you dallied with a lady, and the time has come to pay the dealer.” Her lips quirked. “Was that better?”

Despite himself, Christian smiled. “Much.”