To Eliot’s relief, Verena stayed silent while he negotiated the traffic outside the inn. As he’d said to her, her presence in his rig added an extra level of jeopardy to the race. When he’d made the challenge to Shelburn, he’d been in such a state of wild despair that he didn’t much care if his recklessness ended in a broken neck. But be buggered if he was going to injure Verena.
The grays were fresh and skittish after the bedlam of the inn yard. It took them a few minutes to find their rhythm, and Eliot needed all his skill to settle them into a fast gallop that would nonetheless keep them going until they reached Hatfield. All the noise and activity at the Angel had them ready to bolt.
Shelburn had made a better start than he had, damn the man’s eyes. The chestnuts weren’t as nervy as Eliot’s horses, although he was convinced his were faster, if he could manage to bring the best out in them. He could no longer see his rival, who had bowled past just outside the Angel and had now disappeared ahead of a wagon piled high with old furniture.
Eliot stopped at the tollhouse at Highgate and flung some coins at the keeper. “Quick with the gate, man. Every second counts.”
“Aye, my lord.” The man touched his cap with respect before he dashed to open the gate. Eliot’s payment had been well over the odds.
“There’s a phaeton ahead of me. When did it come through?”
“A pair of fine chestnuts in harness and a pretty lady with the gentleman?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“He drove through about ten minutes ago. He was going at a goodly tilt.”
That was what Eliot was afraid of, but he wasn’t too discouraged. Ten minutes wasn’t a lot of time to make up. “Thank you.”
He urged the grays through the barrier and out onto the open road again. The horses gathered speed. They were brave creatures. He hoped to hell that he wouldn’t be handing them over to Shelburn after he got to Hatfield.
When Verena spoke at last, to his surprise it wasn’t with another scolding, but a compliment. They were out of the built-up area by then and fields stretched away on either side. Shelburn remained out of sight.
“That was sterling driving,” she said.
He sent her a quick glance, before he returned his attention to the grays. They still showed signs of wanting to run until they stopped, which he feared would be well short of the twenty miles they needed to cover. “Thank you.”
“I thought that stagecoach was going to hit us when the road narrowed, but you went past as sweet as sugar. Even if you lose today, your reputation as a whip will be assured.”
Eliot’s lips flattened. “I have no intention of losing.”
“Shelburn’s well ahead.”
“There’s still a long way to go,” he said, even as he clicked his teeth at the grays to go faster. At last, they were running as smooth as silk and for the moment, the road ahead was clear and straight.
“Yes, there is,” she said in a musing tone that made him wonder if she was talking about more than just the horse race.
“You don’t sound as angry as you did.”
Verena sighed. She was near enough for him to feel her ribs expand under the close-fitting red spencer. “Last night when I heard about this ridiculous display, I wanted to flay you alive.”
Sardonic amusement lifted the corners of his lips. “I don’t doubt that. You still looked ready to commit murder this morning, when you descended on the Angel like a vengeful fury. I’m just grateful you weren’t carrying your pistols.”
She didn’t smile, but she didn’t sound as if she was furious with him anymore either, thank heaven. For the life of him, he couldn’t describe her mood at all. Which was odd in itself, because he’d spent most of the last year finely tuned to the state of Verena’s emotions.
“With both of you acting like children, perhaps a spanking would do more good than a bullet.”
“That’s never been my vice, although I gather Lord Brice pays a maid to give him a good thrashing with a wooden paddle before he can perform with his wife.”
That earned him a startled glance and distracted her from giving him a lecture. Which had been his plan. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“You’d be surprised what men talk about when it’s late at night and we’re waiting for a parliamentary division.”
His colleagues had gossiped about Verena, too, in terms that now made him livid. It wasn’t much consolation now to remember that at the time, saintly Lord Colville hadn’t joined in, even if he couldn’t avoid listening. The woman he’d come to know bore no resemblance to the rapacious hussy in those salacious tales.
They clattered through a village where a Sunday service must have just ended. A crowd of people gathered outside the church.
Without warning, a child of about five darted out in front of the carriage. While Verena gasped in horror, Eliot managed to avoid a collision. With a scream, the little boy’s mother rushed up to haul her son to safety.
As Eliot gave an apologetic wave and urged the grays on, the congregation leveled a battery of disapproving stares at him. Today saintly Lord Colville was far from the usual model of propriety.
By all that was holy, he was sick to the back teeth of being saintly Viscount Colville. Whatever happened between him and Verena – and her attitude this morning wasn’t nearly as forbidding as he’d feared it might be – at least that was one weight off his shoulders.
In truth, he’d never much liked his righteous reputation. He’d always been too aware of his many flaws. Those flaws had become even more obvious over recent weeks. No saint would compete in a horse race on the Lord’s Day. No saint would harbor the violent dislike he’d developed for Shelburn. No saint would want to fuck Verena until he couldn’t remember his own name.
“Get on!” he shouted at his grays, and the valiant beasts boosted their speed as they approached the next hill.
From the top, Eliot saw that Shelburn’s elegant carriage was only about half a mile ahead. The sight cheered him immeasurably. His horses were going well and still had plenty of pepper in them, whereas even from this distance, he could see that Shelburn’s cattle were laboring. That fast start from Islington was costing him now.
“I can look after the toll at Barnet,” Verena said. “It will be quicker, if you don’t have to fiddle around looking for money.”
A wry smile quirked his lips. “Careful, Verena, that sounds like you want me to win.”
She didn’t look at him, and he still couldn’t judge her mood from her enigmatic profile. When she’d climbed into the carriage, he’d braced to receive the sharp side of her tongue all the way to Hatfield. Or perhaps for her to sulk for the whole twenty miles.
It hadn’t turned out that way. She was quieter than usual, but she wasn’t seething with resentment.
“I’d hate you to lose these horses. They’re magnificent.”
He didn’t comment on the fact that if he won, she lost her chance with Shelburn. Her partisanship on his behalf made frail hope stir in his heart.
“In that case, thank you,” he said, transferring the reins to one hand to dig his coin purse from his coat pocket. “I’d appreciate you taking over the toll payments.”
She accepted the purse and set it in her lap. A thin leather strap held her stylish hat in place, and a few strands of hair whipped around her face. One red-gloved hand curved around the rail at the end of the seat, but the furious pace didn’t appear to daunt her.
How vividly alive she looked. She always did.
Verena was a woman who fed on excitement. She mightn’t approve of the motives behind the race, but this brisk run on a sunny spring morning would stir her blood. Perhaps that was why she was in a better mood than he’d anticipated. It was possible that her attitude toward Eliot hadn’t softened at all.
“Hold on. This is a good spot to pass Shelburn without putting anyone in danger.”
She firmed her grip on the rail and lifted her other hand to hold her hat. “Good luck, Eliot.”
“What the devil…”
“Watch the road, you lunatic. We’re going too fast for you to get distracted.”
That fragile tendril of hope stretched toward the sun. No question, she was on his side.
But as she said, now was no time for a heart-to-heart. It would be just his luck if Verena decided that she could stomach him as a suitor, just before he landed them both in the gravel.
He shifted his grip on the ribbons and urged the grays on. They responded like the champions they were. The carriage bounced along the road at a snapping pace. With every minute, the distance narrowed between him and Shelburn.
“Are you all right?” he shouted at Verena. The wind whistled past so fast, he had to speak up to make sure she heard him.
“Marvelous,” she said.
Despite their speed, he checked to see if she was being sarcastic. But her lovely face was flushed with elation, and her eyes sparkled with the thrill of the contest.
As the grays galloped up behind them, Shelburn and his companion – Kate? – turned.
Shelburn encouraged his chestnuts to go faster, but his lead was decreasing. Within minutes, Eliot was right beside him.
Shelburn flashed him a smile that expressed the same exhilaration Eliot felt. “I see you’ve woken up, Colville,” he called across the tiny gap between the two carriages. “About time.”
The woman at his side should look terrified. But as she watched Eliot pass them, her face was eager. Egad, she was as cool a customer as Verena, it seemed. Shelburn had made a lucky guess when he’d chosen her. Most of the ladies of Eliot’s acquaintance would have fits of the vapors if he drove them at half this rate.
“Just lulling you into a false sense of security, old man,” Eliot said breathlessly, giving the grays their heads. By now, both carriages were flying ahead at a mad pace.
The chestnuts were intrepid gallopers, but Eliot had been right to judge his cattle as swifter. Slowly but surely, the grays outpaced their competition. Then they were past, and the empty road extended ahead.
“Well done, Eliot,” Verena said, her voice vibrating with excitement. “You’ve got him at a disadvantage now.”
“I intend to keep him that way, too.”
Eliot waited until the curricle had pulled a safe distance in front, before he angled it back onto the right side of the road. They didn’t have far to go to reach the Barnet tollgate. That meant that they were more than halfway to Hatfield, and he meant to lead the way until the end.
They climbed another hill. When he checked back, Shelburn fell even further behind. The chestnuts were fine horses, but the combination of the grays’ fleetness and Eliot’s desperation were proving to make him unbeatable.
They clattered through the Barnet tollgate with barely a minute’s delay to pay the keeper. Then they were back on the road, with less than nine miles to go.
“Verena…”
“Don’t talk now.” She tucked her arm into his side and snuggled closer. Despite the day’s myriad excitements, that was the most exciting thing that had happened since they’d set out. “You’ve got a race to win.”
“I have, haven’t I?” Although he’d already built up a substantial lead, he encouraged the grays to a swifter pace.
Eliot had another reason now for making the best time he could. When they reached Hatfield, he had things to say to Verena. He wondered if perhaps at last she might be ready to hear him.
Caution still lingered. He couldn’t forget the night that she’d taken him to her bed in London, when he thought all his dreams had come true. Instead, he’d come crashing down to earth and the realization that nothing had changed since her emphatic rejection of his proposal.
The sun grew warmer. Around them, the hedgerows and the verges of the road were bright with wildflowers. Spring had arrived in all its beauty. This was the first day that Eliot had been in a frame of mind to appreciate it.
The black and white dog appeared out of nowhere. It streaked across the road just under the horse’s noses.
The grays neighed wildly and veered hard to the side. With a lurch, the left wheel sank deep into the soft grass on the verge, and the carriage scraped the blackthorn hedge.
“Hell’s bells!” Eliot gasped. He battled to get his horses under control. “For God’s sake, hold on, Verena.”
The grays plunged in the traces and wrenched hard against his desperate grip. With all his strength, he fought to bring them back into line. They were within a whisker of bolting. If they did, he feared that the curricle would end up in splinters and heaven knew if he’d be able to save Verena.
Despite his best efforts, he felt the carriage tipping. He’d lay money that they were about to go over.
He leaned his weight in the other direction and without his asking, Verena leaned into him. She was soft and warm and shaking with terror, and he’d willingly forego touching her ever again, if he could just keep her safe and get her out of this mess.
“Steady, there. Steady there, boys.” Despite his panic, he kept his voice low and soothing. “It’s all right. Nothing to worry about.”
As he kept up the calming litany, the carriage bounced back on two wheels with a shudder and a loud creak. The horses were still upset, but at least Eliot had them under control. He doubted that they’d try and make a run for it now, although if anything else appeared to startle them, they’d be off like a shot.
He sucked in his first proper breath since the dog’s appearance. Dazed eyes took in his surroundings. The day was still clear and warm, despite death brushing past, closer than he’d driven alongside Shelburn’s phaeton back before Barnet.
“Can you sit up on your own, Verena? I’d help you, but I don’t want to let the ribbons go.”
“Dear Lord above, haven’t you already given me enough excitement for the morning?” she gasped, struggling back to her corner of the seat. She’d lost her hat, and her lovely hair tumbled about her face in beguiling disarray.
“Are you all right?”
“A few bruises, I think, but nothing a glass of brandy won’t help.”
Eliot made himself laugh, more as a tribute to her spirit than because he was genuinely amused. By heaven, she was a champ. “I’ll send you a case when I get back to London.”
“Make it two.” She tried to sound like her usual ironic, collected self, but didn’t quite succeed.
With every minute, the grays became quieter. The dog had disappeared through a gap in the thicket and was nowhere to be seen. At last, Eliot’s pulse started to revert to its normal speed.
“You’re on.” He turned to face her. Verena was pale, and her blue eyes were dark with the remnants of fear. “Will you take the reins, while I get down and check the horses and the rig? I want to be sure we’re safe to go on.”
“Of course.”
Eliot passed her the ribbons and climbed down, ashamed of how his legs quivered with reaction. He kept reliving that moment when the world had threatened to turn upside down and transform everything to catastrophe.
After hefting in another tattered breath, he made himself walk up to take the horses’ heads. The poor, frightened beasts were blowing and shivering. Sheets of sweat covered their glossy withers.
“Shh, Mick, it’s all right, old man. It’s all right. That nasty dog has gone. You’re safe. You’re such a good fellow. Such a good, grand, brave fellow.”
Mick, whose full name was the Archangel Michael of Tipton, and his brother Bob, properly Robert the Bruce of Tipton, soon lowered their heads under the low, comforting crooning. The prosaic names that his grooms used for his thoroughbreds usually amused Eliot. Not today. He wasn’t yet in any state to smile at anything.
He, Mick and Bob could all be dead by the side of the road. Even worse, so could Verena. Nausea clawed at his heaving gut as he imagined all her fire and intelligence and beauty coming to destruction.
He kept murmuring to the horses and stroking their necks and quivering flanks, until he was sure that they were over their fright. Only then did he dare to leave them to walk back to where Verena sat in the curricle, clutching the ribbons.
“Mick and Bob?” She sounded like her usual self. She’d recovered her composure with impressive swiftness.
“It’s less of a mouthful than their full names.”
“I like it.”
Eliot reached into his coat and produced a flat silver flask. He unscrewed the lid and passed it to her. “Here’s my lady’s brandy.”
“Thank you.” She transferred the reins to one hand and took a generous swig. “That’s better.”
When she returned the flask, he was pleased to see a hint of color returning to her face. Aware that his lips touched the same place hers had, he took a mouthful of the spirits, too.
He replaced the stopper and handed the flask back to Verena. “Just in case you need some more.”
The liquor helped to steady his still-leaping nerves. He couldn’t help thinking about what might have happened just now, if luck hadn’t been on their side. “There’s a basket under the seat. I brought some apples. I think the boys deserve a small treat.”
“So do I.” Verena set the flask on the seat beside her and leaned down to pull out the large wicker basket.
He opened the lid. After a rummage, he found a couple of apples and a knife. “There’s bread and cheese in there if you’re hungry.”
Her wry laugh reassured him that she was going to be fine. He wasn’t so sure that he was. “I’m not ready for food yet. If you hadn’t been so brilliant with the horses, I’ve got a feeling I’d be smashed to pieces in a hedgerow.”
He had the same feeling, and it made him feel sick. Because it was all his fault that she’d been in danger in the first place.
“We were lucky,” he said with a hint of abruptness, before he headed up to give the horses their treat. He couldn’t force any more words through the great logjam of emotion blocking his throat.
Bob was nosing at the grass at the roadside, and Mick looked uncharacteristically docile with his head down and one front leg bent in a relaxed pose. They’d recovered from their shock faster than he did.
Eliot took his time with them, praising them and scratching behind their ears and feeding them the apples in chunks. When they were over their scare enough to nudge him in equine greed, he left them to give the curricle a thorough check for cracks. Everything seemed in good shape, which was almost unbelievable, considering the speed he’d been going when he came off the road.
Once he was sure the rig was safe, he bent to untangle Verena’s hat from the bushes. As he passed it up to her, he noticed that the strap was broken. “I’m not sure it’s still wearable.”
With a shrug, she accepted it. “Better my hat takes a battering then we do.”
She tugged the last of the pins from her hair. The carriage ensemble featured a white cravat like a man’s. With a couple of efficient movements, she unwound it and tied her hair back from her face.
“Very becoming,” he said, trying to summon a smile. He bent to pick up the coin purse and slip it into his pocket. When the carriage lurched to the side, it had fallen to the ground.
“I’ll arrive in Hatfield looking like a milkmaid, but if you don’t mind that, I don’t.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, his tone flat enough to earn him a curious glance. To his relief, she didn’t question his lackluster response.
Eliot climbed up beside Verena and set the grays off at a gentle amble. He was grateful that it was a sleepy Sunday morning and no traffic came past to unnerve his horses again.
She passed the flask back. He took another sip, but nothing could banish the sour feeling lodged in the pit of his stomach. He put away the brandy and stared blindly past the grays’ ears to the road unwinding ahead.
After about five minutes of modest progress, Verena spoke. “Eliot, don’t you think you should get them going again? I know you’ve got a good lead over Shelburn, but there’s still a couple of miles to Hatfield. You don’t want him to catch up. It is a race, after all.”
Instead of heeding her suggestion, he drew the horses to a stop. With shaking hands, he tied the reins to the front rail. The grays wouldn’t bolt again now, although they wouldn’t appreciate another delay. He’d felt how eager they were to pick up the pace.
In preparation for the difficult moments to come, he squared his jaw. Admitting that one had been criminally misguided was never easy. Failure tasted rank on his tongue and settled in a great acrid weight in his gut. “I don’t give a rat’s arse about the race anymore.”
Her jaw dropped in shock, and she regarded him in baffled dismay. “I don’t understand.”
Eliot swallowed to clear his throat before he spoke in an urgent rush, his voice harsh with the intensity of his emotions. “I’ve been wrong, Verena. Wrong about so much. I won’t ask you to forgive me, because I’ll never forgive myself.”
Somewhere during those frantic minutes of almost crashing his carriage, Eliot’s conscience had awoken from its temporary slumber. Now it was hurling recriminations at him fit to make his head ring.
Eliot was a man of powerful conscience. During most of his life, he’d followed its dictates. For God’s sake, only his conscience had prevented him from breaking with his pig of a father years ago. It insisted that he owed a duty to Imogen and the title and the people on the estate.
Over the last few weeks, his turbulent feelings for Verena had drowned out the sensible inner voice that told him what was right and wrong. But the near disaster on the road had knocked him back to reality with a painful jolt. Now the cold eye of reason surveyed his behavior, and he was appalled at what he saw.
He’d been acting like a barbarian. Worse, he’d been acting like a fool.
“I wasn’t injured,” Verena said in a matter-of-fact voice.
A humorless smile curved his mouth. “Praise heaven, you weren’t. But you shouldn’t have been in this carriage. You wouldn’t have been, if I’d kept my bloody trap shut. I shouldn’t have challenged Shelburn. I have no claim on you. I have no license to interfere in your life. I have no right to chase away any man you fancy. I’ve been behaving like a selfish brute.” Then the worst admission of all. “I’ve been behaving like my father.”
“That’s not true,” Verena said, but reality was too stark for him to find any comfort in her assurances.
“I love you, Verena, but I don’t own you. Dear God, one of the things I love most about you is that you’re such a law unto yourself.”
“You’d be alone there,” she said with a hint of bitterness.
It was his turn to shrug. “Then I’m alone. But I’ve always thought your independence was brave and true. I still think that, even though I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to bend you to my will.”
Eliot swallowed again to ease his constricted throat. He owed her this apology, but that didn’t make it any easier. He continued in a low voice that vibrated with sincerity. “I won’t act the petty tyrant anymore, Verena. You’re free of me. You’re free to take any lover you choose. You’re free to forget me. In fact, you’re just free. I’ll never trouble you again.”