Page 35 of Betrothal Between Enemies

She studied him for a long moment and gave a little nod. Did he really think she didn’t know him well enough to guess? ‘You’re giving the money away, aren’t you? To families in need. You don’t have to do it on the way home in the dark, though, do you? Can’t this wait until daylight?’ If something happened to him, she’d not forgive herself.

He shook his head and made his way to the door. ‘I don’t think I have that kind of time anymore.’ He turned. ‘Ismay, don’t wait up for me.’ Ismay. Not Iz.

Damn him. He’d left first and, by doing so, had managed to get the last word. Again. A jade’s trick, in the words of the bard. And he’d made it clear she’d had the last of him, angry and sweating, rutting on a wall. She’d made her bed and now she could lie in it…alone.

And she did. All night until she heard his soft footfalls in the hallway as he passed her door on the way to his own room shortly after the clock struck two and she knew he was home safe.

* * *

The race was to take place shortly after three o’clock on the country roads near Lord Danton’s estate where they’d gone to shoot grouse—an adventure that seemed another lifetime ago to Ismay, although there were similarities between the occasions.

Today, too, the six-mile carriage drive was fraught with tension in close quarters. Her usually voluble father was taciturn as he sat beside Alistair. He’d been displeased with Alistair’s behaviour, and with hers, at Eddington’s party. In Alistair’s absence she’d been the one to hear his lecture on decorum and disappointment when they’d gotten home.

Alistair might as well still be absent for all the attention he’d paid her today, not that she’d given him much chance. She’d finished eating by the time he’d come down for breakfast, and she’d spent the early part of the day in her room studying her notes on earthquake patterns and the mountain, trying to make heads or tails of the increasing activity on Vesuvius.

‘Who do you favour today for the races?’ her mother said in an attempt to break the conversationally chilly confines of the carriage, but even her question sounded strained, as if politeness was something she had to reach for. It was a sign of how far things had deteriorated in her family’s regard for Alistair, a man they’d once been excited to receive. Guilt poked at her—no, it stabbed at her. She’d not meant to ruin a good man, and yet that was the cost of their ruse.

Ismay, you never did know when to stop.

Alistair offered her mother a smile, but it lacked his usual warmth. ‘I plan to wager heavily on Black Diamond’s Promise.’

Her father gave a snort. ‘That’s money already lost. You’d do better to wager on Lorenzo. He’s the favourite, and there’s a reason for that. He’s a tall, leggy runner. He’ll eat up the ground. The odds on Black Diamond’s Promise are twelve to one, the highest in the field. Even Danton’s green gelding, Phaeton, would be a better choice.’

Alistair gave her father a nod of consideration. ‘Respectfully, sir, I like the looks of Black Diamond’s Promise. She’s hardy. Sturdy.’

Her father lifted a shoulder. ‘Not even Eddington thinks she’ll win. He’s just coming for the attention and to help Danton round out the field. She’s pretty, but that’s all.’

Ismay bristled, her nerves already on edge, her feelings raw and exposed after a sleepless night. ‘Surely being pretty isn’t a reason to disqualify her. Pretty women can be intelligent and strong, too.’

Her mother sighed, tired. ‘Ismay, do not make this horse race about women’s rights.’

‘Well? Is that the only reason Black Diamond’s Promise is a long shot? Because she’s a pretty female?’

Her father set down his newspaper with an agitated rustle. ‘Yes, it is, Ismay. Is that what you want me to say? She’s not as big or as strong as the other horses which, yes, are stallions or geldings. Be fair. She’s a lovely horse and she does have her uses, but winning races against thoroughbreds is not one of them.’

‘Uses? As in being a brood-mare?’ Ismay could not stop herself.

‘Ismay!’ her mother scolded. ‘You do not talk to your father that way. Nor is such talk of breeding appropriate conversation.’

She felt Alistair’s gaze land on her briefly. She looked up to see mischief spark secret and deep in his blue eyes, and for a moment they were united once more, animosity set aside for one last prank, one last dare before it was over. This was how it had been that first day, too, the two of them united in a ruse that was at the time focused on dislike. Alistair cleared his throat. ‘I think I will double my bet, then, on principle and because it pleases my fiancée.’ He flashed a brilliant smile her direction. Did he mean any part of that smile? Was there any forgiveness for her in it for what she was requiring him to do? Why should there be? She hadn’t forgiven herself.

‘Perhaps Ismay would prefer you take that sum and donate it to a worthy cause in her name instead of tossing it away. Some families work all year for the princely sum you intend to wager.’ Her father tried one last time to reason with Alistair as the carriage pulled behind the other carriages gathered on the verge at the informal starting line of the race.

She could save him with one word. Yes. Yes, she’d prefer the money go usefully to charity. If he were to accede to her wishes it would demonstrate their match was salvageable—neither of them too reckless yet to see good sense. Instead she said, ‘No, I think you’re right, Alistair. You must bet on principle now. Father has dared you, and the dare must be accepted.’

Alistair gave her hand the tiniest of approving squeezes as he handed her down from the carriage. The damage was done. Completely. Thoroughly.

This race was to be conducted on the road, given that Naples lacked a formal horse-racing venue like Newmarket, but the absence of a track did not mean the absence of a festive atmosphere. Despite the grey clouds, carriage tops were down and baskets full of teatime delicacies were unpacked, while trays of champagne were circulating, compliments of Lord Danton. There would be an hour’s worth of socialising before the horses were lined up. The race was to be a two-mile endeavour across Danton’s land, followed by a supper at Danton’s home before guests drove back to the city.

Alistair managed this final act of their performance masterfully. Keeping Ismay by his side, he spent his time mingling with the gambling crowd, the young men who’d wager heavily and rashly, as opposed to staying with her father and his business acquaintances. It was easy for Alistair to settle in among the ranks of the young bucks. He was immensely popular with them after last night, having indirectly helped several of them pad their allowances at the hazard table.

‘Who do you like for the race?’ he was asked more than once, to which he answered, ‘That’s my secret. If I tell you, you will ruin my odds.’ Then he’d laugh, and even the most insistent would laugh with him.

‘If only I had half of your charm,’ Ismay said as they drifted between groups.

‘You do, Ismay. And twice my courage.’

‘Maybe that’s my problem. People don’t respect women with courage.’ She gave a half-hearted smile. It was hard being with him like this, pretending nothing had changed because nothing had changed for their audience. For the public, they were still wild Alistair and Ismay, an affianced couple that danced too close to the edge, goaded there by each other. But behind the scenes, it was already over. The horses were approaching the starting line. Soon, it would truly be over. ‘I’m sorry, Alistair.’