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“Up at dawn, so Grunyon told me, all togged out for riding.”
Frances nodded toward Rosie and seated herself. Damn him, she thought, picking up her knife. Oh, he’ll not escape me. Let him ride until doomsday, he’ll not escape me.
“Has Hawk come a
round yet, Frances?” the marquess asked.
She cast him a startled glance, then understood his inquiry. “I don’t know,” she said. “He was most upset about the five thousand pounds. However, he has allowed the use of Gentleman Dan, and has said nothing about Flying Davie’s training.”
“You are a strong woman, Frances,” the marquess remarked after a thoughtful moment. “I was gratified to hear that Hawk had come home. To tell the truth, I hesitated about that particular approach. Poor Marcus! I trust the young man knows nothing of his near-death at the hands of my son?”
“No, Marcus is quite innocently going about his affairs.”
“I wonder why Hawk did return,” the marquess continued. “I have given it much thought, Frances, and really don’t understand his reasoning.”
“Guilt,” said Frances succinctly.
“I imagine that his guilt turned to something quite different when he saw you as you really are.”
“Indeed,” she said shortly. “He wanted to strangle me, when he’d stopped his yelling.”
“Excellent. I knew my lad would come about.”
This was said with such fond certainty that Frances dropped her fork and stared at her father-in-law. “‘Lad? Goodness, he is anything but a little lad,” she said. “He is the most stubborn, conceited, arrogant—”
“Ah,” the marquess said, interrupting her effusions. “I am glad to see that the lassie is coming about also.”
“You, sir,” Frances said between gritted teeth, “are the most abominable, ruthless, cunning—”
“It is so remarkably pleasant to be loved,” said the marquess. He rose from his chair, walked to Frances, lightly kissed her cheek, and left the breakfast room.
“I am surely in Bedlam,” Frances remarked to the silent room.
23
Every man to his trade.
—GREEK PROVERB
All I know how to do, Hawk told himself yet again as he took Ebony over a fence, is wage war, love women, and win at gambling. The stallion landed gracefully on the other side and Hawk drew him up for a moment. This was one of his favorite places—an oak-shaded area by the River Ouse. He remembered it as a boy, climbing out on a now-dead limb to dangle, then drop into the water. Beatrice had been right behind him in those days—shrieking as she jumped from the branch, nearly drowning him when she landed. Where had Nevil been? Odd, he couldn’t clearly remember his brother now. He sighed. That was because Nevil was horse-mad and had spent all his time in the stables, learning to train, learning to judge horseflesh, memorizing all the famous racers, their antecedents, their times and distances. As was proper, he added to himself. He leaned down, selected a pebble, and skipped it over the calm water.
A younger son is army-bound and he had gone and had proved quite proficient at his metier. But he had loved the horses, the smell of the stables, the excitement of watching a long-legged thoroughbred go through his paces. But he had cut all that off, consciously withdrawn, when he’d realized that Desborough wouldn’t be his, that he couldn’t involve himself. It was Nevil’s birthright, Nevil’s trade.
I could learn, he told himself. As Frances was now learning.
Frances—what was he going to do about her?
Lord, what a fool he’d been, not seeing Frances, not realizing that a dowdy little mouse was a most unlikely product of Alexander Kilbracken. And she’s a delight in bed. He felt himself harden, just at the thought of her, and grunted at himself in disgust. He clenched his hands when his senses reminded him of her softness, the budding of her passion beneath his fingers.
“She is driving me mad,” he said aloud to his horse. “I shall return to London. Very soon. Let my father amuse her. Let him deal with her sharp tongue and her managing ways.”
And Desborough ... what will you do about Desborough?
He dusted his hands on his pants, closed her and Desborough resolutely from his mind, and remounted Ebony.
“Where is his lordship, Belvis?” Frances asked, coming into the head trainer’s office. She loved this small room with its smell of linseed and aged leather.
“I believe, Lady Frances, that he mentioned going to York on some matter,” said Belvis. She said nothing more and Belvis added after a moment, “We have two more mares arriving this afternoon. Lord Burghley has requested Ebony to sire, and as his lordship is aware of this, I assume he won’t be gone long.”
