Beauty in Breeches

chapter Two


Julius smiled at her words. His smile was the same smile that caused Astrid to flush and tremble—but it would take more than a smile from Julius Chadwick to have the same effect on Beatrice.

‘So, Miss Fanshaw, are you really serious about taking me up on my wager?’

‘I would not have put myself forward if I wasn’t—unless you have an aversion to accepting a challenge from a woman, afraid of how it will look should I win.’

‘Win?’ His lips curved in mockery. ‘Do you seriously think you can beat me?’

‘I stand as good a chance as anyone else.’

‘I see. Then the answer is, no, I do not have an aversion to a race between us.’

Common sense told Julius not to encourage her, and yet, confronted by her challenge, he was intrigued and was unable to resist the temptation. He was compelled to take her on, merely to see how well she could ride. He stared at her profile as she turned her head slightly, tracing with his gaze the beautiful lines of her face, the curved brush of her lustrous dark eyelashes. Yes, Miss Fanshaw was quite extraordinarily lovely. She had an untamed quality running in dangerous undercurrents just below the surface and a wild freedom of spirit that found its counterpart in his own hot-blooded, temperamental nature.

‘The place and the distance will be of your choosing and we shall meet at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’ He turned to George. ‘Arrange it, will you, George? Who will you place your bets on?’

George laughed. ‘Now there’s a challenge in itself. Were it anyone else, Julius, I would certainly back you, but be warned. My cousin has a special affinity with the equine species, preferring them to people. She would rather throw a saddle over a horse than attend a ball. She’ll do anything for a dare and is a demon on a horse. Her own is no dainty mare, but a brute of an animal—a gelding. On such an impressive mount she stands to win.’

Beatrice threw Lord Chadwick a challenging look. ‘Perhaps Lord Chadwick considers it most improper for a young lady to ride a gelding.’

An eyebrow jutted upwards. ‘Young lady? My dear Miss Fanshaw, you are the most controversial and exciting woman I have ever met in my life; I suspect that your vitality is such that you are a menace to everyone you meet. It does not surprise me in the least that you ride a gelding.’ A roguish grin tugged at his lips. ‘If you told me you rode an elephant, I would believe you. As it is I shall take my chance.’

The wager had attracted a good deal of attention and others began to place their bets.

‘I’ll back you, Chadwick,’ someone shouted. ‘Fifty guineas you win.’

Julius turned and grinned as interest in the race began to mount. ‘See what is happening, Miss Fanshaw. You have fallen among desperate gamblers.’

‘I already knew that before I accepted your challenge,’ she uttered, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. He gave her a cold look, but chose not to comment on her provocative remark.

‘Seventy-five guineas,’ another voice shouted.

‘A hundred.’

‘My diamond necklace,’ a lady from the back of the crowd piped up.

And so it went on until the stakes reached heady proportions. But neither participant was listening as they continued to watch each other warily. Beatrice’s gaze was ensnared by the glittering sheen of the amber eyes.

‘And us, Miss Fanshaw?’ Julius murmured. ‘What will we forfeit?’

There was a deathly hush. From beneath the gazebo Lady Standish watched what was happening in appalled, stony silence, unable to believe her niece’s shocking behaviour. The look in her eyes was as potent as a spoken curse.

‘I say the winner names the forfeit,’ Beatrice suggested.

Julius nodded. ‘I think you have planned this, Miss Fanshaw.’

Beatrice raised her chin a notch. ‘You don’t have to agree to race against me, Lord Chadwick. Indeed, I don’t know why I entertained such a notion.’

He looked at her directly and she felt her breath come a little short. ‘Oh, I think you do,’ he said quietly. ‘I think you know exactly what you want and you will stop at nothing to get it. I read people well, Miss Fanshaw, and I think you have the ability to be absolutely single minded. You know very well why you entertained this notion.’

Her smile was one of thin sarcasm. ‘You do a lot of thinking, Lord Chadwick.’

‘All the time.’

‘If I am as you say, then indirectly it is your doing.’

‘I am sorry to find that after all these years you still carry a grudge. And now all I need to do is discover what forfeit you will ask of me, and the only way I can do that is to race against you—unless you will indulge me and tell me now.’

She tossed her head haughtily. To forgo propriety and do what one wished was quite liberating. ‘No, not before the end of the race.’

‘Very well. Until after the race.’

There were loud guffaws from the crowd. ‘Careful, Julius,’ Roderick Caruthers shouted. ‘Be careful what you commit yourself to. You are a gentleman, remember, and gentlemen never renege on their word.’

He grinned. ‘I’d better win, then.’

‘And should I win, you will give me your word to honour the forfeit?’ Beatrice asked, holding his gaze. ‘I do.’

Her expression was innocent, but her eyes were hard to read. She raised her brows slightly, and said, ‘I intend to hold you to that.’

‘So the wager is made—but your forfeit? I think I have guessed, which wasn’t too difficult considering the circumstances. Though it is immaterial since you cannot win.’ Julius’s grin broadened and he looked at her knowingly, holding up one hand. ‘Don’t tell me. Larkhill.’

Beatrice gave him a level look. ‘Oh, no. Believe me, Lord Chadwick, nothing I could ask from you would be as fine or as grand as Larkhill.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I am intrigued. Tell me.’

‘Like I said, not until after the race—although if your horse is as splendid as you would have everyone believe, then I might well be tempted to take it from you.’

‘Oh, no, lady—my horse is an exception. I have waited too long to get a horse by its sire—a winner of some top races—and I am not about to lose him now. But why are we discussing this? I shall win.’

Beatrice smiled almost sweetly. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about, have you, Lord Chadwick?’

‘You must be confident, to accept my challenge.’

‘I would not be doing this if I wasn’t confident that I could beat you.’

Beatrice would make sure that Lord Chadwick could not refuse the forfeit she would ask of him if she won the race, even while telling herself that what she was doing was foolish. Her eyes held his and she knew he would read her absolute determination to go ahead with this wager—foolish or not.

‘Cousin Beatrice is no docile, ordinary young lady,’ George laughingly told Lord Chadwick. ‘She is a mannerless hoyden—a dark horse if ever there was is how I would describe her.’ He paused with a small private smile and a playful wink at Beatrice. ‘Dark horse, maybe, but she is also clever and cunning and always dangerous.’

‘Really,’ Julius uttered quietly. ‘A woman after my own heart.’

Beatrice was so close, she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. ‘Oh, no, Lord Chadwick,’ she countered coldly. ‘You can keep your heart. That is the last thing I want from you.’

He regarded her long and hard before replying. ‘I shall. My heart has always been in my own safe keeping, and there it will remain. Safe. But you intrigue me, Miss Fanshaw. Already I am wondering what I have let myself in for. And I was beginning to imagine you would become unseated at the first hurdle.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ George told him. ‘Beatrice has the best pair of hands I’ve ever seen. She knows horses—could whisper a horse out of a field. But should you win, Julius, what forfeit will you ask of her?’

Lord Chadwick looked at George as he considered his question, but his penetrating gaze returned to Beatrice.

Curious as to what his reply would be, Beatrice waited expectantly. The glow in her face now faded. She straightened her back.

At length he said, ‘As to that, I have not yet decided. But I will, and she may not like it when I have.’ He bowed his head ever so slightly. ‘Until tomorrow, Miss Fanshaw. I look forward to our race.’



Beatrice had not imagined confronting Lord Chadwick would require such an effort. On reaching the house her stomach was still tied in knots and her heart had yet to find its customary rhythm. Nervousness was not a reaction to which she was normally susceptible. There was no place in her scheme of things for faint heartedness, and this afternoon she had taken the first step to reclaiming Larkhill. Recalling how Lord Chadwick had looked at her with open admiration, her lips quirked. In the circumstances, it was a definitely heartening thought.

She was about to cross the hall to the stairs when a voice rang out, halting her.

‘A word, Beatrice.’

She turned to face her aunt, her brow furrowed with a twinge of premonition. She got the familiar feeling that trouble was afoot, and as she noted her aunt’s sharp look, that piercing glance told her plainly that some kind of storm was brewing. It was plain that Lady Standish was both appalled and incensed over her niece’s conduct.

‘Beatrice! How dare you conduct yourself in this manner? How dare you? And to publicly take Lord Chadwick to task over past grievances was outrageous—an absolute disgrace.’

Beatrice’s green eyes flashed, but when she spoke she managed to moderate her tone. ‘I meant no offence, Aunt Moira. Truly.’

‘I know about the wager between the two of you and you forget yourself. Not only do you shame yourself, but me and our good name. I will not have it. You make yourself a disgrace. Such freakish sports are not fitting for a young lady of quality. I will not have the reputation of this family jeopardised by your folly.’

‘I’m sorry if I have upset you, Aunt Moira, but I never could resist a challenge.’

‘A challenge? Beatrice, this is me you are talking to, not a fool. You haven’t the first inkling of social graces. In that I have tried and failed, for you were determined not to learn. By your activities you encourage Lord Chadwick. I see that. Why do you always take such delight in being disobedient?’

Tired of being told what to do, Beatrice averted her eyes, trying to keep her anger and frustration at bay, but rebellion was bubbling away inside her. ‘Because I am old enough to look after myself.’

Lady Moira appeared undaunted. ‘In society no woman is old enough to look after herself in certain circumstances—and you are just eighteen years old.’

‘I am old enough and can look after myself. There’s not one weak bone in my body.’ Her fingers curled tightly into her palm as she tried to remain calm. ‘I have enough good sense in my head to know what I am doing.’

‘That is where we differ, Beatrice. Had you any sense at all, you would not have entered into this disgraceful wager with Lord Chadwick.’ Her eyes narrowing, she thrust her head forwards and glared knowingly at this disappointing niece of hers. ‘What do you hope for? To push Astrid out of her place? To supplant her in Lord Chadwick’s attention? Though this was supposed to be Astrid’s birthday party, you have stolen her attention. In fact, you have eclipsed Astrid in success. There is some doubt that Lord Chadwick will offer for her now. Are you jealous of your cousin, Beatrice? Is that it?’

A frown crossed Beatrice’s beautiful face, then her anger fled and she knew a moment of shame. ‘I am not jealous of Astrid. Please do not think that. I love Astrid as a sister and I would never do anything that would cause her pain. Astrid doesn’t have a place in Lord Chadwick’s affections, Aunt Moira, that is plain to see. You wanted him to notice her. He was polite. You saw what you wanted to see.’

‘And you hate him—remember?’ she pointed out coldly.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Then I would have thought you would have wanted to steer well clear of him. And the wager? I do not believe in flouting propriety in this way. It is the most disgraceful thing I have ever heard in my life.’

‘I am sorry if it has caused you distress, Aunt, but the wager is made. I cannot go back on my word.’

‘And what do you hope to get out of it—if you win, that is,’ she sneered, ‘which I very much doubt, since by all accounts no one handles a horse quite like Lord Chadwick?’

‘Then perhaps he has met his match. I accept that what I am doing is a risk.’

‘Risk?’ Lady Standish gave her a thin, sarcastic smile. ‘I think that is putting it mildly, Beatrice.’

Beatrice lifted her head and looked squarely into her aunt’s eyes. ‘If I win and Lord Chadwick agrees to my forfeit, not only will I be able to return to Larkhill, I will also have the means to make it one of the finest houses in the county. You will also have me off your hands for good, which I know you will look on as a blessing.’

‘That is the most foolish thing I have ever heard. This time you have gone too far. You will not do it. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare disobey me. I will not have it. I will not be accused of being unable to keep my niece in check and made a laughing stock. Now go to your room and think good and hard about what I have said.’

‘I will, Aunt Moira.’ On that note Beatrice excused herself, leaving a thoroughly shocked Aunt Moira staring after her.



Beatrice returned to the party as dusk was beginning to fall. After an hour spent talking to friends and acquaintances, she went in search of Astrid. She found her listening to the musicians. They were all dressed alike in crimson coats and white trousers, seated on a rostrum hung with coloured lanterns. Astrid turned her head when Beatrice stood beside her and smiled. Her eyes sparkled and a pretty flush coloured her cheeks as she sipped a glass of lemonade cooled with crushed ice.

‘There you are, Beatrice. I thought you had disappeared for good.’

‘Are you enjoying your party, Astrid?’

‘Oh, yes. Mama has gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make it right. Although I do find it all rather awe-inspiring,’ she admitted, envious of her cousin’s self-assurance.

Beatrice nodded in agreement. Looking around, she saw couples wandering away to indulge in a little starlit privacy. Lord Chadwick was watching her from across the stretch of lawn that lay like a rich velvet carpet between them. He raised his glass and bowed briefly, his smile both approving and challenging as his gaze from beneath hooded lids swept over her with practised scrutiny. She turned away to listen to what Astrid was saying.

‘George is paying a good deal of attention to Leonora Fenton, Sir Philip Fenton’s daughter. He always does. He’s never said anything, but I think he’s quite taken with her. What do you think, Beatrice?’

Beatrice glanced towards where George conversed with a slender, extremely attractive young woman in a yellow high-waisted gown. ‘She’s very pretty. But I wonder if your mother would agree to a match between them.’

‘I don’t see why not. George is of an age to choose his own wife. Miss Fenton has all the required requisites—title and money—so I don’t see why Mama should have any objections. But come, Beatrice,’ she said, linking her arm through her cousin’s, ‘I care nothing to standing still. Let’s circulate. I want to have a word with you about this wager you have made with Lord Chadwick. It is quite insane—you know that, don’t you? Mama is furious.’

‘She’s already spoken to me about it, but I know what I am doing. I will not be bullied out of it. I have no intention of backing out.’

‘But—you could get hurt. Lord Chadwick is not the sort of man to take kindly to being bested by a woman.’

Beatrice stared at her. ‘Bested? Yes, I might well beat him. I certainly intend to try. But does the forfeit I will demand of him not concern you?’

‘No. When you accepted his wager I heard you tell him that you will not ask him to return Larkhill to you, but I suspect it features somewhere in the forfeit.’

‘Yes it does. I wanted to speak to you about the race, Astrid. Your opinion matters to me very much. Aunt Moira has her sights set on Lord Chadwick as a serious contender for your hand in marriage. Will it upset you very much to see us together, racing hell for leather against each other?’

Astrid paused and turned to her cousin, her attitude one of calm resolve. ‘Be assured, Beatrice, that whatever aspirations Mama has of my future husband, it will definitely not be Lord Chadwick. I will not marry him, not even to appease Mama.’

They carried on walking. Astrid said nothing else. Beatrice had expected something—a word of blame, of disappointment, of condemnation for the manner in which she had asserted herself in Lord Chadwick’s eyes, but she had nothing from Astrid but a calm look which was somehow full of relief…and gratitude.

Why, Beatrice thought, seeing her gentle cousin truly, as if for the first time, I have done her a favour. Astrid really didn’t want to marry Lord Chadwick. She never did. She was being pushed into it by her forceful mama, and she, Beatrice, was giving her a way out.

Astrid glanced across at a young man sitting on a bench in the shadow of a spouting fountain. ‘Will you excuse me?’ she said a little breathlessly, excitement leaping to her eyes and brightness lighting her face as she spoke. ‘I can see Henry and I simply must speak to him.’

Beatrice watched her hurry away. Normally Astrid was always far too timid and serious to be giddy. And yet when Henry Talbot was near it was like the sun coming out after a dark period and she suddenly became light-hearted, foolish and gay. With a smile Beatrice turned and sauntered in the direction of the house. Her step was light as she walked slowly along a walkway lined with a profusion of fragrant pink roses that clambered all over trellising. It was a tunnel of shadow, broken at intervals by warm squares of light from lanterns hanging in the trees. With a contented sigh she closed her eyes and listened to the murmur of distant voices, a wistful expression on her lovely face. It was a warm night, heavy and sweet with summer scents.

She intended to find a quiet shady place on the terrace to sit a while before going to her room. The warmth of the evening caressed her bare shoulders and a light breeze stirred the skirts of her gown.

‘Well, well, Miss Fanshaw! So we meet again.’ Julius was ahead of her and, seeing her walking alone along the privacy of the arched walkway, he had paused to watch her, completely captivated by the look on her face. This was not the face of the young woman who had boldly challenged him to race his horse against hers earlier. Then her haughty manner had marked her as strong of character whereas now, with her eyes closed and a gentle smile on her lips, there was a softness about her, an elusive gentleness that declared her to be as fragile and vulnerable as the roses that clambered about them.

Clearly she was a woman of ever-changing moods and subtle contradictions, and while her physical beauty first arrested the attention, it was this spectrum, this bewildering, indefinable quality that held him captive. A strange sweet melting feeling softened his innermost core without warning, the place in him that he usually kept as hard as steel.

His appearance pulled Beatrice from the strange spell that had seemed to enclose her. She started, alarmed by the unexpected greeting, and opened her eyes. He appeared too suddenly for her to prepare herself, so the heady surge of pleasure she experienced on seeing him again was clearly evident, stamped like an unbidden confession on her lovely face.

Stepping in front of her, he towered above her. His smile was full of gentle mockery when he said, ‘Are you about to retire, Miss Fanshaw?’

Beneath his impassive gaze Beatrice stood perfectly still, refusing to blush or look away, her delicately beautiful face framed by a halo of golden hair—a dainty image of fragility standing before a man who dwarfed her.

‘I thought I might.’

‘A sensible move, I would say. I fear if you party too long into the night you will not do full justice to the race tomorrow.’

‘Your concern—if that is what it is—for my state of health is quite touching, Lord Chadwick. But worry not. If I were to party till dawn, I would still beat you hands down.’

‘Your courage and confidence are to be admired, but you are going to be disappointed. I’m afraid the outcome is inevitable.’

‘I don’t think so,’ she remarked.

‘And here was I thinking you might wish to retract your challenge.’ He stared at her with impudent admiration, letting his gaze travel from her eyes to her mouth, then down to the swell of her breasts. Beatrice wished she had a shawl to cover herself, as she felt her cheeks grow hot beneath his scrutiny.

‘My challenge stands. Now be so kind as to step aside.’

He did as she bade, but she was not to be rid of him. As she continued to walk on he fell into step beside her.

‘Will you return to the party?’ he asked.

They had reached the terrace and she stopped and turned to him. ‘I might, but then I might not.’ Taking a deep breath, she looked up into the night sky and saw the moon, a new moon, a thin sickle of a moon. Seeing it for the first time, she closed her eyes.

Beside her Julius followed her gaze, his eyes on the slender sickle. ‘Have you made a wish?’ he asked.

Opening her eyes, she nodded.

‘Then I hope the new moon brings you luck.’

‘So do I, but I believe you make your own luck in this world.’

‘That is a very cynical view, Miss Fanshaw.’

‘I have a cynical outlook on life, Lord Chadwick.’ She gazed up at the stars beginning to twinkle. ‘I love looking at the sky at night,’ she murmured. ‘There are so many stars up there. To some people all the constellations just look like a jumble of stars, but they’re not. See that bright one over there?’

Julius continued to look up, as if he, too, found something of interest there. ‘That’s Jupiter.’

‘So it is—and over there is the Great Bear—and you see that faint smudge,’ he said, pointing at the sky, ‘that is the Andromeda constellation, which is the nearest galaxy to our own Milky Way and was named after the mythological princess Andromeda. The seven stars of the Plough are the easiest to make out, which is of the constellation Ursa Major.’

Beatrice laughed. ‘You are very knowledgeable about the stars, Lord Chadwick. Do you make a study of the galaxies yourself?’

‘I spend a lot of my time travelling. On board ship the nights are long and one spends many hours on deck, looking at the sky. The northern sky—which you are looking at—is very different from the southern sky and so is the sky around the equatorial zone. I’m sure you would find it interesting.’

‘I’m sure I would—if I ever get the opportunity to travel. It never occurred to me that the sky would look different in other parts of the world. Do you think anyone lives up there, that any of those stars are inhabited with people like us?’

‘I don’t know. What do you think?’

‘I don’t—not really. But then, it would be arrogant of us to assume that out of all those thousands and millions of stars the Earth is the only planet where life exists. It’s like saying the Earth is the centre of the universe and everything revolves around it.’ She dragged her gaze from the sky and looked at him when she heard him chuckle. Her lips broke into a smile. ‘What is it? Why do you laugh?’

‘I am astonished. Since when did young ladies begin studying astronomy?’

‘I don’t know about the others, but this particular young lady began as soon as she learnt to read.’ He was smiling, a smile she found almost endearing. He did seem to have a way about him and she could not fault any woman for falling under his spell, for she found to her amazement that her heart was not so distantly detached as she might have imagined it to be. Even his deep mellow voice seemed like a warm caress over her senses. For all the animosity she felt for him, she could not deny what a fine specimen of a man he was.

He took her hand to kiss it. He looked so relaxed that she found herself responding to him. Then a glint of mischief in his eyes reminded her of who he was. Shaking off the effects of his winning smile, she took herself mentally in hand and snatched her hand free. She tossed her head proudly, but Julius Chadwick was undaunted by her show of indignation. He touched her arm very gently and reached so close that she could smell the sharp scent of his cologne.

‘Please forgive me,’ he murmured, softly and with disconcerting sincerity. ‘I was boorish in my behaviour to you earlier when you accepted my wager. It was never my intention and now I heartily beg your pardon.’

Beatrice was astonished. She stared into his deep amber eyes, looking for the mockery, the veiled contempt. She found neither. ‘No more than I was,’ she conceded.

‘You were angry and I understand the reason and you intend to punish me for it. Will you not tell me that I am forgiven?’

Beatrice found herself weakening before his smile. Her own smile came slowly. ‘Very well. You are forgiven.’

‘Then I am once more a happy man and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.’ He raised her fingers to his lips and pressed a light kiss on them. As he did so he surreptitiously pressed a small object into the palm of her hand. ‘I would like you to have this. It is just a small token of my respect and admiration,’ he said. ‘May it serve to remind you of happier times and of the value I place on your forgiveness.’

Beatrice uttered her thanks and watched him turn and stride away. When he was out of sight she opened her hand and looked down at the small object he had placed there. Only then did her brief softening turn to humiliation. The colour drained from her face. Damn him, she thought. He had used subtle trickery and flattery on her and she had fallen for it and allowed herself to become as stupid and gullible as all those silly girls who simpered and followed him around like sheep.

What he had given her was a gold signet ring she had last seen on her father’s finger. She had not given it a thought during all the years she had been without him, and now she knew that this, too, must have been among the things he had taken from her father. It did remind her of happier times, but it also reminded her of how those times had cruelly ended. With the death of her mother following so soon on her father’s suicide, the deep, dark void of hollowness and sorrow was complete.

Wounded and angry, she could not even begin to imagine the desperation that had driven her father to part with his ring, but as she stared down at it she swore she would make Lord Chadwick pay most dearly for what he had done to her. She would not rest until she had retrieved everything her father had lost to Julius Chadwick. Nothing would stand in her way after she had come this far.



The dew was still on the grass when Beatrice headed for the stables the next morning with her riding crop tucked underneath her arm. She arrived to a great fuss of excitement. She had done as her aunt had said and thought good and hard about the wager, but it had made no difference. Her mind was made up. Respect was everything to her aunt and what her niece was doing would have a damaging effect on her own standing in society, but in the end nothing was changed. Beatrice would not back out now.

Everyone had heard about the race and had come to watch. Major had been brought out of his stable and tacked up. The stable lad was giving his powerful haunches and glossy neck one last polish. He was by the mounting block, arching his neck and pawing the ground, waiting for his mistress.

The groom knew of her aversion to the side saddle and that she preferred the masculine way of riding astride, so Major had been tacked up appropriately. No one was surprised to see Beatrice wearing her breeches, for it was a familiar sight.

As spry as a young athlete, she swung herself up on to Major’s back as George rode towards her.

‘Is it all arranged?’ she asked him as they rode together out of the stable yard, her horse so fresh and eager that she had to hold him in check.

‘I have planned the route to your satisfaction, I hope.’ Of an understanding nature, George glanced sideways at her, his brow creased with a worried frown. ‘I’m sorry Astrid cannot watch the race. I know how much she wanted to, but I’m afraid Mama is incensed by your acceptance of Lord Chadwick’s wager and has forbidden her to attend.’

Unmoved, Beatrice looked straight ahead. With his shock of fair hair and bright blue eyes, many were the times when she had thanked God for her fun-loving, easy-mannered, handsome cousin. He had been her friend for as long as she could remember, and she really didn’t know how she would have coped without him. She would never forget the lack of welcome at Standish House from Aunt Moira, and things had not improved. She had soon learned that her aunt’s love was reserved solely for her own children and that there was none for her.

‘I am sorry that Astrid cannot watch the race, George—I know how much she wanted to. I am also sorry about the way Aunt Moira feels about me, but I cannot change that.’ At these words George glanced at her. How typical of him to be concerned for her, she thought. She smiled to reassure him and said, ‘Don’t worry, George, I’ve grown used to it. As for the wager, it is done and too much is at stake for me to pull out now. Besides, I would not give Lord Chadwick the satisfaction. How much do you know about him?’

‘Not much, as it happens. I only met him myself when he arrived back in London—from India, I believe. He is very rich, but there was a time when his family were destitute. Equipped with a clever mind, through his own endeavours and gambling everything on a series of investments, which paid off for him again and again, he brought his family out of penury.’

‘If he used the same gambling methods he used on my father, then I do not care for them. It does him no credit,’ Beatrice retorted bitterly, at the same time grudgingly impressed by his success. ‘I suppose if he’s as rich as all that, then there’s little wonder people court his favour.’

‘They do, but his success has come at a price. Some years ago tragedy hit his family—I’m not sure of the details. Because of it and to guard his privacy, he spends most of his time abroad.’

‘I see. Tell me about the circuit.’

‘It will start and end at the gate in the lower meadow. You will both do a full circuit of Larkhill, riding over the common and open ground past the village, up to the woods and through the park, where you will pick up the trail back to the meadow. It’s punishing and steep in places. The full circuit will take an hour or more, but it shouldn’t be difficult since you have ridden it almost every day. The hardest part will be the steep ride up the woods.’

‘Have you familiarised Lord Chadwick with the route?’

‘Yes. He rode it earlier and he’s up for it if you are.’

‘Of course. I can trust Major to handle it.’

‘Lord Chadwick is already at the starting point—along with a hundred others from the house party who have come to watch and to collect their winnings.’

‘No doubt everyone is expecting him to win.’

‘Absolutely—although there are several who have laid bets on you.’

Beatrice looked sideways at her cousin. ‘Where is your bet placed, George? I trust you remember that I am family and that you owe your loyalty to me. Were you brave enough to risk your money on me?’

Kicking his horse into a gallop, he went ahead. ‘That is for me to know and for you to find out,’ he shouted laughingly over his shoulder.



The reception party was larger than Beatrice had anticipated. The entire meadow was filled with all types of people from house guests to grooms, footmen and stable hands and locals from the nearby village. The sun shone down on fashionable ladies beneath bobbing parasols, feathered hats and a colourful array of silk turbans. Curricles and chases were everywhere and those who wished to follow the race were on horseback. Everyone jockeyed for the best position, all animatedly discussing the forthcoming race.

Atop her spirited mount, Beatrice looked radiant, undeniably beautiful, as only she could do when there was something she wanted badly enough and had set her mind to getting it. She slanted an admiring look at her opponent as he approached leading his mount. He wore a tanned riding coat, a pair of buckskin breeches and highly polished brown boots.

Julius also wore a look of unconcealed appreciation on his handsome face as he surveyed her perched atop a raw-boned gelding, a giant of a horse, a glossy chestnut, its coat gleaming almost red. She presented a slender figure and it seemed incomprehensible that she could control the great beast. She met his gaze squarely, her face bright with invitation and challenge.

‘Good morning,’ he greeted politely. ‘It’s a good turnout. All it’s short of to make it a fair are the acrobats and tents. Are you still up for this, Miss Fanshaw—or perhaps you would prefer pistols at twenty paces?’ he teased as he leapt on to his mount with the physical prowess of an athlete.

Beatrice lifted her head, intending to treat him with cool formality, but he looked so relaxed atop his powerful horse and his smile was so disarming that she almost smiled. Confident, her expression open and her green eyes direct, she said, ‘Of course I am up to it, Lord Chadwick—we can try pistols at twenty paces if I lose, which I have no intention of doing.’

‘Then if a duel to the death is to follow, you’d better win if you value your life.’

She laughed lightly. ‘Not only am I a competent horsewoman, I am also a crack shot, so whichever method we use, you stand to lose.’

His horse drew Beatrice’s eye. It was a beautiful dappled grey gelding, its coat as smooth as silk. With sharp features, bright, intelligent eyes and a perfectly arched neck, it really was a beautiful animal, with powerful legs and shoulders. Her opponent was watching her closely and he saw her eyes gleam with appreciation.

‘He is a splendid animal, is he not, Miss Fanshaw?’

‘He certainly is,’ she agreed longingly. ‘As I told you yesterday, had I not already decided on the forfeit, I would be more than happy to take that horse from you.’

‘Never. I will never part with him,’ he laughingly declared.

They rode towards the open gate to the meadow where George was waiting to get the race under way. It was a bright day, but not too hot. The haymakers in the field next to the meadow leaned on their scythes and watched them pass side by side, doffing their caps as they saw the noble bearing of the Marquess, their hearts warming at the sight of their own Miss Fanshaw.

Julius slanted her a look. ‘It’s still not too late to pull out.’

Without looking at him, Beatrice beamed upon the crowd. ‘Of course I’m not going to pull out. Indeed, I couldn’t disappoint so many earnest cavaliers who have placed their bets on me.’

‘Don’t let that put you off. They’ll get their money back.’

Now she did look at him. ‘That’s not the point. I am honour bound to take your wager. Besides I can think of nothing that would please me more than to beat you.’ She shot him a suspicious, mischievous glance. ‘Unless you have cold feet, my lord, and you would like to pull out?’

Julius trapped her gaze in his. ‘Not a bit of it. I’m looking forward to it, though the course has many pitfalls.’

Beatrice took in the hard planes of his face, the subtle aggression in the line of his jaw, and the clear intent that stared at her from the depths of his amber eyes. A slight trembling sensation skittered over her skin. Ignoring it, she smiled. ‘I dare say there will be many distractions along the way, but I am familiar with every one of them.’

‘Then the fight is on. I promise you a hard race,’ Julius called over his shoulder as he trotted ahead.

Maybe so, Beatrice thought, eyeing his back through narrowed eyes. But with everything to play for, she would win.

At the drop of George’s handkerchief and with the roar of the crowd, the two horses lunged forwards. The two riders were galloping at full speed, crouched low over the horses’ necks. Neck and neck they left the meadow and thundered across the common to open spaces and up the steep track towards the woods. One glance as they cleared a fence assured Julius that Beatrice Fanshaw was indeed a skilled horsewoman.

Both horses held their paces well up the long, punishing slope, then raced across the rough ground at the edge of the woods, where the undergrowth was home to badgers and foxes. Her head down to avoid low branches that might sweep her out of the saddle, Beatrice kept a careful lookout for loose rocks, dangerous, treacherous roots and slippery puddles which the sun was unable to reach and dry out. Major fell behind Lord Chadwick’s horse. Both horses were blowing foam as they crested the hill. The track now lead down to circle Larkhill.

Leaning forwards like a jockey to get every inch of speed from Major, urging him on harder and harder, Beatrice was after Lord Chadwick in a mad, downward dash. The hooves pounded, sending divots of earth up behind. She urged Major onwards, then there was a giant hedge before her, white with summer blossom. His body flowing easily with his horse’s stride, Lord Chadwick held the advantage and cleared it first. Beatrice felt Major’s hind quarters bunching up beneath her and with one giant leap she cleared it with an effortless, breezy unconcern and hit the ground on the other side. Lord Chadwick glanced around and waved his hand, laughing jubilantly on seeing her several lengths behind. With a laugh in her own throat, Beatrice recovered and was off again, pounding into her fastest gallop once more.

Racing across the soft parkland grass, Lord Chadwick was just ahead of her, his attention fixed on winning the race. But Beatrice was gaining on him. She could feel the ripple of her hair as it loosed its pins and laughed recklessly to feel the wind in her face. Major’s ears were back to hear her laugh, then forward as they came to another hedge with a ditch before it. She checked only for a moment and then they soared over it as one. She could smell the scent of summer flowers and crushed woodbine as Major’s hooves clipped the top of the hedge and then they were moving on, even faster.

With the meadow and the finishing post within sight, there were only two lengths between them now and with a surge of energy, knowing exactly what his mistress wanted, Major, confident, trusting and elated, sailed past Lord Chadwick’s beautiful grey, the crowd shouting, ‘Go on, Miss Beatrice!’ They flew past the winning post, at the point where they had started.

The crowd erupted, everyone laughing and cheering. Julius pulled his sweating horse to a halt and took in Beatrice’s mud-spattered face and tumbling, tangled hair. Her golden skin was flushed with heat and excitement and her eyes—winner’s eyes—were a sparkling, brilliant green. Dragging in a deep breath, exhilaration coursing through their veins, their wide smiles were mirror images. Julius couldn’t help thinking that it was worth losing the race to see her laughing with such unfeigned delight. It was a warm, husky, rippling sound. His eyes locked on her lips, on the column of her slender throat. Instinctively his hands tightened on the reins.

He dismounted and went to her, placing his hand on her horse’s foam-flecked neck. ‘It was a good race. Quite splendid. You win. You rode well,’ he conceded. ‘Congratulations.’

She sprang from the saddle and stood close to him, her smile shamelessly triumphant. She was able to feel the heat of his body as he could feel hers. Fuelled by the breathless excitement of the race and her win, and the pleasure of standing so close to his strong manly body, she was aware that she was trembling.

It was a long time since Julius had enjoyed a ride as much, or as fast and unrestrained, with company that could handle the going as well as he. ‘George was right. You’re an intrepid horsewoman.’

Tossing her head, she laughed happily. ‘I couldn’t let you have the advantage of me now, could I?’

‘I suppose not. So, Miss Fanshaw—the forfeit? What is it to be?’ He stood without moving, awaiting her pleasure.

Unsmiling, she met his gaze and held it. He was looking at her with quiet patience—like a cat before a mousehole. Having puzzled on how to approach him, she chose directness, calming herself and saying, ‘By his own actions my father gambled away everything he owned to you, causing him to lose his self-respect and his sanity. Now you are the only person I can think of who can help me.’ She could sense he was wary, that his guard was up. There was a distance between her and this man which might never be closed. The startling amber eyes rested on her ironically.

‘Of what help could I possibly be to you? What is it that I can do? My curiosity is aroused as to why you should go to all this trouble to take me up on my wager. I detect a certain recklessness in you, and if I know anything of feminine vanity it will be something of value that you think only I can give you. Will you please put us all out of our misery and tell us what it is?’

Beatrice drew a deep breath, then fired her salvo. ‘That you marry me.’