The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(58)
‘A guinea? Why, nothing so paltry,’ she declared with a toss of her head. ‘I shall place five guineas on Prince Leopold. Here.’ She felt in her reticule and handed him the money. ‘Will you place the bet for me, please?’
‘You are an inveterate gambler, it seems, Cousin Marissa. I had not suspected it.’
He collected the bets from the others and went to find a bookmaker while the ladies continued to view the parade of horses. Jane now held the race card and pointed out the Duke of Grafton’s horse, Alien, and Mr Blake’s John of Paris. ‘What a magnificent animal,’ she declared. ‘Perhaps I should have put my guinea on him instead.’
‘Good day, ladies.’ They were greeted by Lady Valentine, who joined them at the rail. She was dashingly attired in fawn twill, her new scarlet half-boots peeping from under the hem. On her head she sported an outrageous toque of Ionian cork, cut like mosaic and adorned with scarlet tassels and plumes. Nicci’s jaw dropped until she was jabbed sharply in the ribs by Jane.
‘My dear Lady Longminster. You do look… well,’ she remarked, leaving everyone in no doubt that she considered Marissa’s tasteful outfit to be dull. She merely raised an eyebrow at the sight of Nicci’s magpie magnificence, commenting only that she thought her hat to be, ‘So droll.’
‘Oh, I am forgetting myself. Let me make Mr Templeton known to you. Captain Cross you know already, of course.’
Mr Templeton bowed to the ladies as they were introduced, but his attention was obviously all for Lady Valentine who hung onto his arm possessively. He was a remarkably well-set-up young man, with broad shoulders, muscular thighs and a handsome profile under dark brows. Captain Cross gave the distinct impression of a man whose nose had been put out of joint and he lost no time in making eyes at Nicci whenever he thought her chaperones were not watching.
Lady Valentine’s party took up position on the rails a few yards farther along and Nicci almost imperceptibly drifted along until she was in a position to chat with Captain Cross. Marissa decided there was no harm in it, provided they stayed where they were.
Jane, who would normally have spotted such a manoeuvre, had been diverted by the arrival of her new friend Sir Frederick Collier, with whom she had been visiting museums and galleries ever since Diane de Rostan had introduced them. The distinguished banker bowed gallantly over her hand and Marissa thought she had never seen Jane look so handsome. Skilfully he drew her off to one side and Marissa found herself alone, fondly thinking that dear Jane might have found a little romance of her own in her middle years.
Marissa felt the smile freeze on her lips when she saw her father pushing his way aggressively through the crowd towards her. Her heart sank then rose as she saw Marcus, Diane de Rostan on his arm, cross his path. There was a brief conversation of which she heard nothing, but she saw her father’s expression become a scowl and he turned abruptly and stomped off.
Marcus uttered a few words, obviously explaining the uncouth stranger to the Frenchwoman. To Marissa’s relief Diane released Marcus’s arm, patted his cheek and made her own way towards the pavilion.
‘Here is your betting slip,’ Marcus said as he joined Marissa at the rail. ‘Put it safely in your reticule, although I doubt you will need it – the more I look at that horse of yours, the less I like it.’
Tension was growing as the horses lined up at the start. The starter dropped his flag and they were off. Nectar took the lead and stayed there, running strongly, the rest of the field bunched behind. Marcus groaned at the performance of his choice, then gave a great yell as, a furlong and a half out, Pandour and Prince Leopold took up the challenge.
‘Come on, come on, Prince Leopold!’ Marissa screamed, her unladylike behaviour lost in the sea of noise all around them.
‘Pandour!’ Marcus shouted, but Nectar was holding them. Marissa found she was jumping up and down on the spot, her hand gripped tightly onto Marcus’s sleeve. Suddenly, with the winning post only five lengths away, Prince Leopold sprang forward, straining under his jockey’s whip. The leaders ran neck and neck for a few strides, then they flashed past the post, Prince Leopold in the lead by half a length.
‘He has won, he has won!’ Marissa shrieked, and threw her arms round Marcus, kissing him on the cheek. In response, hidden by the milling crowd of excited racegoers all intent on the track, he bent his head and kissed her full on the lips. Instinctively she kissed him back and suddenly it was as if they were alone in the garden again.
‘God, I want you,’ he growled.
She felt dizzy with the thrill of winning and the tension of the race. All she knew was that she loved Marcus and she wanted him too. Mutely she nodded.
Marcus looked around, spotted Sir Frederick with Jane, and, leaving Marissa by the rail, crossed to speak with them. ‘Sir Frederick, may I beg a favour of you?,’ she heard him say. ‘Lady Longminster is quite overcome by the crowds and I must take her back to the Lodge. Could I ask you to escort Lady Nicole and Miss Venables for the rest of the day? Lady Longminster would be so distressed to think she had destroyed their pleasure.’
The baronet agreed immediately, took charge of the winning betting slip with a word of congratulation and could be heard reassuring Jane. ‘No need to worry, Miss Venables. Your friend is in the best of hands and would not wish to mar your day. Now, a little luncheon, some champagne, perhaps…’