The Training of a Marquess Read online

  A dimple appeared on his right cheek, and something fluttered in her belly. Disturbed by the unsettling feeling, she turned her attention to the boy. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you? Come along, we’re almost there.”

  When they arrived, she stepped aside and watched Bensey’s face. Hillcrest Abbey’s conservatory had been the pride of Thomas. Not that he cared about the plants. He liked showing it off and impressing guests.

  There were two full-time gardeners assigned to the conservatory. There was a section of exotic plants from Africa, an area filled with fruit trees from around the world, lush ferns, flowering plants that she could not name and had no idea where they came from, and even a section featuring desert plants.

  Bensey’s expression did not disappoint. His satchel fell from his grasp as he wandered off into the dense foliage.

  “Bensey,” Lord Derebourne called, “weren’t you going to show Lady Derebourne your art?”

  “You may show her, Father,” he said and kept going.

  “Well, if he ever goes missing,” Chase said, “we’ll know where to look for him.”

  She kept her gaze on the path Bensey had disappeared down. “He’s an amazing boy.”

  “He is that. If you’re amazed now, wait until you see his drawings.”

  Bending down, he picked up the satchel and pulled out a sketchpad. When he stepped next to her, Claire smelled bergamot and fine milled soap—a combination of scents she didn’t know before now she liked. His arm touched hers when he opened the sketchpad causing her belly to do that funny thing again.

  He slowly turned the pages, his arm brushing hers each time. It was only the material of his coat touching the sleeve of her gown, so why was the skin on her arm tingling? She forced herself to lean away so that he no longer touched her when he turned a page. She mustn’t forget he was her adversary, come to take her horses and her home.

  He was not her friend.

  Claire focused on the drawings, each page an exquisitely rendered flower or plant. “My God.”

  “Exactly. Hard to believe a boy drew all this, but I assure you he did.”

  “Does he only draw flowers and plants?”

  “With one exception, yes.”

  He flipped to the back to show her Mischief standing tall and proud as if he knew he was being put on paper. The marquess turned the page to a picture of the horse with his nose buried in a rosebush, and she could almost smell the scent of the red roses. The last drawing was of Mischief’s face as he stared crossed-eyed at a fat bumblebee buzzing over his nose.

  “Incredible. I wonder if I can get him to draw some of my horses.”

  His lordship’s eyes lit with curiosity when she laid claim to the horses. She needed to be more careful around him. He had a way of making her forget to guard her secret. Until she decided her approach, she didn’t want him to know she was the one responsible for the stable’s success.

  And first, she needed to understand him better. Was he like Thomas, the kind of man who thought a woman should have no interest beyond producing an heir and her embroidery? She would study the marquess and learn him in the same way she learned a horse. Observe and formulate a plan that best suited him.

  “You’re welcome to try. However, if he doesn’t wish to, there is nothing you can do to change his mind.”

  What was she welcome to try? Bells in hell, the man muddled her mind. “He’s an unusual boy.”

  “He is, but I would use the word special to describe him. I think he’s not of this world. I should warn you he doesn’t like to be touched. The first time he let me hold his hand, I almost wept. He doesn’t mind when Harry touches him, and he is only now getting used to mine, but he won’t allow it from anyone else.”

  There was love in his voice when he spoke of his son. The man was more complicated than she’d first thought.

  “And what of Harry?” she asked. “I’ve yet to have the opportunity to talk to him, but he seems like a typical boy.”

  “In many ways, yes. Certainly more so than Bensey. Harry has a quick mind and will run circles around you if you let him.” He chuckled. “And sometimes manages it despite all your efforts to outwit him. He loves horses above all things, so if he ever goes missing, just look for him in the stables. He would sleep there if I let him.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” A sliver of fear coursed through her. She didn’t want him or his son to covet her horses. “Perhaps you should not allow him free rein of the stables. I don’t think it’s a safe place for a young boy.”

  Chapter Four

  Chase frowned at Claire’s change from pleasant to brusque in the blink of an eye. She had seemed to be warming up to him, but the curtness of her voice just now was that of the woman he’d met yesterday. He mentally reviewed the last part of their conversation, but couldn’t find anything that should have angered her. Perhaps she was a woman whose moods changed from hot to cold for no reason.

  By joining Bensey on this visit, he’d hoped to establish a friendly relationship with the lady. He wanted to tell her his plans for her, but was hesitant to do so until he knew her better and was certain she would be receptive to his intentions. It was the perfect solution. Didn’t all women want a husband and children—a home of their own?

  She still had several weeks of mourning left before he could present her to Society. Although, as a widow, she wouldn’t need a chaperone, he would still ask his mother to attend her in London. As the Dowager Countess of Kensington, and the mother of the Marquess of Derebourne, Lady Anne could ensure Claire’s acceptance by the ton.

  When had he started thinking of her as just Claire?

  If she—Claire—needed new gowns, they should leave for London soon so she could visit the modiste and get the process started. She’d be pretty in something besides the black bombazine. His experienced eye raked over her, and his fingers itched to pull the ugly lace cap from her head. He wanted to see the woman in the portrait, not this washed out, pale replica. Did she ride and if so, did she change into a riding habit? The urge to find out was irresistible.

  “Wait here a moment, please. I’ll be right back.”

  Chase strode down the hall and found the butler. “Smithfield, please tell my valet I have need of him.”

  When Chase returned to the conservatory, he stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight before him. Bensey held a flower, Claire’s head bent close to him as they admired the plant. For the first time since the boys entered his life, he wondered if they needed a mother. He shook off the unwelcome thought and approached them.

  Bensey glanced up and smiled. “Look, Father, it’s from Africa. Do you want me to tell you its name?”

  If he said yes, he would hear not only the name but its history, growing needs and more. “I do want to hear all, but can it wait a while? Harry’s chewing at the bit to ride, and you know how that is. Anders is on his way and will surely die of pleasure to be invited to share all this with you.”

  Bensey’s eyes lit up. His son and valet shared a love of botany and had formed a bond over tables of dirt and potted plants.

  “My lord?” Anders entered the conservatory with the same awe on his face Bensey had shown on first seeing it.

  “Anders, I think Bensey would like to spend the day here exploring. I thought you might wish to join him.”

  “Oh my,” Anders said. “Bensey, have you ever seen such as this?”

  The two wandered off, and Chase turned to Lady Claire. “If we don’t come to collect them later, they won’t remember to appear for their dinner. Do you ride, my lady?”

  Her eyes sparkled with amusement. Why did the question amuse her?

  “I do.”

  “Good. I promised Harry a ride this morning and would appreciate it if you would join us. I’d like a tour of the estate.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip in obvious indecision. He wished she wouldn’t do that.

  “Come now, Lady Claire, there’s no reason to refuse.”

  “All right. S
hall I meet you at the stables?”

  “Yes, in thirty minutes. That will give you time to change into your riding habit. I’ll collect Harry.” He left before she could change her mind. Would she don a riding habit or appear in her widow’s weeds? A lightness invaded his body, and he took the steps two at a time.

  “Harry!” He burst into the room. “Put your boots on.”

  Harry jumped up from his desk. “Are we going riding, Father?”

  “We are. Sorry, Mr. Edwards, to interrupt his lessons, but I promised him we would ride this morning.”

  “You didn’t say we were riding this morning,” Harry pointed out.

  “Didn’t I? I am certain I meant to. I’ll come back for you in a few minutes.”

  Chase strode to his room and quickly changed into a loose linen shirt. He chose a bottle green coat from the clothespress and slipped it on. Since Anders wasn’t available to arrange a cravat, he decided to do without. He was in the country after all, and as the lord of the manor, he could damn well set the rules.

  He collected Harry and they arrived at the stables ahead of Lady Claire. Harry headed for Victory’s stall while Chase instructed a groom to saddle Lady Derebourne’s horse. Not having any idea where Mischief might be at the moment, he whistled. Mischief poked his head out of his stall nickering a greeting, then stretched his neck over the gate, unlatched it with his muzzle and trotted up to Chase.

  “For once, you were where you were supposed to be,” Chase commented and Mischief snorted. “I know, don’t get used to it. Let’s get you saddled. A lady is going to join us on our ride.”

  The groom led an Arabian mare as white as new fallen snow to the hitching post. Chase and Mischief gave the mare appreciative looks. Mischief loudly exhaled, and the mare turned her head away.

  Chase chuckled. “I think you have received the cut direct from the lady, my friend.”

  Movement caught his eye and he peered over Mischief’s back to see Lady Claire approaching. He suppressed his smile. She had changed into a royal blue riding habit, and in place of the white cap she wore a pert straw bonnet trimmed with blue ribbons. Her moonlight pale hair was pulled into a twist low on her neck, and he idly wondered if her hair touched her waist.

  The compliment on the tip of his tongue died at the warning in her eyes. Instead, he praised her horse.

  “Mischief and I have been admiring your Arabian,” he said. “I think Mischief is in love, but the lady is having none of it.”

  Claire had fretted over changing into a riding habit. Finally, she justified the habit by telling herself the wind would blow the loose skirts of her gown, revealing her ankles. She refused to consider that she wanted Lord Derebourne to see her in something other than her widow’s weeds.

  Mischief stretched his neck toward her and she obliged him with a scratch under his chin. “Poor boy. I’m afraid Amira is a princess with very high standards. Even if she encourages you, you would be wise to forget her as in the end she will only break your heart.”

  “No surprise there,” Derebourne murmured.

  Had a woman broken his heart? Her gaze drifted to his neck. He hadn’t donned a cravat and the V of his shirt revealed a glimpse of the top of his chest. She wanted to place her fingers on that spot of golden skin and learn its texture. She lifted her eyes to find him intently watching her. Her skin rippled and her breath caught in her throat.

  What in blazes was wrong with her?

  Harry trotted up on Victory. “Are you ready to go, Father?”

  The spell broken, she jerked her attention back to Mischief. After giving him a final scratch, Claire briskly walked to Amira. The groom held the Arabian beside the mounting block while she stepped up and settled onto the sidesaddle. It wasn’t her preferred seat, but she could hardly ride the mare astride in front of the marquess. She gave Amira a slight tap with her foot and led the way out of the stables.

  “Do you have a preference where to ride, my lord?”

  He came alongside her. “I thought we agreed you would not ‘my lord’ me.”

  “So we did. Is there anything specific you wish to see, Derebourne?”

  “Take me where you will, Lady Claire.”

  She would like to take him back to London and deposit him there where he would be far away from Hillcrest Stables and her horses. She would like him to go far enough away so he no longer unsettled her. She would like to touch his neck. As nothing was going as she liked, she decided to take them to the lake.

  She turned to Harry. “Do you swim, Harry?”

  “No, my lady, but Father has promised to teach me and Bensey.”

  “Then I shall show you the best place for it.”

  As they rode, Harry chatted away while Derebourne stayed silent. “Your mare is splendid, Lady Derebourne. She’s an Arabian, is she not?”

  “She is. Your horse is splendid as well.”

  The boy gave her an impish grin. “I chose him myself, and then Father allowed me to bargain with the owner over the price.”

  “Truly?” She couldn’t imagine Thomas allowing a child to bargain over the price of a horse.

  “Oh yes.” Harry leaned toward her and confided, “I paid much less than he was asking, and I don’t think he was pleased. The owner, that is. Father was quite pleased.”

  Claire laughed, delighted with this boy. “I imagine you’re correct on both of them. Your father said you love horses, and I’m impressed with your knowledge.”

  “I know a lot, but still have much to learn. Father brings me books about horses to read.”

  “Does he?” She glanced at Derebourne. He was a much different father than Thomas had been. “I have a large number of books on horses. You’re welcome to borrow them whenever you wish.”

  What was she thinking? The books no longer belonged to her, but to the man riding silently beside her. Had he taken exception to her misspeak? He still seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

  “Oh, I would like that ever so much,” Harry said.

  “When we return to the Abbey, I’ll show you which shelf they’re on in the library.”

  She was uncomfortable offering books that no longer belonged to her. If she had been alone, she might weep. What was going to happen to her? If Derebourne refused her offer for the horses, where would that leave her?

  Rage at Thomas welled inside her. He had given no thought to her future should something happen to him. He had died leaving her flapping like a trout on a line with no hope of rescue.

  “With your conservatory and your horses, you have endeared my sons to you, Lady Claire. It begs the question, what have you to offer me?”

  His question confused her. Was he asking for something she wasn’t willing to offer? There was a teasing glint in his eyes and she realized he was playing with her. No man had ever teased her in fun.

  She had never learned how to flirt, had never learned how to coyly converse with a man. No Season in London for her to learn the art of accepting or deflecting a man’s attentions. Did she want to deflect his attentions?

  Except to enter her bedroom—always in the dark—and do the minimum necessary to sire his heir, Thomas had never touched her.

  No man had ever kissed her.

  How would it feel to have Derebourne kiss her? She didn’t doubt he would be quite the expert at the thing. Something wild and foreign inside her took hold, and she gave him a half smile.

  “What have I to offer that would please you, Derebourne?”

  Chase blinked. Bloody hell. What had possessed him to ask such a question? He’d apparently lost all good sense. And what did her answer mean? Was she flirting with him? Once he would’ve known, but his skills in that area were rusty.

  Tuning out her and Harry’s banter, he’d been considering what her extensive knowledge of horses meant. It could mean nothing, but he didn’t think so—not after he had watched her working in the stables and the way she handled the feisty Arabian.

  How should he answer her question? “Do you play chess?�
� Well, that sounded witless.

  “I do, and I must warn you, I’m very good at it.”

  She was very good at it? His mind went to images it had no business conjuring up.

  “I get to play the winner,” Harry piped up, capturing Lady Claire’s attention. Chase could have kissed the boy in gratitude.

  “Are you any good?” she asked.

  The little imp gave her an evil grin causing Chase to chuckle. Harry loved chess almost as much as horses and was a worthy opponent in the game.

  Suddenly, Lady Claire spurred her horse. “Catch me if you can.”

  They galloped down the hill, Amira and Victory pulling ahead. Mischief preferred a lazy run which suited Chase. He was able to observe Lady Claire as she and Harry raced ahead, laughing like children let out to play.

  Her laugh was low and sensual—a courtesan’s laugh. The woman was a constant surprise, and he determined to learn her secrets.

  They reached the bottom of the hill and turned their mounts to face him. “Mischief, you are a lazy boy,” she chided.

  At the edge of the lake, they allowed the horses to drink. Mischief kicked at the water, playing with it. Lady Claire grinned at his idiot horse’s antics. The lady was very pretty when she smiled.

  “Come, I’ll show you the best place to swim,” she said.

  He and Harry followed until they came to a stand of trees. “If you would help me down, my lord, it would be best to walk from here.”

  Chase dismounted and dropped Mischief’s reins. Easily lifting Claire, he held her until her feet were firmly planted on the ground. Blue eyes met his and he had to command his hands to let go of her waist. He quickly stepped back, putting distance between them.

  She blinked, glancing around as if she had forgotten where she was. Thank God Harry was with them because Chase wasn’t sure he would have let her go otherwise. The beginnings of an attraction simmered between them and if he wasn’t careful, the heat would soon cause the pot to boil over. He needed to get her to London and find her a husband. Soon.