To Wed a Wild Lord (34 page)

She held Gabriel’s gaze as Poppy hurried to stand at the head of Chetwin’s team, grabbing the harness of the lead horse.

“Damn it, get out of the way!” Chetwin cried.

“Not till my granddaughter is done,” Poppy said, easily keeping control of Chetwin’s team.

Gabriel scowled at Chetwin. “Give me a few minutes, will you? We’ll have our race. Just let me talk to her.” He leaped down from his perch, caught her by the arm, and led her away from the rest of them.

“Virginia, sweetheart—” he began.

“Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me!” she cried. “You can’t run this race. I’ll throw myself in front of the rig before I let you.”

That seemed to startle him. “You don’t understand—”

“I do understand. I read the letter you left for me.”

Beyond them, his grandmother climbed down from the carriage, but thankfully kept her distance.

“If you did,” he said in the patient tone one uses with children or fools, “then you know this is the only way to learn the truth.”

“I don’t
care
about the truth! I don’t care what happened that night, or the next day or the years between then and now. I know that you’re a good man, Gabriel—a fine man.” Her voice broke. “I fell in love with that man.”

The leap of joy in his face made her think that all he’d needed was to hear those words. Until a sad smile touched his lips. “Then you should understand even more why I must race Chetwin.”

She swallowed her disappointment. “
Why?”

“Because I can’t marry you without knowing if I have any right to that love. I know you don’t think the past matters now, but down the road it will poison whatever you feel for me at the moment. I’m doing this for us.”

“No,” she said, grabbing his arms. “You’re doing it for
you
.”

He stared at her, and she could see him withdrawing into himself, into that cold, wary creature—

Not
this
time, drat it. “Listen to me,” she said urgently. “You told me that you kept on playing the Angel of Death because you figured you might as well make it pay. And your grandmother said you kept on with it because it was your way of fighting your fears. But we both know it’s something more.”

He tensed, sinking further into the icy detachment that frightened her more than any race he could ever run. But at least he didn’t pull away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You said it yourself: ‘I cheat Death. It’s what I do.’ ” She dug her fingers into his arms, determined to make him see. “You think somehow you cheated Death that day with Roger. You think Death should have taken
you
instead of him.”

When a muscle flicked in his jaw, she knew she’d struck home. She pressed her advantage ruthlessly.

“Since then, you’ve been challenging Death over and over, sure that one day it will come for you. You figure that it might as well be at a time of
your
choosing, right? But what you can’t accept is that sometimes people just die. They strike out in a moment of passion, like your parents, or they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, like your friend Benny. Or they run foolish races, like Roger.”

Anger shone in his gaze now, which was better than the detachment. “You don’t understand. If I had just—”

“It had naught to do with you!” she cried. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t call off the race. He wouldn’t have done it, either. Or Lyons. And neither you nor Lyons made him run it. Neither of you made him take a risk and not rein in when he should have.”

She swallowed, realizing she would have to expose her own vulnerabilities if she was to win this. “I should never have blamed you for it; I had no right. I was angry and hurt, and I missed my brother. But I realize now that he ran the race the way
he
chose to. He always made his own choices.”

She cupped his face between her hands. “You want to believe you have some sort of power over Death, that every time you race and don’t die, you’ve cheated it out of its rightful prize. But the truth is, Death has had you in its grip for seven years.”

Gabe wanted to ignore the truth in her words, but they resonated too deeply for him to do so. He felt rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze from her desperate one. If only he could take refuge in the blessed numbness that had kept him sane for the past seven years . . .

But that had grown less and less possible from the moment he’d met her. Every time he was with her she showered him with warmth and feeling, no matter how much he fought it.

And she was still doing it, his fierce enchantress, still fighting. “The clothes and the phaeton and the endless races are all your dance with Death. If you keep them up, you
will
die. But you won’t win anything, except what you foolishly think you deserved to have won seven years ago—
your
place in the grave, instead of Roger.”

The words pounded in his ears. Oh, God, it was true. How many times had he wished he hadn’t survived that day?

The pain he always avoided surged through him, staggering him, until he finally admitted the truth that had scored his soul all these years. “It should have been me.” Unshed tears clogged his throat. “Then you wouldn’t have been left with no one to take care of you. It’s not right that he died. He didn’t deserve—”

“Neither of you deserved it.” Her hands gripped him tightly, so tightly. “I wish to God that you had both come home hale and hearty, but since you didn’t, there’s nothing wrong with being happy that you’re still here, with me,
alive
. Lord knows, I’m happy that you are.”

“How can you say that?” he said hoarsely. “Roger lies in the grave while I get to have a
life.
”

“He wouldn’t begrudge you that. And I don’t, either.” The healing words dove straight into his heart, planting a seed of hope.

She smoothed back a lock of his hair. “Nothing you do can change what happened, Gabriel. Getting the truth from Chetwin or racing this course over and over certainly won’t, nor even marrying me as a sort of penance. There’s no dishonor in bowing out of a battle with Death. It’s not a battle you can win. And it’s time you accept that.”

The seed of hope took root and blossomed. He’d been slamming his head against the past ever since Roger’s death, and for what? Nothing but a sore head. Perhaps it was time he took the love she offered—without questioning, without remorse.

“All right.”

She froze. “All right, what?”

“All right, I won’t race Chetwin.” As she sagged against him in relief, he brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. “After all, I can’t have the woman I love refusing to marry me over some foolish race.”

Her eyes began to shimmer with tears. “You . . . you love me?”

His heart seemed permanently lodged in his throat. “More than life. God only knows why you love
me,
because I sure as hell don’t, but I know why I love
you
. You’re my beacon in the darkness, and my compass on a night sea. When I’m with you, I don’t want to dance with Death. I want to dance with Life. I want to dance with
you.
And whatever it takes, I mean to spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you.”

She began to cry, sobbing and clinging to him. He didn’t know what to do, so he went on instinct and lifted her tear-drenched face for a long, tender kiss that he hoped showed her just how much he loved her.

When he drew back he flashed her a smile, hoping to stop her tears. “So if you don’t want me to race Chetwin, I won’t race Chetwin.” He chucked her under the chin as she tried mightily to regain control over her emotions. “After all, the last thing I need is you throwing yourself in front of my horses.”

“I’d do it, too,” she choked out.

“I have no doubt of that. I can just see you, standing in the gap between the boulders and daring us to run you down.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said gamely, “but it’s a good idea.”

With a laugh, he kissed her again. Then taking her hand in his, he led her back toward where Lyons paced and Chetwin stood scowling.

As they neared the rigs, Chetwin snapped, “Well? Are you ready?”

“Sorry, old chap. The race is off.”

Lyons said, “Thank God,” and ambled toward Gabe’s family.

“You can’t do this,” Chetwin said.

“Sure I can,” Gabe drawled. “I changed my mind.” Chetwin scowled. “Then I swear you’ll never hear the truth.”

Gabe looked down at Virginia, who was gazing up at him with eyes full of love. “It doesn’t matter. I have everything I want already.”

“And the three hundred pounds?” Chetwin sneered at him. “That doesn’t matter, either?”

Gabe lifted an eyebrow at Virginia. “Sweetheart? Shall I race Chetwin for three hundred pounds?”

“Absolutely not,” she said stoutly. “We’ll do just fine without it.”

Gabe told Chetwin, “No race today, or ever again. The Angel of Death is retiring.”

That earned him a kiss on the cheek from Virginia.

“Balderdash,” Chetwin spat. “You’ll be back once your pockets are to let and you need some blunt for that new Thoroughbred of yours.”

“I don’t see why,” Gran said, stepping into the fray. “I have every intention of investing in my grandson’s Thoroughbreds. I can’t wait to see him double my money.”

Gabe gaped at her, and she colored a little. “The general and I had a conversation on the way here. He says you have a knack for training horses, and with his help, he thinks you might make a go of it. I’m willing to invest a bit to see if that’s true.” She tipped up her chin. “A tiny bit, mind you, but it should be enough to fund entering a horse in the race.”

“Thank you, Gran,” Gabe said, biting back a smile. Occasionally she could be quite the soft touch. Especially when it came to her grandchildren.

The sound of more horses approaching caught his attention. They all looked over to see Devonmont and Lady Celia barreling toward them in Devonmont’s curricle with his tiger on the back.

“Pierce!” Virginia cried as she ran up to greet him. “What are you doing here?”

After climbing down from the carriage and handing Celia down, he gave Virginia a quick peck on the cheek. “I arrived at Waverly Farm late last night. I figured you were all sleeping, so I didn’t worry until this morning when I awoke to find nobody there but the servants. They told me that you were both at Halstead Hall, so I went there. Then Lady Celia showed me a letter that Sharpe had written, and I came here straightaway.”

“Why?” Gabe came up to snake a possessive arm about Virginia’s waist. “Were you hoping I’d break my neck, and you could take my place with her?”

“I was hoping to stop you.” He turned a hard gaze on Chetwin. “I believe the lieutenant knows why, too.”

Chetwin looked belligerent. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No?” Devonmont snapped. “So you don’t recall a conversation we had years ago, when you were blathering a lot of nonsense about Sharpe and Roger and what had happened the night before their race?”

Gabe forgot to breathe. “
You’re
Chetwin’s mysterious source?”

Virginia froze. “You were there for the wager, Pierce?”

“No,” he said, “I was at Waverly Farm. But after Roger stumbled in drunk that night, he came to talk to me before he talked to Uncle Isaac. He told me everything.”

“And you never said a word of it?” she cried. “How could you?”

“Until I read Sharpe’s letter a short while ago and Lady Celia explained its import, I assumed that Sharpe knew exactly what had happened that night.”

“But
I
didn’t know what happened that night!” she said, betrayal in her voice. “
Poppy
didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell us? You
knew
it was important to us!”

“Which is why, if you’ll recall, I told you to ask Sharpe about it,” Devonmont retorted. “How was I to know that he didn’t remember? I assumed he was keeping it to himself for the same reason
I
never said anything—because I wanted to protect you and Uncle Isaac from knowing the worst about Roger.”

As it dawned on Gabe what that meant, a relief coursed through him so profound that he began to shake. “So I didn’t . . . I wasn’t the one who . . .”

“No,” Devonmont said. “Roger told me
he
laid down the wager. Apparently he was smarting over something Lyons had said in their argument, and when you agreed with Lyons, he challenged you to that fool race.”

With a sigh, Lyons moved up behind Gabe. “I remember that. He complained because the general wouldn’t let him play jockey in some horse race. Roger said his grandfather had gone soft in his old age. I told him that a man who had stared down Boney had more courage than all three of us put together. He took exception to that, especially when Sharpe agreed with me. When he started railing at me for it, I decided I’d had enough, and I went home.”

“He then felt compelled to demonstrate his bravery by challenging Sharpe to run the most dangerous course in London,” Devonmont said.

“Damned fool,” the general muttered.

Devonmont looked at Gabe. “He said you balked at first. He was very proud of that, seemed to think it made him somehow superior. I told him he was an arse, that he could easily kill himself on that course and that at least you had the good sense to recognize it. I told him he ought to get out of it however he could, honor be damned.”

“Then he came to me,” the general said hoarsely. “And I countered your advice, Pierce.”

Virginia cast her grandfather a concerned glance. “You didn’t know what you were advising him about, Poppy. It wasn’t your fault.” She swept them all with a fierce look. “It was no one’s fault. Not Gabe’s or Pierce’s or the duke’s. Roger always made his own decisions. And that one proved to be his worst.”

“While this is all very interesting,” Chetwin put in, “it doesn’t change the fact that Sharpe agreed to race me and is now trying to back out.” He strode up to Gabe. “This is your last chance, Sharpe. If you don’t race me as agreed, I’ll make sure every man in London knows you’re a coward. I’ll blacken your name from one end of London to the other for backing down from a challenge.”