In the Prince’s Bed by Sabrina Jeffries (7)

Chapter Fourteen

Alec was still grinning when he and França left Katherine a little while later. Her voice echoed from the outbuilding behind Astley’s where the maid was helping to dress her.

“Just remember, Alec,” Katherine called after them, “that had better be the largest pear in Christendom! And if you so much as scratch my fingers, I’ll skewer you with the sword myself!”

He laughed. “You see what you’ve entangled me in, França?” he told his friend, as they headed across the yard toward the stables.

França glanced back at the outbuilding with a worried frown. “The senhorita seems very angry—are you sure she wants to do this?”

“She agreed to her part of the routine when you explained it, didn’t she? Don’t let her fool you—she protests, but she’ll do fine. She has a hidden wild streak.” One he was determined to plumb.

“So you are not angry with me for…er…persuading you to ride.”

“Not anymore.” Little Miss Marry-Well needed shaking up, and this was the perfect way to do it. “Besides, you know I had no choice.”

“I am most sorry for that. Senhor Astley did not like to press the matter, but he was desperate.”

Astley had a right to demand Alec’s services—he’d provided the private box and the free admissions in exchange for Alec’s agreeing to ride in one show. But Alec had meant a future show; Astley apparently was fuzzy on that condition.

França opened the doors to the stables. “So the senhorita did not know of your skill with the horses?”

“She knew most of it.” But not all, and later, he’d have to deal with her questions about why an earl’s son had chosen to work for hire.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. It might even weigh in his favor. She preferred eccentric men—like that damned poet Lovelace. As long as she didn’t probe too deeply into his family situation, he might get through this all right.

As they entered the stables, Alec relaxed. Here he felt at home, among the snuffling of horses, the shifting of hooves, the smell of straw and horse sweat and manure. The first thing he would do after he married was get Edenmore’s stables in order.

But for now he had only to pick which of Astley’s well-trained horses to ride, and listen while França went over what was expected of him.

By the time Alec was mounted and waiting for the back doors to the amphitheatre to open, he felt ready. The doors opened, and Alec nudged his mount into a gallop. Might as well make a dramatic entrance.

As Alec rode into the sawdust ring, the crowd cheered wildly. He cantered for one circuit, flourishing his sword while França began his patter from the side of the ring.

He missed this. It was what he did best, not all that nonsense with balls and poetry readings. He never felt comfortable there. This was his home. He could perform cavalry maneuvers in his sleep.

He had refused the mask because it would hamper his vision, but no one would connect “Captain Black” in his plumed shako and blue dolman jacket with the Earl of Iversley, especially from a distance.

He halted at the edge of the ring for dramatic effect, then launched right into the demonstration. Prepare to guard. Guard. Assault. Left protect. Each maneuver was instinctive to a man who’d taught them day after day, year after year.

Bridle arm protect. Sword arm protect. Saint George. To the rear cut. Guard. Slope swords. By the time he’d reached the Cut V and VI in the fifth division, the crowd was primed for more adventurous riding.

Now came the tricks. These weren’t as familiar to him as cavalry maneuvers, but he’d performed them often enough to entertain the men he’d trained. Riding in a circle made it easier—Philip Astley had discovered years ago that centrifugal force allowed a man to do amazing feats on horseback. Alec easily stood atop the saddle while brandishing his sword, dismounted and mounted while the horse was at a gallop, and even rode with his head inches from the ground, a trick that gained him wild applause.

By the time he halted his horse upstage of the ring to take a bow, França was announcing a masked Katherine: “For our next diversion, the lovely Senhora Encantador has agreed to play Captain Black’s wife.”

Alec smiled. With any luck, she’d soon be playing it outside the ring, too.

“The Angry Wife” was a diversion meant to provide comic relief between the patriotic military maneuvers and the sheer drama of the upcoming finale. It also allowed the stage manager’s staff to prepare for the ambitious staging of the Battle of Salamanca, which included fifty horses and a set of two hills to be mounted behind the curtains.

As França began his patter—explaining that Mrs. Black had grown tired of waiting at home for her cavalry officer husband, and had come to fetch him—Katherine took her place slightly off center of the ring, wearing a voluminous cloak and a comical bonnet.

She pretended to chide Alec for being late, shaking a parasol at him while França stated that Mrs. Black had a hot temper. Alec galloped past to slice the parasol in half, and the crowd laughed.

Katherine, however, mimed outrage as França cried, “Mrs. Black is most annoyed—that was her favorite parasol.” On cue, Katherine tossed the other half of it after Alec and continued her mimed harangue.

He made his second circuit, this time catching her bonnet on the point of his sword, and tossing it over to land on França’s head. Katherine’s hair tumbled down as it was supposed to, eliciting more laughter from the crowd.

But it had an entirely different effect on Alec. He’d never seen her hair down. God help him, there was so much of it. And the lights made the brilliantly hued mass appear to engulf her cloaked shoulders in dancing flames. What he wouldn’t give to drag his fingers through that lush—

No, he mustn’t think about that right now. He had to concentrate.

Katherine patted her head, then stamped her feet and pointed over at her bonnet. He couldn’t hold back a laugh. Who would have expected Miss Marry-Well to be such a showman?

As she continued her antics, he cantered toward her and aimed his sword for a billow of her cloak far below her arm. Normally the swordsman would cut the purposely large bow so that the cloak fell to the ground, but Katherine had balked at letting Alec near her neck with the tip of his sword.

Praying she’d remembered to unfasten the ties, he caught the cloak on the end of his sword as he passed. She had remembered, thank God, and the cloak fluttered free so easily he had no trouble tossing it into França’s open arms.

As Alec made the next circuit, França continued his recitation. “I fear that Captain Black is in deep trouble now for ruining his wife’s best cloak.”

Damned right he was. Because now Alec could see the costume beneath the cloak—God help him.

Hardly aware of what he did, he slowed his mount to a trot as he looked Katherine over. The shocking orange gown would break any man’s concentration. Sparkling with paste jewels of green and gold, it sheathed her body so eloquently he could see every curve. Especially the two curves spilling out of the low-cut bodice. Katherine filled the gown out far too well for his peace of mind.

It took a supreme effort of will—and an extra circuit of the ring—for him to beat his feverish lust into submission. How was he supposed to think when all he wanted was to strip her bare and take her right here in the ring? That was not the sort of show the crowd had come to see.

Oblivious to his agitation, Katherine brandished the pear she’d been hiding under the cloak. França’s loud voice called out to the crowd, “Mrs. Black tells the captain that she kept the last of the winter pears for him, but now he will get none. She will eat it herself.”

That was Alec’s cue. But as he rode toward her, he noticed the trembling of Katherine’s arm as she swung the pear in the air. She held the fruit with the tips of her fingers. The pear was plenty big enough for his purposes, but judging from how her eyes nervously followed his approach, she didn’t believe that.

Just trust me, sweetheart, he admonished silently as he cantered toward her.

Within seconds, he’d made his first pass, cutting the top half of the pear right off. The crowd applauded loudly.

Katherine was supposed to pantomime outrage, but she only stood frozen as he circled the ring again. Thankfully, the audience thought that was part of the routine and laughed.

But Alec worried about the next part, where she was to lift the other half of the pear to her mouth while he rode up to skewer it with his sword, then canter from the ring with her racing after him on foot.

Though she awaited his second approach gamely, every bit the trouper, her eyes showed her apprehension. Blast. What if she moved as he thrust? At best, she would ruin the routine. At worst, she might move into danger.

He couldn’t risk it. Time for a change of plan.