Page 4 of His Wife, the Spy (His Enterprising Duchess #4)

“T he old marquess would have enjoyed seeing the stables and paddocks this full.”

“It likely would have reminded him of Tattersalls,” Jasper replied to the stable master. He ran his hand over the long, muscled back of his favorite mount, a roan whose black-tinted coat looked blue. “And grandfather loved nothing more than a horse sale.”

“Unless it was a race.” The servant grunted a laugh as he shoveled fresh hay into a neighboring stall. “His lordship had a damned good eye for a runner.”

Let’s go for a flutter, boy . Jasper’s lips twisted into a wry grin. Grandfather had never been one to merely flutter . Days at the track started early, in the stables with the trainers, pacing up and down until the old man pulled a stack of notes from his coat and shoved them at Benchley, his favorite bookmaker. Benchley’s frown grew deeper with every win. He likely would have stopped taking Grandfather’s wagers if he’d been just another bloke with five quid to spare.

Snorts and stamping feet announced a newcomer. Each horse tossed their mane, either in greeting or as a plea for praise. Even his big blue horse fell victim.

Jasper looked to the door, and a satisfied smile stretched his lips. For all her protests about impropriety, Annabel Pearce had found room in her case for a riding habit.

Like other gentlemen of the ton , he knew just enough about women’s clothing to realize the dark green skirt and coat had gone out of fashion last Season. However, she’d changed the buttons from bright brass to a more stylish black.

Unlike many gentlemen, Jasper cared little about fashion. He trusted his tailor to keep him in style. He knew what he liked when he saw it.

He liked Annabel in green. He also appreciated what she’d done with her hair. It flowed from under her plain, dark hat and over one shoulder, less a tumble of curls and more a steady stream that was neither fully blonde nor brown.

She dithered in the doorway, tapping her riding cane against her skirt, until she caught his eye. He waited until she’d stepped inside before he approached.

“Good morning, Miss Pearce.”

“Good morning, your lordship.” She looked past him and into the stable. “I seem to be the first to arrive.”

Society women had been known to dawdle in their carriages outside parties, out-waiting one another for the privilege of being last, of having the most eyes on them. Jasper didn’t think Annabel’s early arrival was accidental.

“The horses don’t mind the clock.” He offered his arm. “Come see if you approve of your mount.”

She took his elbow. Her gloves, from what he could tell by the fingertips, were new and well made. “What if I wish to choose my own?”

“If you disagree with my choice, you are welcome to make your own.”

They walked down the row, veering from one side to the other so she could stroke a wide forelock or a velvety nose. “You have a fine stable, Lord Ramsbury.”

“To be fair, many of them belong to houseguests. Men rarely travel without their best hunter.” He swept his hand along the opposite wall. “And most of the others were purchased by grandfather.”

“He did value a well-stocked stable.”

Women only knew such things from their fathers or from looking in account books. From what Jasper knew of Baron Chilworth, horses weren’t his weakness of choice. Kit was right—Annabel had been reading Grandfather’s ledgers. “I suppose he was famous for his excesses.”

“Most gentlemen are.” Annabel, her ear pink under her hat, led him to the other side of the stable. “Here’s a handsome man.”

The roan tossed his inky mane and snorted a hello before stretching his neck toward Jasper. More precisely, toward his pocket.

“No you don’t, Ceff.” Jasper chuckled as he ruffled the big horse’s forelock. “You’ve had your treats already today.”

“Ceff?” Annabel glanced up.

“Ceffylglas.” The light fell over the stallion’s gleaming back. “It’s Welsh for ‘blue horse.’”

Her laugh took years from her face. “You’re joking.”

“Not in the least.” Jasper relented and reached into his pocket for another carrot. “But, to my credit, I didn’t name him. The breeder did.” He offered the carrot to Ceff.

“The breeder is Welsh?” Annabel raised her hand to stroke Ceff’s neck but dropped it when he shied away.

The tightness in her voice pricked a string in Jasper’s gut. If she was suspicious of Wales, then Spencer likely was as well.

“My favorite breeder is outside Cardiff.” He kept his eyes on Ceff, holding him steady as the stable hands saddled him. “A wise old gent Kit introduced me to.” Jasper slipped the bridle over the horse’s ears himself, careful to settle the bit and reins just as Ceff liked them. “Why?”

“I suppose I expect Welsh horses to be ponies,” Annabel said in the casual way his mother did when she wanted to gather information without tipping her hand.

“Then you may be disappointed in my choice for you.” Jasper turned her to the other wall and led her two stalls down.

The delicate black mare danced patterns in the straw under her feet. Her coat shone like dark silk, and her mane fell in a graceful sweep. Her wide, dark eyes sparkled.

“What’s her name?” Annabel propped her cane against the stall’s door, then released him to shuck her glove.

Jasper dropped a carrot into her palm. “Ysbryd Du. Dark spirit.”

Annabel fed the carrot to the mare with one hand and caught her other glove in her teeth to tug it free.

The honest excitement in her unguarded action tightened Jasper’s skin in unexpected places. It worsened when he circled her wrist and pulled her hand closer. “Let me.” It was a soft leather, tight enough that he had to pull one finger at a time. They were fully clothed, in the daylight, in the stables, but he’d had the same sensation stripping a woman out of her corset in candlelight. He forced a smile as he released her. “Can’t have you ruining them.”

“My teeth or the gloves?” Annabel turned back to the horse and stroked her wide forehead. “She is lovely, your lordship. But far too fine for me.”

“Nonsense.” Jasper waved away her complaint, hoping his irritation would go with it. It shouldn’t bother him that she denied herself pleasure in the name of propriety and others’ expectations. “She deserves to be ridden by someone who appreciates her.”

Laughter filtered in from outside, and the stable hands’ boots thudded against the hard-packed earthen floor. The rest of the party was arriving.

The shutters closed over Annabel’s eyes, and Jasper caught the nearest servant. “Help Miss Pearce onto the mare.” He shot Annabel a glare. “This mare only.”

He strode to the door to greet everyone else as the grooms led out their horses. Kit was already swinging into the saddle atop his giant pewter-gray stallion.

“Lord Ramsbury.” Charlotte Bainbridge beckoned him to where she was standing next to a bay mare just her size. “The stable boy said you’d chosen this lovely mount just for me. I’m delighted with her. Thank you.”

Every head in the paddock turned to stare, even the horses. “You are quite welcome, Miss Bainbridge. Cricket will give you a pleasant ride this morning.”

“Will you do me the honor of riding with me?” she asked. “Your estate is so large, I fear getting lost.”

“Would that I could.” Jasper sighed to give his words feeling. “However, I’ll be near the rear of the party, ensuring everyone stays on the path.” He looked past her to the other gentlemen in the party. “Lord Raines or Lord Wareham would be fine partners for you.”

Hearing his name, Raines nudged his chestnut gelding in front of Wareham’s palomino. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Bainbridge. Perhaps you can keep the ride interesting.”

Jasper ground his teeth into a smile. The young viscount had grumbled about hunting all last evening—specifically not doing it. “We’ll hunt later in the month, once everyone is accustomed to the fields.”

“I, for one, am glad of a gentle ride.” Fiona ambled up on the gray she always rode during her visits. The almost silver mare had been christened Fairy by Jasper’s sister Jane. Fiona’s black habit was severe both in cut and in color. She could have passed for a nun on her way to church if not for her smile. “My bones are still rattling from the carriage.”

The women in the group stayed silent and looked anywhere but at Fiona, torn between their own comfort and agreeing with a scandal-ridden miss their mothers had warned them to stay clear of.

Hooves clopped behind them, two distinct patterns. Jasper didn’t turn. He knew Ceff’s steps in his sleep, and he suspected the source of the others. The young ladies’ widened stares told him he was correct. Even the chaperones in the carriage were stunned when they recognized Annabel.

Jasper held his smile until his back was turned, then he strode to his horse and swung into the saddle. He nodded to the horse master who was serving as their guide. “Ready when you are, Martin.”

They trailed out of the paddock and into the field. Kit came back to join him, and Fiona flanked his other side. After a few minutes, Jasper looked back to find Annabel trying to keep in step with the carriage, whose occupants were ignoring her. Horse and rider both looked miserable. “She’ll do better if you give her her head a bit, Miss Pearce. Come join us.”

“Please do!” Fiona called. “I’d be grateful for someone who can talk of fashion and music rather than Parliament and war.”

Annabel coaxed Ysbryd Du into a trot and joined Fiona. Jasper fell back with Kit.

“She’s had a go at the figures in Grandfather’s ledger.”

“You don’t say.” Kit kept his eyes forward.

“Yes, yes. You were right,” Jasper grumbled. “She’s better with numbers than I considered.”

Ahead of them, Fiona nudged her mare into a canter. Annabel followed suit. She sat the horse well, and she handled it easily. “She’s a quick learner, too.”

“Good for her, bad for us.” Kit shifted in his saddle to stare at him. “Are you still for staying the course?”

Fiona leaned toward Annabel, and their heads stayed together for several moments. Fiona’s hearty, unguarded laughter floated back to him on the breeze, making him smile. She did that more and more often these days.

“Amelia told me the same story,” Fiona said, still chuckling. “I can’t say I’m sorry for Mr. Raymond or his nose. I only wish I could have seen it.”

“He was dreadful,” Annabel said. “It must be reassuring to have Lord Ramsbury’s protection.”

Her emphasis on the last word caused Jasper’s stomach to dip. He’d hoped Fiona would find a kindred soul, or at least a temporary ally in a nest full of vipers. He hadn’t expected Annabel to be another gossipmongering snake.

Fiona’s smile curved. “I am grateful every day that Father bought the estate next to the Warrens’ country house and gave me the opportunity to have Rabbit as an older brother.”

Jasper groaned. That nickname would be all over London before long. He’d never be seen as someone to trust—or fear.

“Rabbit?”

Annabel’s smile transformed her face. She should do it more often.

“He has a tendency to scamper away and hide when he senses danger, and he is gifted in finding hiding places,” Fiona said. “Given those traits and Warren …”

Annabel’s laugh, deep and rich, was at odds with her thin frame. It made him think of candlelight and shadows, of champagne and berries.

Ceff tossed his head, and Jasper loosened his grip on the reins. Things were in motion that had nothing to do with his growing curiosity about Annabel Pearce.

“I am,” he said to Kit. “This path is the quickest way to our answer.”

Though he wasn’t sure what, exactly, the path should be. If he asked her intentions, she’d lie, but she was a poor liar. If he exposed her, he’d have to send her packing. That would ruin his opportunity to learn what Spencer wanted—if she knew anything at all.

He could bluff his way through the month and assume she’d find nothing, but she’d already proven herself an astute observer. God only knew what she’d carry back to Spencer and how he would weave the tale.

“Do you think he’s used his daughter as an excuse to get Miss Pearce in the door?” Kit asked.

Jasper shook his head. “I think he saw an opportunity and twisted it to his advantage.”

Spencer likely thanked Providence when Annabel knocked on his door. At least, he did if he realized how intelligent she was. How had she ended up spying for him?

“Your lordship,” Fiona called over her shoulder. “Please tell me there’s luncheon waiting and that you haven’t dragged us to the top of the hill simply for the view on the other side.”

“An army travels on its stomach,” Jasper called back. “Of course there’s luncheon waiting. So long as the birds haven’t carried it off.”

They reached the top of the hill and dismounted in a flurry of helpful stable boys. The ladies near the front of the line craned their necks until they spotted Jasper. Their fluttering fans might have been responsible for the shiver of leaves overhead.

He swung out of the saddle and dropped to the ground. “Once more into the breach.”

“Yes. It’s such a hardship to have young ladies waiting around every tree,” Fiona teased as she beckoned for his help. “I don’t know how you’ll survive.”

Jasper helped her to the ground but kept hold of her a moment longer. “I’m sorry. If I’d known she would think—”

“You are sweet to worry, but it’s getting tiresome, Jasper. Men and women can rarely be friends without Society assuming there is more to it. I’m pleased she asked me directly rather than whispering in my wake.”

He relaxed and released her. He had been lucky when the Allens arrived in the countryside. Fiona’s gregarious nature, while annoying at first, had broken through the reserve he’d been taught from the cradle.

Perhaps she could do the same with Annabel. “Would you please sit with Miss Pearce? I believe she’s having trouble navigating between groups.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow and glanced from him to Annabel, then back. A slow smile came across her face. “Of course, Rabbit. Anything you’d like.”

He nodded his thanks before marching toward Annabel. He arrived as she slid to the ground unaided. Her boots, though not new, were well polished, but they gapped at the ankles.

“You should have waited,” he said. “The ground is uneven.”

“I’ve managed worse.” She stroked her mare’s graceful neck. “Will they look out for her while we rest?”

“Certainly.” He stepped forward and lowered his head, enough to be private but not enough to raise eyebrows. “May I ask a favor?” He waited for her to nod. “I must visit with the other guests, but I don’t want to leave Fiona on her own. Without Linden here, she has few options for company.”

Annabel’s eyes softened. “I’ll be happy to step in for Linden.”

“Thank you, Miss Pearce.”

Certain his scheme was going to plan, he joined Raines and Wareham at their table under an ancient oak. “Gentlemen.”

“Lovely estate, Ramsbury.” Wareham surveyed the length of the ridge and the view of the Hall below. “Almost as large as Faversham’s.”

The man never let anyone forget he was heir to the Duke of Faversham, who refused to die. Jasper had a suspicion that the duke planned to outlive Wareham and give the title to a grandson who could be overseen by his sons-in-law. Both men had better temperaments and leveler heads than the current heir.

“All you need is a wife,” Raines said, his voice pitched to mimic an Almack’s matron. “A pretty girl with a good dowry who wants a title.”

Wareham’s laughter was brief as he glanced to Miss Bainbridge and Miss Wallace. “They seem to be thin on the ground this Season.”

None of the ladies in their party gave Wareham much attention, despite the possibility of becoming a duchess. Jasper feigned interest anyway. Talk of women always led to talk of fathers.

“What about Miss Spencer?” he asked.

Wareham leaned back to receive his plate. “She’s damned young, don’t you think?”

She was far too young, and in ways that had nothing to do with age. “By next Season, I believe her chaperone will have worked her magic.”

Wareham looked over his shoulder, back toward the quieter members of the party. “Miss Pearce would be a better choice, I think. A baron’s daughter, and she knows how to behave properly.”

“No dowry,” Raines said. “You’d have a plain—but proper—duchess, and she’d likely have the whole family in tow. I suppose if you kept Chilworth from your treasury…”

Money was always Raines’s preferred topic, and it was expected, given his father’s position in government. The Marquess of Graydon, treasurer of the Exchequer, had an increasing responsibility due to the new tax collections going into Britain’s coffers.

“Miss Allen’s dowry caused a stir during her debut.” Wareham removed a flask from his coat pocket and offered it first to Raines and then to Jasper. When they refused, he took a gulp large enough for the three of them. “Has her father still settled it on her?”

“Given everything, he may have increased it as an incentive.” Raines shrugged. “But I’d prefer not to have the ton whispering behind us at every ball.”

“Not even for thirty thousand?” Wareham giggled. “And a horse that knows the track?”

“Mind your step, Wareham,” Jasper growled. I will not hit him. I promised Fiona I wouldn’t beat every oaf who maligned her.

“Some bargains are too expensive,” Raines said. “The same could be said of Miss Spencer. All the polish in the world could never compensate for her snake of a father.” He gathered his plate and moved to another table, immediately distracting both Miss Wallace and Miss Bainbridge from their escorts, who would only inherit modest earldoms.

Just when the conversation was getting interesting.

Jasper left Wareham at the table alone and joined Kit in the shadows.

“You look ready to chew nails,” his friend said. “Have you called someone out?”

“Not yet. But I cannot guarantee Wareham will leave in the same condition in which he arrived.”

“Wait until he’s drunk.” Kit barked a laugh. “At least then he won’t remember.”

As luncheon ended, the only noises were the cries of hawks overhead and the chuffs of horses eager to return to their stalls. It was quiet enough to hear the hum of whispers, and bright enough to see the glances spearing toward Fiona and Annabel walking along the ridge line.

Jasper stood. “Why don’t we race downhill back to the hall? If I’m going to spend a lazy afternoon, I’d prefer it be without spiders.”

The mention of skittering creatures had Miss Bainbridge and Miss Wallace hurrying for their horses, and the promise of a race had the same effect on Raines and Wareham. Even Kit seemed excited as he escorted the chaperones to their carriage.

Jasper shared a conspiratorial wink with Fiona as he lifted her into the saddle. “Give them a fair shot, Fi.”

“Not on your life,” she crowed as she maneuvered to the agreed-upon starting line.

Annabel was the only guest not focused on race preparations. Jasper joined her, putting his back to the starting line to watch a pair of hawks soar and dance through the valley below. They called to one another as they followed the silvery-blue river that seemed no wider than a ribbon.

“Can you imagine being that free?” she whispered. He wasn’t certain she knew he was at her side.

As the birds vanished from sight, she stepped forward to search them out, but hesitated. In her green habit, she blended into the landscape like a creature afraid to be seen.

Or perhaps afraid to lose her balance.

He put an arm around her waist and coaxed her to the edge. “I won’t let you fall.”

She trembled with each step, but she took them.

Jasper craned to look over her head and watch the couple battle and flirt as they skimmed close to the cliffs. “Are any of us free, Miss Pearce?”

Her smile faltered, and the shutters muted the sparkle in her eyes. The wind grew colder around them.

“We’re all freer than some, but not as free as others, I suppose.” She turned toward her horse, leaving Jasper to follow as he saw fit.

He bent to help her into the saddle. As expected, she balked.

“I can wait for a stable hand.”

Jasper didn’t relent. “Wareham will cheat and claim his horse was too restless to wait.”

“Fine, then.” She put her foot in his hands and allowed him to help her mount. Her soft wool skirt teased his wrist, and her simple scent was the perfect complement to a spring picnic.

He watched her until she was settled. “Give the mare her head, Miss Pearce. It’s as close as you’ll come to flying today. None will catch her.”

Jasper was still speaking when Wareham leapt with a whoop meant to startle his opponents in the race. “First to the other side of the lake—by land and not by water!”

Jasper charged from the rear, low over Ceff’s neck, the dark mane tickling his cheek. He gave Kit a mocking salute as he sped past.

Only one other rider caught his attention. Annabel had swung wide of the pack. Lying almost flat, she seemed to be floating on her horse’s ribs, as though her riding cane was all that was keeping her steady. She’d lost her hat, and her hair streamed behind her like a banner.

Jasper veered to the left to give chase, and his smile widened as the ground leveled beneath Ceff’s thudding hooves. Annabel had surveyed the course and found the fastest ground, and the safest for her horse.

He arrived at the finish line half a length behind Annabel. Fiona came third, tied with a swearing Raines.

Jasper didn’t know the rest of the rankings. He didn’t even know the basis of the argument that had broken out between Miss Bainbridge and Miss Wallace.

Annabel’s eyes were sparkling over her wide, brilliant smile. Her cheeks were pink from the air, and her loose hair framed her face. She draped over her horse’s neck in a celebratory embrace as they walked to the stables.

“Did you hear me, Rabbit?” Fiona asked.

“Hmm?” Jasper urged Ceff to follow, which took little encouragement. His nose was in the air, searching for the mare’s scent.

Fiona shoved his shoulder. “Did you ask me to take care of Annabel so she’d take care of me?”

He shrugged, and she shoved him again.

“I don’t know whether to be angry that you insist on sheltering me or pleased that you trust me enough to befriend a young lady who has turned your head.”

Jasper glanced at the woman he loved like a sister. She didn’t know everything about his life, and she didn’t need to. If she wanted to think he was besotted with Annabel Pearce, so be it. It would make things easier.

“Tell me everything she said.”