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“Winning always is.” The marquess reached into the basket he had carried from the carriage and pulled out a bottled wrapped in a white napkin. Holding it under his arm, he rummaged with his other hand for the goblets.

“Can I help?”

“Hold these.”

Meredith obediently accepted the glasses. She watched with undisguised glee as Trevor expertly popped the cork on the champagne bottle. Her laughter bubbled over as the foam spilled down the side of the bottle.

“Steady,” Trevor cautioned as he filled each goblet. With a smile, he handed her one. “To Rascal.”

They clinked glasses, then sipped. The wine slid down her throat, the effervescence delightfully tickling her nostrils. “Delicious.”

Trevor took another sip. “’Tis refreshing, though I prefer my champagne served a bit colder.”

Meredith rolled a mouthful around on her tongue, then swallowed. “We are celebrating Rascal’s win. It tastes like ambrosia.”

“Victory is always sweet.” His gaze was intense, yet oddly tender. “Yet never more so than when it is shared.”

That look sent a funny little flutter to her stomach that she deliberately ignored. She marveled anew at how her husband’s mercurial moods could have such a strong hold on her emotions.

And she wondered again why he bothered, when he claimed to be devoid of feeling for her.

Was it simply something he could not control?

A man of his experience, his reputation, had no doubt been with scores of other women.

By his own admission, he was a rogue and a womanizer.

Was this heat and invitation he seemed to be casting her way such a part of him that he did it without thinking?

Without considering who she was? Or was it more?

The crowd let out another loud cheer, breaking into Meredith’s musings. She looked onto the course and saw Rascal being brought before the crowd. It seemed as though everyone wanted to celebrate the stallion’s victory.

“Thank you for bringing me today,” Meredith said. “I cannot remember the last time I had so much fun.”

“It feels good to scream and shout, does it not?”

“Oh, yes.” Her heart tugged oddly. “Tell me, whom do you favor to win the next race?”

By the end of the afternoon, Meredith’s reticule was weighed down with pound notes and coins. She had wagered, and won, on each race. Never again would she so forcefully criticize her brothers for their gambling indulgences, for she now understood how exhilarating the experience could be.

The crowd had begun to thin as everyone made their way home.

While Trevor stopped for a moment to receive congratulations from a group of high-spirited young men, Meredith proceeded to the carriage.

It had been a glorious afternoon. The tip of her nose felt a bit tight, for without her parasol she had nothing but the poke bonnet to shield her face from the sun.

She imagined her nose must be pink, perhaps even red, but it did not matter. Nothing could spoil her delight and enjoyment of the day.

The marquess’s carriage was easy to identify among the many coaches sequestered in the area. Its sporty yellow wheels stood out among the more somber black conveniences. Deciding she had had enough exposure to the sun already, Meredith moved to wait in the shade.

As she did, she noticed something in the carriage seat. How strange, I am fairly certain we left nothing behind . Curious, Meredith took a step forward. Then another. Her heart began a thunderous pounding when she realized what is was—or rather, what it had been.

Her parasol. That colorful bit of silk and lace that had mysteriously disappeared just before the first race began was now wedged on the carriage seat at an obscene angle. It fluttered gently in the slight breeze, jagged edges of fabric and lace hanging disjointedly from the exposed frame.

Meredith’s stomach clenched in a knot and her vision blurred as a wave of cold fear washed over her. Someone had savagely and violently ripped the parasol to shreds, then deliberately left it here for her to find.

“Harper mentioned you were looking for me earlier. Is there something we need to discuss?”

Trevor looked up as his father sauntered into his private sitting room.

He shuffled the papers crowding the table where he sat, more for effect than organization.

He had been trying to read them for over an hour, with little success.

The profits of his country estate were the last thing on his mind.

Upon returning home from the racecourse, Meredith had gone to her room to rest. After her initial outburst of distress, she had said nothing else about her mangled parasol, dismissing the notion as a childish prank.

Trevor did not know if that was a good or bad sign.

He only knew the sight of such a personal article of Meredith’s viciously destroyed nearly beyond recognition disturbed him greatly, enough so that he welcomed an opportunity to discuss the incident with his father.

The marquess’s lips twitched. Fear made strange allies.

“I am glad to see you,” Trevor said. “Please, sit down.”

“You are glad to see me?” The older man hesitated. “I never thought I’d hear you say those words unless there was a gun pointed at your chest.” The duke pulled up a chair and sat facing him across the table. “What is wrong?”

“ ’Tis Meredith. I took her to a horse race this afternoon, and she had a most unsettling experience.”

“Did you run into one of your mistresses?” The duke snorted. “A wife can find that to be a rather lowering occurrence.”

Why must he always think the worst of me? Though he wanted nothing more than to hotly refute the statement, Trevor held his tongue. He had been a less than perfect husband thus far. The duke’s scorn was not entirely misplaced.

“Not that it is any of your business, sir, but I have given up my mistresses.”

“Frequenting the brothels, then? Whores can be less tedious in the long run, yet even the best houses have women who carry diseases. I hope you are careful.”

“I have not set foot inside a brothel in years.” Trevor sighed. It appeared this conversation was going to be far more difficult than he feared. “ ’Tis only because of my concern for my wife that I will allow you to insult me, sir. Yet I warn you even I have limits.”

“All right, all right. We shall save the discussion of your flaws for another time.” The duke tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “What happened to Meredith?”

Thankfully the older man listened attentively while Trevor described the incident.

“Horse racing attracts all sorts of characters,” the duke said. “This could be the jealous reaction of a rival owner whose horse lost to yours, or a disgruntled gambler who placed a wager on one of the animals that Rascal beat. Or it could just be some youthful mischief.”

Trevor shook his head. He had already considered and discarded many of the same possibilities. “There was something very deliberate about this act, something almost personal. It was as if this individual wanted to taunt Meredith, to specifically frighten her.”

“Did he succeed?”

“Though she insists otherwise, I believe she was frightened. Very frightened.”

The duke clucked his disapproval. “She is a stubborn woman, with a will of iron. It would take a great deal to rattle Lady Meredith.”

Trevor could find no words to protest. “Though I have tried very hard to be logical about all of this, I cannot shake aside the feeling she is in danger.”

“Danger?” The duke did not appear to put much stock in that theory. “Are you certain? I think it might be something else entirely. When you speak of her, you have the look of a possessive man—or a smitten boy. I cannot decide which.”

“ ’Tis neither,” Trevor insisted adamantly. Perhaps too adamantly. Tempering his tone, he continued, “I am concerned my wife may very well be facing some sort of threat to her person.”

The duke’s gaze told Trevor his father was not convinced. “What are you going to do about it?”

Trevor leaned forward eagerly. He had given this much thought. “I believe it would be wise to hire some men to keep an eye on her, to make sure she comes to no harm.”

“I suppose that could be arranged.” The duke rubbed his chin. “It might also be a good idea to tell Harper, so he can alert the other male servants. Best to have all eyes alert to the possibility of any mishaps.”

The marquess let out a breath of relief. Life went so much smoother when his father was in agreement with him. “That is a good suggestion. I also think we should not tell Meredith about this just yet. There is no need to frighten her more, especially if it all comes to nothing.”

The duke grimaced. “You realize, of course, there are some places where these bodyguards cannot go without attracting considerable attention. We plan to attend the theater tomorrow evening. Since you are so worried, it might be wise for you to join us.”

Trevor considered the request carefully. “I shall arrive at the family box before the curtain rises.”

“I am sure it will be a delightful surprise for Meredith.”

Trevor nodded. Yes, of a certainty it would be a surprise, yet he was unwilling to speculate if his wife would think it was delightful.