Page 133 of From Rakes to Riches

“Lot 317,” the auctioneer called loudly. “Arabian breed, mare, fifteen hands high, four years old. Chestnut with marked withers. Let the bidding begin.”

The horse he’d chosen was presented and the mare looked even more lovely in the daylight as when he’d viewed her in the stables. Raising his hand, Theodore signaled the clerk, while several other men around him did the same. Winning wouldn’t come easily, but he had no intention of losing.

After a series of bids had raised the mare’s price considerably, the field of interested bidders thinned. Eight men became five, dwindled to three, and then only two. Theodore raised his hand to signal an increase in his bid to one thousand pounds. A wave of speculation and comment rippled through the crowd. Men now stood in clusters around the courtyard, removed from the cupola to discuss the vicious bidding war in the same way they would retell the story at their dinner table later that evening.

Theodore had no idea which gentleman continued to outbid him, as the man was represented by a Tattersall’s worker, who again raised the price with a wave of his hand. Pushing from the column where he’d leaned, Theodore walked closer to the auctioneer. He had no intention of losing because his gesture went unseen.

“Who is outbidding me?” The angry query echoed across the courtyard and the crowd hushed immediately.

Theodore turned to see the Duke of Leinster enter the area. He passed by the Tattersall’s agent who’d apparently represented his bids and continued until he stopped five strides from Theodore.

“Theodore Coventry, Earl of Essex.” Theodore bowed his head in greeting. “I mean no disrespect, Your Grace.”

“Then you will forfeit the bid.”

“I didn’t say that,” Theodore replied.

“This mare isn’t worth such an egregious amount. Are you driving up the price on purpose?” His Grace asked.

“Not at all,” Theodore replied. “I have every intention of winning this auction.”

No one in the crowd made a sound. The auctioneer waited while the Duke of Leinster glared at Theodore for what seemed an endless minute. Theodore suspected His Grace would spare his own reputation considering the large audience who watched with rapt attention.

“One thousand two hundred pounds,” the Duke of Leinster announced loudly.

“One thousand five hundred pounds,” Theodore countered right after.

“I shall remember you, Essex,” the duke said cryptically, before he nodded at the auctioneer, turned his back and walked away.

21

Only a few minutes had passed since Lola last checked the time. Her pulse fluttered, anxious with longing and anticipation, until finally at exactly eleven o’clock Theodore’s carriage arrived. Locking her door and pocketing the key, she made her way downstairs and into the night. Just like the day before, the door to the carriage opened before she reached for it and she climbed in without hesitation.

“Good evening, Lola,” Theodore said, his voice low and rich. He was dressed impeccably in waistcoat, shirt, and trousers. His cravat was tied loosely leaving a shadowy vee of skin visible at his neck.

“Hello, Theodore,” she said, her voice calmer than her heartbeat. She settled on the cushioned bench and the carriage began to move.

“You’re breathtaking.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing her skin to his mouth before he released her, the warm kiss full of sensual promise, the moment far too short.

“Thank you,” she said coyly, omitting how she and Sofia had painstakingly considered her gown and underthings.

Silence enveloped them as he took her in from top to bottom. His eyes followed the curve of her shoulder, lingering at the open neckline of her dress where the rose-colored silk was shirred tight to hug her curves. His gaze traveled lower to the line of her skirt, down to where she’d gently pulled the fabric aside and pointed the toe of her new slippers.

“Silk stockings,” he said, his words husky with desire. “Is that a white dove flying across your ankle?”

She slid her leg out further, just enough to expose her lower calf and the fine embroidery decorating her imported stockings. “Sofia says I balance like a little bird on the tightrope. She helped me choose these stockings among…other things.”

The last two words whispered out and hung in the air, increasing the delightful tension that radiated between them. His gaze had returned to hers and a delicious heat began in her belly quick to remind of all the pleasures to be had this evening.

He cleared his throat before he spoke again. “I have a surprise for you as well.”

“Is that so?” she asked, grateful for the change of topic.

She’d left her hair down, knowing how much he enjoyed threading his fingers through the lengths and now she brushed a stray strand from her cheek to keep herself from reaching for him. He looked incredibly handsome in the lantern’s glow, his dark hair catching a gloss from the candlelight, his strong features made sharp by the shadows.

“I’ll show you as soon as we reach Essex House,” he said, a slight smile accompanying his explanation. “I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” she replied, caught in the intimate magic of their flirtatious conversation.

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