Page 16 of The Duke of Aces
She scanned the strip of field where the horses were to race. “The course is longer than I originally estimated. A quarter horse of similar age to the Arabian would have a clear advantage, however taking into consideration your pick has a few extra years on him, I still believe it will be a fair race. What gives me pause is, I do not understand why you wish to increase the stakes, and what has occurred to prompt you to even consider such a preposterous wager?”
“The answers to your queries are simple. It’s no secret I shall be turning thirty soon.” He hoped he had masked the half-truth well enough for it to go undetected. Donning a look of what he hoped appeared to be resigned resolve, he continued, “It is time I wed…and after careful consideration, I believe you are more than capable of fulfilling all the duties of the Duchess of Avondale.”
The back of her hand brushed lightly against his thigh as she clasped her hands behind her. “Your explanation is riddled with inaccuracies. First, unless my memory is faulty, you are currently only eight-and-twenty, which means you have at least another two years to search for a suitable wife. Second, we are mere acquaintances. You know nothing of me. Third, I can assure you, there is a litany of unwed ladies who are far more suited to become the Duchess of Avondale than me.”
Isadora brushed her hand against him as she grasped her reticule. The minx was doing it on purpose. She glanced up at him, a twinkle of mischief in her green eyes, and softly said, “So your proposal to court me has nothing to do with your wish to gain Wembly Hall for the Season.”
“Correct.”
Clear disbelief shone through her gaze, and then in a flash, her eyes narrowed. It was mesmerizing to observe the woman next to him.
Isadora turned to look away from him. “Did seeing Lady Sattersburg prompt you to make such a hasty decision to wed?”
There was a hint of anxiety in her tone that hadn’t been there before. “No.”
Isadora’s gaze flickered up to him. It wasn’t a lie—Lady Sattersburg hadn’t entered his thoughts in months. Yet he could tell by Isadora’s shuttered gaze that she didn’t believe his answer.
Horse hooves rattled the ground beneath them as footmen led the mounted jockeys along the rail toward the starting line. Tom rolled his neck from side to side, struggling with the urge to reach out and turn Isadora by the shoulders so he could see her face. The need to formulate a response of some sort to make the woman smile again and banish the anguish he had seen in her eyes moments ago was extremely uncharacteristic of him.
Lost in thought, Tom was startled when Isadora said, “Let’s review the terms of our agreement before the race begins. Wembly Hall goes to the winner, best of three events.”
Tom nodded. How easily Isadora had put aside her feelings and was now poised, ready to focus on the purpose of their outing. She was bloody brilliant in his opinion, and he was convinced there would be no one better to be by his side than Isadora.
Isadora’s gaze continued to bore into him. “For today’s race, if the quarter horse wins, I shall allow you to escort me to three events over the course of the Season. Should the Arabian win, we shall both attend Lady Thornston’s soiree set for four days hence. She has a private parlor where we shall partake in a game of Rum.”
Rum. The game was equal parts luck and skill like most card games. His papa’s voice echoed through his head,Always bargain, never accept the first offer. Six opportunities to convince her to marry should suffice.
“When my horse wins, you shall agree to six events, and henceforth you are to refer to me as Tom, and likewise, I shall call you Isadora.”
She shook her head. “Four, and I’ll agree to forgo formalities only in private.”
“Agreed. Shall we join our sisters at the finish line? I wouldn’t want there to be any mistake over who the winner is.”
*
Isadora placed herhand upon Tom’s arm, and the yearning to be closer to him eased. She had brazenly grazed her hand against him to test whether or not the ache she experienced would wane if she came into physical contact with the man. To her surprise, the brief touch had not quelled her ache but had also sent a jolt of delight through her.
Walking at a leisurely pace, Isadora took a moment to ponder the potential consequences of her wager with him. Tom was rumored to be a ruthless negotiator, and he was living up to his reputation. Courting. Marriage. No one sane would gamble on their future. Yet that was exactly what she was doing by agreeing to be seen with the Duke of Avondale, and especially so if thetonfound out he was searching for a wife.
Isadora spied Minerva and Charlotte standing to the side. Her sister’s gaze was flittering about the crowd. As she stepped up next to Minerva, she asked, “What’s the matter?”
Minerva stepped forward. “We need to move faster. Drake is approaching.”
“You never run from him. Why now?” Her sister’s recent behavior around Drake had been extremely worrisome to Isadora. She wanted Minerva to gain the happiness she deserved, but Drake, the dolt, had still not attempted to win her sister’s hand.
“He’s going to attempt to ruin all my plans. I can feel it in my bones.”
“And what exactly are these plans you speak of?”
“To have you happily wed by Season’s end…” Minerva peered at her hand, settled upon Tom’s arm. Tom was engaged in deep conversation with Charlotte and hopefully was paying Minerva’s ramblings no mind.
Minerva wagged her eyebrows at Isadora. “To you know who.”
Isadora released her hold on Tom. “You can’t take credit for something you had no part in.”
“Aha! You and the duke were discussing the possibility of marriage then.”
Isadora shook her head. “I wish you couldn’t read lips.”
