Chapter Nine

October 4, 1812

"Honestly, I don't know why you brought me here," said Dodo awkwardly.

It was the question that had been playing on her mind ever since the note had arrived. After their, well… awkward parting at McBarland's, she had presumed their lessons were at an end.

Which meant the end of a perfectly good source of income, too. Just when her mother's letter had arrived, scolding her for her mad idea of staying in Bath all alone, but making no mention of sending her aunt or anyone else after her, instead decrying the vast number of bills which had arrived. How they were supposed to pay it, only God knew…

But the subsequent post had brought another missive. This one was shorter, far more to the point. It warmed Dodo to a much greater extent.

Miss Loughty,

You would do me a great honor if you would give me the pleasure of your company tomorrow at the Bath racecourse. Meet me by the North Gate and wear sturdy boots. 11 o'clock?

Your friend,

Lindow

Dodo had swallowed hard when she'd first read it. Your friend.

"I am your friend. I deserve to know—"

"You are not my friend."

It was a tease, of that she was certain. But at the same time, there appeared to be no malice in the note. No hatred toward her, no anger as there had seemed to be days ago. He truly seemed to wish to see her.

It had taken her five minutes to read the blessed thing, ten minutes to find paper, then almost an hour to think of a reply. Which was pitiful, when she considered what she managed to come up.

My lord,

That sounds agreeable. I will see you there.

Doris Loughty

Fortunately, Mrs. Bryson had proven less of an obstacle to meet up with George than Dodo had expected. The landlady, though ostensibly there to act as chaperone for any of the young ladies in the boarding house, had enough to occupy her that Dodo's continued insistence that she was visiting a lady friend in town never seemed to draw further inspection from the woman.

That, or she was glad enough of Dodo continuing to make rent and would not ask questions, even when handing off letters clearly written by gentlemen.

An invitation from a gentleman.

Even now, as George beamed at her and Dodo attempted not to slip in the mud that had been churned up by the hundreds of people present at the Bath racecourse, she was finding it difficult to work this man out.

What on earth did he want with her?

Not just here, but at all. There had been no mention of lessons in the fifteen minutes since he had met her at the North Gate, coat pulled tightly around himself against the cold. No mention of cards, or mathematics—more's the pity. That was solid ground.

And so, she asked the question. Not that she'd received a reply yet.

"What was that?" asked George politely.

Dodo forced herself to ask the question again. "I don't know why you brought me here."

He grinned, a swooping in her stomach making it almost impossible for Dodo to remain upright. "To put your theory into practice, of course!"

Precisely what theory he meant, she was not sure. He most definitely could not mean anything about her very basic knowledge about horse riding. She could ride—every genteel young lady could—but her family had not owned a horse for… goodness. Far longer than she could remember.

If George were so foolish as to place her on the back of a horse, she would promptly slip off the other side. It would be the only way to stay safe.

It simply couldn't be horse riding. So… what?

From what she could see, attending the races was more a social event than a sporting one. A sharp, pricking sensation gnawed at the back of her throat as she realized she was brazenly here in the daytime with a gentleman, without a chaperone in sight. She ought to have pretended to be a widow when she came to town to allow for greater movement without fear of staring eyes. Everywhere one looked, there were members of the ton in their autumn finest. A few were wearing winter coats, as the temperature had dropped so dramatically overnight.

Perhaps she could suggest an aunt was seeking shelter from the cold in the nearest building should anyone ask. Yes, that would have to do.

The white fences that lined the racecourse glittered in the low autumn sun, and excited chatter surrounded the whole place as horses were led this way and that, coats gleaming, jockeys with serious faces. She could even see—

"I must say, you look… you look… you look," said George softly.

Dodo blinked. "I look?"

"Y'know," he said vaguely, waving a hand. "Good."

Heat suffused her cheeks as she look down.

She really shouldn't have done it. She never would have done, if she had not won ten guineas—ten guineas!—on that bet she'd made in McBarland's with Mr. Gillingham. Dodo had never expected it to come off, not really, and to have such riches so suddenly…

Well, as her mother would have said, it had gone to her head.

And so while Dodo had carefully exchanged the guineas for a five-pound note—five pounds!—and sent it on its merry way back to Croscombe and her parents, she had kept the rest of the money. And spent it. Just a little of it.

"I've never seen such an elegant pelisse," George said, his face flushed for some reason. "Very… very pretty."

Dodo nodded weakly.

It had cost an entire pound. What I was thinking …

She knew what she'd been thinking. She'd been thinking, she'd reasoned with herself as they'd continued along the racecourse, other spectators eagerly watching for the next race to begin, that winter was coming. She did not have a proper winter pelisse. That was it. That was all. It was merely a matter of practicality.

The fact that the velvet-trimmed, fur-lined, elegantly embroidered pelisse was beautiful…

Neither here nor there.

"George—my lord, I mean," Dodo said hastily, casting a look about them. No one seemed to have noticed her slip-up. "You mentioned my ‘theory,' but you still haven't properly answered my question."

"Which is? Oh! Careful now," said George, grabbing her hand as her foot slipped. "Better take my arm."

It wasn't a question and he did not act as though it were one. Instead, George casually slipped Dodo's hand into his arm and continued walking along.

And he still , she thought with a heat spreading through her arm that had absolutely nothing to do with the proximity of the earl, hasn't answered my question . My theory of what?

Strange. It hardly seemed to matter now.

"I suppose you don't know anything about racehorses?"

George's voice was light, but the question struck pain into Dodo, which she hoped was not visible on her face.

The pain was guilt. And it is quite right that I should feel it, she thought wretchedly. After what she'd done.

She'd betrayed him.

Well, not exactly betrayed . Dodo was not the sort of person to risk a person's life—that would be outrageous. And it wasn't impossible to do what she'd done without the information George had so unknowingly bestowed upon her.

"It's a shame Scandal of Lancelot isn't doing too well. My jockey tells me the beast has a weak left flank, though I don't believe it."

"To be sure—as long as Scandal of Lancelet doesn't lean to the left as he always does … "

It isn't as though he asked me to keep information a secret , Dodo thought woefully as they turned a corner and started around the racetrack. So, she'd used the information with the assistance of Mr. Gregory and Mr. Gillingham to bet against George Chance, Earl of Lindow. She'd won ten guineas. Fine.

It wasn't his money! It had been what's his name—the man, from McBarland's. He hadn't been too pleased to shown up by a lady, to be sure, but Dodo had received her money, and George was none the wiser, and…

And surely, that was all that mattered?

Any feeling of shame had not stopped her from making the bet again. And again.

Even after she'd realized George was betting on his own horses, so she was, in effect, taking money from the earl himself.

"Dodo?" George said gently.

She looked up into his face and knew that it was wrong. Betting against—he was not a friend, and she still had no idea what to consider him, but he had trusted her. He had spoken before her with no thought to the consequences, a particularly Lindow trait.

And she had used that information to win, gambling against his horses.

Her father would have been mortified. But then, Dodo knew, he was happily receiving the efforts of her winnings—the sight of the money she'd sent home had apparently overridden any objections he might have had over her bold plan to travel to Bath alone. Almost one hundred pounds in the last few weeks, all thanks to George's accidental insights. Little snippets here, a little detail here—it all changed the odds. And someone with a mathematical brain may just be able to work it all out.

With the help of two other men. Men most eager to earn their money back and then some after she'd trounced them during that first game.

Dodo swallowed.

One hundred pounds , she told herself severely, is nothing to an earl, and everything to my family. A proper doctor would no doubt finally be called, not one of those quacks who charged through the nose for salves and potions that didn't do a thing. Debts could be paid. The roof fixed. A second maid could be hired to help her mother. Life could return once again, for a time, to normal.

"Are you feeling quite all right?" asked George softly, placing his hand on hers as it rested on her arm. "You look… You don't look well."

They had stopped walking. Dodo hadn't been aware of that, she had been so lost in her thoughts, and as she looked up at George, his brows drawn together and pursed lips—all concern and care—guilt twisted within her.

And the worst of it is , she thought dully, I am falling in love with him.

It was most inconvenient. Though she'd be the first to admit her trip to Bath and continued activity without a chaperone will have destroyed any chance of a suitable marriage should it be discovered, there had been a time when she'd imagined marriage as an inevitability. And every time she'd imagined that inevitability, love was supposed to come after marriage, once a suitable suitor had been suited up—it shouldn't be sprung upon her without warning.

He was a good man.

George smiled, his light-blue eyes crinkling and a frown on his face. "Perhaps I made a mistake to bring you out here. Why don't I take you back to—"

"No!" Dodo said hastily.

It had only been when he had walked away, that night in the gaming hell, that she'd realized just how much she'd enjoyed his company. His closeness. His touch…

Definitely not his touch.

George squeezed her hand.

Fine, his touch. But the point was—the point, Dodo attempted to grasp on to, was that George would never speak to her again with such friendliness if he found out what she had been doing. He might never speak to her again. At all. Ever.

And if that occurred…

How was it possible that it would be a wrench to her very spirit never to know him again? What would she do, if the man she was growing to love saw her for what she truly was?

A liar?

"You asked me what I knew about horseracing," Dodo said, attempting to distract him from her momentary panic. "Pretend like I don't know anything. You will have to be the teacher today."

Yes, she had pitched that just right. George's chest swelled with excitement and importance as he stepped forward, pulling her along with him.

"Right. In that case, we'll start right at the beginning. Each of these races look the same, perhaps, to the untrained eye, but there are subtle differences in both length and jumps that alter them greatly. First, consider…"

Dodo had spent a great number of years of her life being bored by men.

Oh, it wasn't their fault. Probably. It was just that they chose interests in life that she found incredibly dull, and without any way to integrate with mathematics at all, so what was the point of them?

Fishing? Hunting? The watching out for specific birds that migrated? Dull, dull, dull—and those were just her father's pursuits.

And so, like many ladies, Dodo had learned how to keep a subtly vague expression on her face for just such an occasion. Enough interest to make the gentleman in question believe she was still listening, but nebulous enough so she would not be required to answer questions later.

The instant George had started speaking, Dodo began to arrange her features in just such an expression… and discovered to her great surprise that it was unnecessary.

George was … interesting.

"There, you see?" he said passionately, pointing as a herd of galloping horses raced around the corner where they were standing. "Because of the breeding line of the forerunner, he'll tire before he reaches the last bend. It's the stamina of the Arab line—it's vastly different from…"

Dodo attempted to pay attention and found to her astonishment that she wanted to. And could. George was an excellent conversationalist at the worst of times, but she had never seen him like this. Overcome with excitement, full of passion, he seemed to be more and more alive the longer they stood here.

He was dazzling.

"—so that's why it interests me so much," he finished, then he appeared to realize he had been lecturing for nigh on fifteen minutes. "I, uh… I hope that wasn't too dull for you."

"‘Dull'?" repeated Dodo.

His face fell. "Well, it's not to everyone's taste, but—"

She interrupted him. "It is fascinating." She was rewarded with a brilliant smile. "I can see what you mean. Without any knowledge, it does indeed look just like horses going around and around. But there is so much more than that, isn't there?"

So much more , she attempted not to think, that I can now use when it comes to betting on the horses. Betting against you.

"Come and meet them," George said impulsively, pulling her away from the racecourse and toward what appeared to be a series of wooden buildings.

Dodo blinked. "‘Them'?"

"The horses, of course!"

It was probably only because he was two of the horses' owners, Dodo was certain, that they were allowed to do it. No one attempted to stop them as they stepped into the stable yard, people running about here, there, and everywhere. Trainers and feeders, jockeys and footmen, men in livery and girls bringing out bowls of steaming hot stew and mugs of ale. There was excited chatter everywhere, bitter arguments in corners, and a few jockeys eying her up in a way that made Dodo feel most uncomfortable.

Her grip tightened on George's arm.

"It's quite all right," he said quietly, as though immediately understanding her concern. "Nothing will happen to you. They're quite safe, really, even if they are a tad bold in appreciating a lady. Besides, you are with me."

No further explanation appeared necessary. Dodo opened her mouth to ask, but then she saw the way people treated the Earl of Lindow as he walked through.

With… respect.

It was most unusual. She had presumed as a horse owner, George would have received nods and stares, but nothing else. He was, after all, not a horseman himself.

At least, that was what she had presumed. But as George approached a particular pair of stalls, a few of the stablehands and jockeys approached him with grins and proffered hands.

"Lord Lindow, sir! Wonderful to see you, did you get my note about—"

"—changed over the feed as you suggested, m'lord, and as you can see—"

"—never saw anything like it, those rogues must have done something to their mares. It's something astonishing how they—"

And as he shook hands, and nodded at people's words, and inclined his head at those who bowed, Dodo clung on to his arm and… stared.

This, perhaps, was the most earl-like she had ever seen him. Oh, it was clear that George was a reprobate of the best kind, and the little he had spoken of his family proved that he was the black sheep. The outsider.

But here? Here he held court as only a prince could, and Dodo could see that it came as naturally to him as breathing. He probably didn't even realize how spectacular he was.

Something lurched in her stomach.

She realized.

"Here he is," George said, disentangling the two of them from all those who surrounded them with a simple jerk of the head. The jockeys, stablehands, and trainers all melted away as George and Dodo stepped into the stable, away from the stares of others. "Honor of Guinevere."

Dodo looked up into the wise eyes of a magnificent horse, who had stuck his head out of his stall to see what all the fuss was about. He was beautiful, a fine beast with impossibly long lashes and a hint in his eyes that spoke of true intelligence.

The little stable was really nothing more than a lean-to. The two stalls opened out onto the courtyard where the horses could poke their heads out, but they currently faced inside the stable, which was covered and walled in. The door shut softly behind them.

They were now enclosed in warmth and the smell of hay and darkness. And alone.

"So… So this must be Scandal of Lancelot," she said softly, slipping her hand from George's arm to walk over to the second of the two stalls. "How is his flank?"

When she glanced back, George was beaming. "Goodness, you remembered! You're the only person I discussed that with and I thought I'd bored you to tears. But you remembered!"

Dodo smiled weakly as self-reproach crept through her. "Well. You know. I listen to everything you say."

He grinned. "Just as long as you don't tell anyone his secret—that if he gets overtaken on the first corner, he loses all hope and gives up! My word, it's pleasant to have someone to talk to about this sort of thing."

"Yes, very pleasant," Dodo said as blandly as she could.

Especially when I am using it against you in the betting pool , she thought but did not say.

How could she? How could she reveal the treachery to which she had sunk, just to get a little coin?

It wasn't a little coin, though. And the amount would make far more of a difference to her and hers, than him and his.

"You're the first person I've introduced him to, outside of his jockey and the stablehands," George said fondly, reaching up to rub the beast's nose. He nickered softly, pressing his nose into his master's hand.

Dodo stared first at George, then the beast. "What… Truly?"

He nodded. "I haven't trusted anyone else."

And a sense of connection, a togetherness Dodo had only experienced once before in her life, swept over her. It was the same sensation she'd experienced when George had kissed her in his smoking room. A sense that in all the world, there was no one who understood her, except him. The thought that she had seen a part of George Chance, Earl of Lindow, a part he had never permitted anyone save herself to see…

George's eyes, blazing with something she did not understand, met hers. Then he had moved, taken three strides across the small stable, and was pinning her against the wall.

"I know you said no kissing," he said in such a low voice, it was almost a growl. "And I will hold myself back, Dodo, if you want me to."

"But—But you don't want to?" She gasped, hardly knowing what she was saying as a rush of desire flowed through her.

Oh, this was heavenly: to feel herself pressed up against the wall, to know that mere feet away there were people milling about, not guessing what was occurring in this tiny stable…

George leaned his head to press his forehead against hers. When he spoke, it was with a desperation she had never heard. "I want you, Dodo. I want you."

And that was when she entirely lost her head.

Before Dodo knew what she was doing, she was obeying the instincts in her body rather than the frantic thoughts in her mind. She had leaned forward and lifted her lips to his.

The instant they'd touched, she knew she never wanted to do anything but this ever again. It was exhilarating, his hands clasping her arms, his lips worshipping hers, the two of them standing in a stable where they could be discovered at any moment.

At least, that was what Dodo probably would have thought, if she could have thought anything at all.

Pleasure was pouring through her body as George's tongue teased upon her mouth and delved into its depths, shooting greater ripples of desire through her body. Her stomach had dropped, or melted, or something—all Dodo knew was that there was a scalding sensation between her legs that was burning, burning for something. George's fingers slipped from her arms to her waist and swiftly moved lower, cupping her buttocks and pulling her against his hips.

Dodo moaned, unable to help herself, and somehow, the sound sparked something in George. His kisses grew more passionate, his tongue teasing out exquisite shivers of sensation, and—

The door to the little stable banged open. George sprung back.

"Ah," said an amused voice. "Another one of your—"

"This is my friend, Miss Loughty," said George darkly, glaring at the man.

Dodo blinked, a cacophony of shame, remorse, and the final fading ripples of desire making it most difficult to think. She could, however, speak. "Good day." She recognized the man. The similarities between him and George when so close together were even more obvious.

"This is my arrogant and ill-timed brother, the Marquess of Aylesbury," George said with a wry laugh. "Whom I am sure has an excuse for his terribly irritating interruption."

Heat blossomed over Dodo's cheeks and she wished to goodness there was somewhere to hide.

The marquess who had sent her to McBarland's. At a party she had intended without a chaperone, though she wasn't sure that faux pas had been discovered then. What awful luck he should discover them not only alone, but…

Well. Kissing.

If the marquess chooses not to be discreet, we will be forced into … into an engagement.

The thought rocked Dodo's body so soundly that she lost track the conversation for a moment. When she was able to focus, it was to see George's brow furrowed and an unmistakable look of irritation in his eyes.

"—make him think he can come here?" he spat.

The Marquess of Aylesbury shrugged. "He is our brother, after all. There's a concert at the Pump Rooms later in the week Florence and I will be attending, assuming I can encourage her out the door, though he couldn't get tickets. He probably just wanted to see you—"

"He's no brother of—he knows full well what I think of him!"

Dodo glanced between the two men in curious astonishment. Was this, perhaps, the answer to why there appeared to be conflicting reports on the bastard Chance brother?

"You don't have to see him, naturally. I'll take him home for luncheon," Lord Aylesbury was saying, albeit coldly. "I just thought you'd like the opportunity to—"

"I don't want to see that man, and that's the end of it," George said flatly. "Go on, tell him for me that if he wants to make a scene by shaming me with his presence, he can do so elsewhere."

Dodo watched the marquess bite his lip.

"You don't have to be so harsh on—"

"Pernrith knows how I feel about him," George repeated. "Now be off with you."

His brother sighed. "Fine. Just don't give away any tips to the ladies, Lindow," he said with a wink at Dodo. "I'd hate to see you lose even more coin on the betting!"

He left the little stable with a laugh that echoed around the stable yard. Dodo's heart raced. It was not the laugh of a man who'd been scandalized, who was about to announce his brother's engagement to the ton . The marquess had never even asked after her chaperone.

George turned to her with a grimace. "I do apologize. There was no need for you to hear—"

"Pernrith," Dodo said curiously. "Who is he?"

For a moment, a shadow passed across his face. Then he smiled, though it was a tight one. "My brother—my half-brother, if you must know. He… My father…"

His voice trailed away into an awkward silence.

Dodo nodded wordlessly. Well, it happened everywhere, didn't it? Old Mr. Michaels in Croscombe had suffered an indiscretion , in the words of her father. The boy had been raised with the family, but there had been discomfort in the whole village. There was no reason why it couldn't happen to dukes just as it did to butchers.

"And you don't like him," she ventured.

George snorted. "No. No, I don't."

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask further questions, but before Dodo could speak, he drew himself up and smiled more naturally.

"Now, come and watch a race—Honor of Guinevere will be heading out in less than an hour. And if you want to make things more interesting, you could always bet on it!"

Guilt tore through Dodo as they stepped out into the blinding light of the stable yard and started to make their way back to the racecourse.

It appeared they were not going to discuss the kiss. The heavenly kiss. The kiss that had awoken desires in her that she had never… that she could never…

"Come, you must make a bet. It is a part of coming out to the races, and I certainly know you to be a gambling woman," George teased, perhaps mistaking her silence for nerves.

"I suppose I could bet a… a small amount," she said quietly.

He grinned. "Will you use your mathematics to win?"

Dodo's smile faded. "Yes. Yes, my mathematics. That's what I'll use to win."