Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“No! Never! I shaft—” She broke off suddenly at a shove against the door.

Hawk pulled her forward, and Marcus entered, saw the two of them together, and blushed furiously. “Oh, I didn’t know ... well, I can see to—”

“My dear Marcus,” Hawk said pleasantly, releasing Frances, “her ladyship and I were just discussing the problem of the missing bills of sale. Have you discovered anything more?”

Marcus felt as though his collar were choking him. “No, my lord,” he finally managed to say with but a ghost of his considerable aplomb. “I did, however, find bills of sale for others of the horses. But none for the three- and-four-year-olds.”

Hawk actually didn’t give a tinker’s damn for the entire matter, but he managed to look suitably concerned. He smiled slightly toward his wife, who had regained a bit of her proper balance, and said, “Incidentally, Marcus, Lord Chalmers was regaling me earlier with stories of the racing world. He tells me there has recently been more than the expected amount of corruption, accidents, and the like. A prize thoroughbred of Lord Demerley’s was poisoned before a race. The jockey was responsible and fled the country with quite a few guineas in his pocket.”

“That is dreadful,” said Frances. “I didn’t realize that such things happened.”

“Wherever money is involved,” Hawk said dryly, “I suspect dishonesty is firmly entrenched.”

“Speaking of jockeys,” Frances said, her common sense firmly in place again, “I am used to riding, Hawk. And I don’t weigh much. Do you suppose that I—”

“No,” he said. “A lady doesn’t do such things, Frances. I believe Belvis has a young nephew who is almost as small as you, my dear. He expects him to arrive by the end of the week. Since he is related to Belvis, I suppose we can trust him not to poison the horses.”

Over luncheon that day, it appeared that Beatrice was ready to launch her own battleships. “You really don’t know anything at all about racing, Philip. Bringing in mares for stud isn’t difficult, of course, but racing! You must know that Edmund owns an excellent stable, the largest in Devonshire. And you have never cared anything at all about Desborough.”

“Which comment should I respond to first, Bea?” Hawk asked mildly.

“I think you should sell. Edmund and I both are most excited about such a purchase.”

Hawk arched an eyebrow, baiting her with his silence.

Beatrice frowned a bit, but forged ahead. “You know that everything would have come to me had I but been born a male. Unlike you, I have pride in Desborough, the tradition, the—”

The marquess spoke for the first time, smoothly interrupting his daughter. “You shall have Edmund’s stables to muck about in, my dear. Hawk has obviously made up his mind. Leave off, I beg of you.”

“It is her doing!” Beatrice said, glaring down the table at Frances.

“In part that is quite true,” Hawk said honestly.

“She should go back to Scotland where she belongs! Why you should marry a nobody who—”

The marquess threw his spoon at his daughter. She gasped as it bounced off her bosom.

“Father!”

Edmund began to laugh. He leaned over and took Beatrice’s hand and gently squeezed it. “You go too far, my dear. Perhaps Hawk will change his mind in the future. After all, the racing world is most demanding, quite costly, and there are all sorts of wicked people who must be dealt with. Finish your lunch and let us go riding.”

An hour later, Frances was staring pensively around her bedchamber when Hawk entered through the adjoining door. She looked up and gave him a pained smile.

“How is my little nobody?” he said.

“I was surprised that you didn’t tell your sister of the odd circumstances of our marriage.”

“Had I fed her even a clue, it would have been raging through the ton within an hour. I had no desire to be pitied, laughed at, and otherwise mocked. Lord, I can just imagine how Brummell would have reacted.”

“So, no one knows then, save us.”

He flushed, and she pounced. “Who, my lord?”

“ ‘Hawk,’ ” he corrected automatically, buying himself some time.

But it was no use, she was tenacious. “Who, Hawk?”

“My mistress,” he said baldly.