the railing of the ship wouldn’t leave his mind.
He’d known the instant he’d spied her who she had been. It had been no secret which ship Jonathan and his guests had taken from England, and Chance had known, from talking to Morely, that Sam and Constance would be meeting them this morning. He’d had his own reasons for being there at that time—the same ship that had brought the others to Virginia had been bringing him the start of what he hoped would be the foundation of an impressive Thoroughbred stud farm—a stud farm he had begun carving out of the same ten thousand acres he had won on the throw of the dice from Jonathan some eight years previously.
In the hold of the ship was a big bay stallion out of the brilliant and undefeated Flying Childers, as well as two mares that had been bred early that spring to Matchem, a grandson of the famous Godolphin Arabian. Their arrival in Virginia would be the culmination of a dream Chance had long held. He had been counting the days until he actually laid eyes on the animals that, after he had decided on thebloodlines he wanted, had been selected by his agent in London.
The meeting with Jonathan had left a sour taste in his mouth, dimming some of his pleasure at the arrival of his horses. The sight of the baroness smiling with Jonathan had aroused a whole host of emotions he found distinctly irritating. Chance envied no man, not even the heir to the great Walker fortune. But as he had stared up at the slim figure in the tobacco brown gown as she had leaned against the railing of the ship and watched the expressions that crossed her lively features as she had laughed and chatted with the other young woman (the younger sister, he had thought fleetingly), he had become aware of an odd pang deep in his gut. The idea of Jonathan having possession of all that fragile beauty woke the sleeping demons inside of him, and the bitter taste of bile had risen in his throat.
He was appalled by his emotions, furious to discover that for one brief moment he
did
envy his enemy, that he wished, to his furious astonishment, that this beguiling little creature had come all the way from England to be with
him.
He had been filled with contempt at himself and an equal amount of contempt for the young woman at the railing. Didn’t she know what kind of man she was considering marrying? Or didn’t she care? As long as he was rich enough, did it matter to her that Jonathan Walker was a scoundrel, a bald-faced liar, and a seducer of other men’s wives? That there was blood on his hands?
Chance let out an angry breath. What the devil did it matter to him if she married a black-hearted villain? The baroness no doubt knew exactly what sort of man she was contemplating marrying, and if the haughty expression she had worn on that lovely face of hers had been any indication of her nature, she and Jonathan Walker deserved each other.
It took an effort, but eventually Chance was able to banish the baroness and Jonathan Walker from his mind. Let Satan take ’em! he thought contemptuously as he swallowed the last of his ale and rose from the table. They were two of a kind and he despised both of them.
Intent now on finally seeing his purchases, he left the tavern and walked with that long-legged stride of his back toward the ship. Shortly, after a brief exchange with the quartermaster, he learned that he had arrived just in time—his horses were being unloaded almost immediately.
Chance watched anxiously as each animal, wrapped securely in heavy webbing, was swung aloft and lowered carefully to the wooden dock. A pleased smile crossed his dark face at the first sight of his stallion. The animal had survived the crossing well, and though a little thin, his coat dull and coarse, the clean-limbed, long-bodied majesty of a wellbred Thoroughbred was plainly evident. The mares, a fineboned chestnut and a tall black (a rare color for a Thoroughbred), seemed in much the same condition. They still had to make
He’d known the instant he’d spied her who she had been. It had been no secret which ship Jonathan and his guests had taken from England, and Chance had known, from talking to Morely, that Sam and Constance would be meeting them this morning. He’d had his own reasons for being there at that time—the same ship that had brought the others to Virginia had been bringing him the start of what he hoped would be the foundation of an impressive Thoroughbred stud farm—a stud farm he had begun carving out of the same ten thousand acres he had won on the throw of the dice from Jonathan some eight years previously.
In the hold of the ship was a big bay stallion out of the brilliant and undefeated Flying Childers, as well as two mares that had been bred early that spring to Matchem, a grandson of the famous Godolphin Arabian. Their arrival in Virginia would be the culmination of a dream Chance had long held. He had been counting the days until he actually laid eyes on the animals that, after he had decided on thebloodlines he wanted, had been selected by his agent in London.
The meeting with Jonathan had left a sour taste in his mouth, dimming some of his pleasure at the arrival of his horses. The sight of the baroness smiling with Jonathan had aroused a whole host of emotions he found distinctly irritating. Chance envied no man, not even the heir to the great Walker fortune. But as he had stared up at the slim figure in the tobacco brown gown as she had leaned against the railing of the ship and watched the expressions that crossed her lively features as she had laughed and chatted with the other young woman (the younger sister, he had thought fleetingly), he had become aware of an odd pang deep in his gut. The idea of Jonathan having possession of all that fragile beauty woke the sleeping demons inside of him, and the bitter taste of bile had risen in his throat.
He was appalled by his emotions, furious to discover that for one brief moment he
did
envy his enemy, that he wished, to his furious astonishment, that this beguiling little creature had come all the way from England to be with
him.
He had been filled with contempt at himself and an equal amount of contempt for the young woman at the railing. Didn’t she know what kind of man she was considering marrying? Or didn’t she care? As long as he was rich enough, did it matter to her that Jonathan Walker was a scoundrel, a bald-faced liar, and a seducer of other men’s wives? That there was blood on his hands?
Chance let out an angry breath. What the devil did it matter to him if she married a black-hearted villain? The baroness no doubt knew exactly what sort of man she was contemplating marrying, and if the haughty expression she had worn on that lovely face of hers had been any indication of her nature, she and Jonathan Walker deserved each other.
It took an effort, but eventually Chance was able to banish the baroness and Jonathan Walker from his mind. Let Satan take ’em! he thought contemptuously as he swallowed the last of his ale and rose from the table. They were two of a kind and he despised both of them.
Intent now on finally seeing his purchases, he left the tavern and walked with that long-legged stride of his back toward the ship. Shortly, after a brief exchange with the quartermaster, he learned that he had arrived just in time—his horses were being unloaded almost immediately.
Chance watched anxiously as each animal, wrapped securely in heavy webbing, was swung aloft and lowered carefully to the wooden dock. A pleased smile crossed his dark face at the first sight of his stallion. The animal had survived the crossing well, and though a little thin, his coat dull and coarse, the clean-limbed, long-bodied majesty of a wellbred Thoroughbred was plainly evident. The mares, a fineboned chestnut and a tall black (a rare color for a Thoroughbred), seemed in much the same condition. They still had to make
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