more than that. If we’re caught, ye can claim ignorance.”
“I’ll do it,” Bender agreed, and then walked away grumbling to himself.
“Crush a large stash of Stinkin’ Billy,” Ross said, turning to the jockey. “Ye must carry some in yer pockets day and night. Smudge a bit of dirt on yer face each mornin’, and carry an empty flask of gin at all times.”
“I know what you’re planning.” Rooney laughed, grasped Peg’s reins, and led the filly toward the stables.
“What is this Billy?” Blaze asked him.
“Stinkin’ Billy is the most foul smellin’ weed on earth,” Ross answered. “The stink keeps people away better than dung. Ye’ll need to carry it on race day.”
“Why is it called Stinking Billy?”
“We Highlanders named the weed after the Duke of Cumberland.”
“Who is he?” Blaze looked confused. “Does my father know him?”
“I keep forgettin’ how young and English ye are,” Ross said, touching her cheek. “I’ll tell ye the tale of Cumberland one day, but trust me on this. Dinna ask yer father aboot Cumberland lest ye arouse his suspicions.”
“Why does Rooney need to carry a flask and smudge his face with dirt?” she asked him.
“We want the whole of Newmarket to believe Rooney is drinkin’ again,” Ross answered. “Drinkin’ and stinkin’.”
“You are sneaky.”
“Thank ye for the high praise, darlin’.” Ross grabbed his horse’s reins. “Come on, and I’ll walk ye home.”
“No, thank you.” Blaze gestured to her garb. “I need to sneak inside via the back door.”
“Ye’ve a ways to go before ye reach my level of sneakiness,” Ross said. “I’ll see ye at two o’clock for our tour.”
“I will count the minutes.”
He winked at her. “See that ye do.”
Why is the marquis courting me? Blaze wondered, inspecting herself in the cheval mirror.
She doubted he was spying on Thor or Pegasus. Hercules, his own colt, was a formidable competitor. That left her father’s influence and fortune, neither of which he needed.
With a critical eye, Blaze stared at her reflection. She wore a pale peach gown topped with a white cashmere shawl, its bottom edge embroidered with dainty peach blossoms.
Turning around, Blaze glanced over her shoulder to see her backside. All seemed in order. Then she turned sideways and, not for the first time in her life, wished her bosom were more developed.
Would the marquis try to kiss her? That disturbing possibility leaped into her mind. She needed to speak with her stepmother before leaving.
Crossing the bedchamber, Blaze lifted the white hat with peach ribbons off the bed. She would carry her bonnet while seeking her stepmother’s advice and then ditch the hat in the foyer on the way out.
Blaze met the majordomo on the second-floor landing. “Do you know Her Grace’s whereabouts?”
“Their Graces are consulting in his office,” Tinker answered. “May I add how lovely you look, Miss Blaze.”
“Thank you, Tinker.”
Reaching her father’s office, Blaze lifted her hand to tap on the door. She hesitated, hearing her stepmother’s voice.
“Magnus, please trust my strategy.” The duchess sounded exasperated. “I promise all will end as you desire.”
Her father muttered a reply, his words inaudible. His tone did not sound especially happy.
Blaze tapped on the door and then peered into the office. In an instant, her father and stepmother pasted smiles onto their faces. Had they been discussing her?
“Come inside, darling.” Her stepmother beckoned her. “How beautiful you look for your outing.”
“Thank you for noticing.” Blaze dropped into the chair beside her stepmother’s.
Her father’s office was a bastion of masculinity. Sturdy oak furnishings and muted colors lent the room a somber atmosphere. No feminine frills distracted the eye or the mind from business dealings.
Blaze fixed her gaze on her stepmother. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I am trying to do right
“I’ll do it,” Bender agreed, and then walked away grumbling to himself.
“Crush a large stash of Stinkin’ Billy,” Ross said, turning to the jockey. “Ye must carry some in yer pockets day and night. Smudge a bit of dirt on yer face each mornin’, and carry an empty flask of gin at all times.”
“I know what you’re planning.” Rooney laughed, grasped Peg’s reins, and led the filly toward the stables.
“What is this Billy?” Blaze asked him.
“Stinkin’ Billy is the most foul smellin’ weed on earth,” Ross answered. “The stink keeps people away better than dung. Ye’ll need to carry it on race day.”
“Why is it called Stinking Billy?”
“We Highlanders named the weed after the Duke of Cumberland.”
“Who is he?” Blaze looked confused. “Does my father know him?”
“I keep forgettin’ how young and English ye are,” Ross said, touching her cheek. “I’ll tell ye the tale of Cumberland one day, but trust me on this. Dinna ask yer father aboot Cumberland lest ye arouse his suspicions.”
“Why does Rooney need to carry a flask and smudge his face with dirt?” she asked him.
“We want the whole of Newmarket to believe Rooney is drinkin’ again,” Ross answered. “Drinkin’ and stinkin’.”
“You are sneaky.”
“Thank ye for the high praise, darlin’.” Ross grabbed his horse’s reins. “Come on, and I’ll walk ye home.”
“No, thank you.” Blaze gestured to her garb. “I need to sneak inside via the back door.”
“Ye’ve a ways to go before ye reach my level of sneakiness,” Ross said. “I’ll see ye at two o’clock for our tour.”
“I will count the minutes.”
He winked at her. “See that ye do.”
Why is the marquis courting me? Blaze wondered, inspecting herself in the cheval mirror.
She doubted he was spying on Thor or Pegasus. Hercules, his own colt, was a formidable competitor. That left her father’s influence and fortune, neither of which he needed.
With a critical eye, Blaze stared at her reflection. She wore a pale peach gown topped with a white cashmere shawl, its bottom edge embroidered with dainty peach blossoms.
Turning around, Blaze glanced over her shoulder to see her backside. All seemed in order. Then she turned sideways and, not for the first time in her life, wished her bosom were more developed.
Would the marquis try to kiss her? That disturbing possibility leaped into her mind. She needed to speak with her stepmother before leaving.
Crossing the bedchamber, Blaze lifted the white hat with peach ribbons off the bed. She would carry her bonnet while seeking her stepmother’s advice and then ditch the hat in the foyer on the way out.
Blaze met the majordomo on the second-floor landing. “Do you know Her Grace’s whereabouts?”
“Their Graces are consulting in his office,” Tinker answered. “May I add how lovely you look, Miss Blaze.”
“Thank you, Tinker.”
Reaching her father’s office, Blaze lifted her hand to tap on the door. She hesitated, hearing her stepmother’s voice.
“Magnus, please trust my strategy.” The duchess sounded exasperated. “I promise all will end as you desire.”
Her father muttered a reply, his words inaudible. His tone did not sound especially happy.
Blaze tapped on the door and then peered into the office. In an instant, her father and stepmother pasted smiles onto their faces. Had they been discussing her?
“Come inside, darling.” Her stepmother beckoned her. “How beautiful you look for your outing.”
“Thank you for noticing.” Blaze dropped into the chair beside her stepmother’s.
Her father’s office was a bastion of masculinity. Sturdy oak furnishings and muted colors lent the room a somber atmosphere. No feminine frills distracted the eye or the mind from business dealings.
Blaze fixed her gaze on her stepmother. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I am trying to do right
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