How To Marry a Rake. Deb Marlowe

      ‘Yes. Do you know him?’

      ‘Enough to warn you away from the man.’ Even Landry’s voice had gone cold and flat.

      Stephen stared at his friend. ‘Why?’

      Landry shook his head. ‘I cannot elaborate. Only believe that I mean this as a friend—you’d do best to stay far away from the man.’

      ‘That’s not an option.’ He frowned. ‘The earl is the reigning king of the turf. His string of winning horses is a mile long. The depth of his stables is amazing. But, most importantly—he owns the most talked-about racehorse since Eclipse.’

      ‘Pratchett.’ Landry nearly chocked on the horse’s name.

      ‘Yes, Pratchett. That horse is why I’m here. He’s incredible. If I can convince Ryeton to race him at Fincote, our success will be assured. People will flock from every corner of the kingdom to see that thoroughbred run, no matter who he’s matched against.’

      Landry snorted. ‘It’s a sound enough idea. Unfortunately, Ryeton’s not likely to go along with it.’

      Stephen bristled. ‘Why not?’

      ‘The man’s an elitist. A racing snob. Some of the old guard is like that, you know—if you haven’t been breeding and racing since the time of Charles II, then you are nothing. And Ryeton’s the worst. He decries the entrance of the nouveau riche or even the newly interested into his snug little world.’ He made another dismissive sound. ‘Although he’s not above taking their money.’

      Stephen’s jaw tightened in determination. ‘I have to try. This plan is the best and quickest way to Fincote’s success.’

      ‘Try, then.’ Landry sighed. ‘But you would do best not to hint at an association with me. It won’t do you any good in Ryeton’s eyes.’

      ‘It’s as bad as that?’

      ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ The viscount stood tall and smoothed his coat. A footman sidled by, heading into the ballroom with a full tray of champagne flutes, and Landry reached out and snagged two as he passed. He handed one to Stephen and held his aloft. ‘Success to us both,’ he toasted.

      ‘And my thanks for the advice.’ Stephen took a sip and watched as Landry drained his in one long drink.

      ‘Ah, the music begins again.’ Landry handed his empty glass to a footman positioned just outside the ballroom door. The poor man looked at him and at it in bemusement. ‘It is our call to the start, Manning.’ He tossed a last cheeky grin as he moved forwards to melt into the crowd. ‘And we’re off.’

      Stephen laughed, then he squared his shoulders and slid into the crowd in another direction. The race had indeed begun. And he did not mean to lose.

      Miss Mae Halford hovered at the entrance to Lord Toswick’s ballroom, a smile quirking at the corners of her mouth, a sense of anticipatory excitement swelling in her breast. Tension stretched tight across her shoulders and settled into the valley between, but she welcomed it. She was a soldier, and the glittering battlefield lay before her.

      ‘Don’t worry, dear,’ her mother said at her elbow. ‘Your father has promised not to abandon us until we’ve mingled a bit and made the acquaintance of the right sort of people.’

      Mae patted her mother’s hand. ‘I’m not worried a bit, Mama,’ she said reassuringly. But she couldn’t fault her mother’s anxiety. Anyone looking from the outside would judge that the pair had plenty to worry about.

      Despite his promises, her father had already spotted his cronies and surged ahead. In less than thirty seconds they’d all be up to their haunches in horse talk. He’d be useless this evening, even as Mae prepared to attempt the impossible.

      After a rocky entry into young womanhood and a subsequent two years abroad, Mae Halford was about to worm her way back into the stifling and rarified atmosphere of English society. And she was going to do it without the benefit of a title or family connections. Her father was a vastly successful businessman, a man whose two abiding passions—making money and spending it on thoroughbred racing horses—left precious little time or attention for aught else. Her mother, the daughter of a shopkeeper, had caught Barty Halford before he became richer than Croesus. Even after all these years she still had not reconciled herself to her role as a wealthy man’s wife, or become comfortable socialising with those she still considered her betters.

      But all was not doom and dire gloom. After all, Mae’s father was not just wealthy, he was obscenely wealthy, and that fact was bound to open a door or two. Her personal assets were not totally lacking either. Wit came easily to her and immersion in European salons had taught her how to temper it into charm. She had her mother’s pretty blue eyes, blond hair with a hint of a strawberry tint and a bosom that her knowing French maid assured her was just large enough without straying into vulgarity.

      Without a doubt, though, Mae knew that her biggest asset lay between her ears, not inside her bodice. Her father called her a thinker and bemoaned the fact that she had not been born a son. She had been born a planner, an organiser and a strategist. They were characteristics that would indeed have been ideally suited to her father’s son, but which had so far proven largely lamentable in a daughter. She meant to put them to good use now. For she stood on the verge of her greatest project, her most important scheme—her Marriage Campaign.

      ‘Mrs Halford, I’m so glad you decided to come down and join us.’ Their hostess approached with a smile. ‘You can hardly have recovered your land legs, so soon from your voyage, but I promise that you shall enjoy yourself. I know several ladies who are interested in hearing about your travels.’

      ‘Thank you, my lady.’ Mae’s mother relaxed a bit under the countess’s kind attention.

      ‘I see your husband is as well occupied as mine.’ Lady Toswick rolled her eyes at the knot of gentlemen gathered in a corner. She turned a smile upon Mae. ‘But I hope your daughter will be happy to learn that she has an acquaintance among my house guests.’

      ‘I’m thrilled to hear it, Lady Toswick,’ Mae answered with a smile. ‘And curious, too.’

      ‘Yes, as am I,’ her mother agreed. Her eyes darted nervously around the room. ‘We’ve been abroad so long and this is our first social engagement since we’ve been back in England. Who could it be?’

      ‘A school friend, I understand. Lady Corbet. Although as she is newly married, I’m sure you’ll remember her as Miss Adelaide Ward.’

      ‘Oh, Addy! Yes, of course. I remember her fondly.’

      ‘Well, you’ll find her at the dancing, I’m sure.’ Lady Toswick was searching the ballroom with a practised eye. ‘Yes, there, she’s just ending a set. Oh, and she’s spotted us!’ The countess tucked her mother’s arm firmly through her own. ‘Go and enjoy your reunion, Miss Halford. My friends and I are all agog to tease your mother until she tells us where she purchased the gorgeous silk for her gown.’

      Mae smiled encouragement and watched her mother follow alongside the countess before turning to meet Lady Corbet—Addy. She grinned at the spectacle her old friend made as she squealed her way across the ballroom, flapping her hands as she came. Miss Trippet of The Select School for Young Girls had not succeeded in squelching Addy’s vivaciousness any more than she’d cured Mae’s tendency to organise her schoolgirls into trouble.

      ‘Oh, Mae, it is you!’ Addy clasped her by the hands and squeezed. ‘How elegant you are! Is that waistline the latest Paris fashion?’ She stood back and examined Mae from head to toe. ‘You are going to put every girl in London to shame.’ She grinned. ‘I’m so glad you are back!’

      ‘Addy,’ Mae said warmly. ‘How glad I am to see you.’ She pulled her old friend in for a quick embrace. ‘You are practically the first person I’ve seen since we docked!’ She raised a brow. ‘And Lady Toswick says that you are newly married? Congratulations!’