Rake Most Likely to Thrill. Bronwyn Scott

bon voyage.

      Still, whether he agreed with Nolan’s choices or not, it was his job to have Nolan’s back just as it was Haviland’s job to have Brennan’s. He and Haviland had divided up the duties of friendship years ago at school when it had become apparent Nolan and Brennan weren’t entirely capable of exercising discretion on their own.

      Back then, what couldn’t be tamed had to be protected. These days, Nolan did a pretty fair job of protecting himself. He didn’t need defending as much as he needed what one might call support. That was the gentlemanly way to put it. Needing a duelling second would be another.

      It was times like this morning when Archer appreciated horses. He understood them, preferred them even. It was horses, in addition to his long-standing friendship with the others, that had provided the final, but not the only piece of motivation to leave Newmarket. Perhaps there were new breeds waiting for him in Europe, breeds he could send back to the family stud.

      His father had charged him with purchasing any exciting prospects he could find and had given him carte blanche to do it. But Archer knew what that charge really was. It was his father’s way of apologising. His father was very good at apologising with money. It was easy to do if one had a lot of it and his father, the Earl, had bags of it, rooms of it even. He’d never understood his family wanted more from him than his money or what it could buy. Not even at the last had he understood that and Archer had had enough of his father’s aloof, uncaring reserve, enough of the coldness. He was off to seek warmer climates, warmer families: his mother’s people in Siena.

      Archer had never been so glad to be a second son. His brother was the heir. He, as the eldest, was confined to the estates, whereas Archer had been given the stables, the racing string and that had been the avenue of a convenient escape when Haviland had delicately proposed the tour last autumn. He could be in Siena for the Palio, the town’s grand tradition in the heat of August. He could be with his mother’s family, horse breeders like himself. Perhaps that was what drew him most of all, these people he’d never met, only heard about in letters over his childhood; his uncle Giacomo, the breeder whose famed horses had won that race more than any other, a chance to be part of something great, a chance to keep the vow he had made to a dying mother. Her dreams and his promises were all he had left of her now.

      There was the rustle of Nolan shifting, his body leaning forward to look out the window. ‘I don’t think he followed us, not with a knife in his shoulder,’ Archer muttered, eyes closed. He heard Nolan’s body relax once more against the squabs. Not quite relaxed, he amended. He could feel Nolan staring at him, those grey eyes boring into his head in a very one-sided staring contest. He would not open his eyes, he would not, would not, would not... Archer’s eyes flew open. He couldn’t stand it. ‘What?’

      Nolan crossed his arms over his chest, a wide smile taking his face. ‘Archer, why is there a horse following us?’

      ‘A horse?’ It was Archer’s turn to look out the window. He stared, he squinted, he looked at Nolan and then back out the window. It couldn’t be. But it was. The Cleveland Bay he’d rescued was cantering down the road behind them. Right beside them, as if he knew Archer was inside the coach.

      ‘I sort of rescued him this morning while you were playing cards,’ Archer explained. What was he going to do with a horse at the docks? He couldn’t take the beast to France with him. It would hardly be fair to make the poor horse endure a Channel crossing or to make him walk from Calais to Paris. He needed good food and rest. That didn’t mean the horse’s efforts hadn’t tugged at his heartstrings. Nolan might laugh at the notion horses could and did communicate with their owners, but Archer had seen too many examples to the contrary. A horse’s loyalty was not to be taken lightly. Horses would give their lives for the people they loved.

      Their coach turned in to the docks, the horse slowing obediently to a trot to match the pace. Archer jumped down the moment the coach stopped. The horse still wore the rope bridle, but thankfully no lead line dangled dangerously at his hooves. Archer held out his hand and approached slowly. ‘Easy, boy.’ The horse blew out a loud snuffle, flecks of foam at his mouth. The running had started to wind him. A horse like him should be able to run for miles, but poor nutrition and hard labour had taken their toll on his natural endurance. They had not, however, taken their toll on the horse’s sense of a good man. The horse stood patiently, letting Archer put a hand on his long nose and another on his neck.

      Archer stroked the sweaty coat and spoke in soft, reassuring tones. ‘I’ve got a good home for you. The ostler at the hotel is going to take you there after you have had a rest. There are green pastures. You can run all day and eat orchard grass.’

      ‘He doesn’t understand you, Arch.’ Nolan chuckled, coming to stand on the horse’s other side. ‘He sure is a game fellow, though, to chase after you. Smart too. You’ve got to respect that.’

      And wonder at it. Archer leaned his head against the horse’s neck. People only left when there was no reason to stay. He knew that perhaps better than anyone. His mother had kept him bound to England when he would have left perhaps years ago. Now she was gone and so were his reasons. Were horses any different?

      Archer walked the horse to the back of the hired coach and tied him on behind. He gave instructions to the driver and a few coins to deliver the animal back to the mews at the Antwerp Hotel. The ostler would be expecting him. He gave the horse a final pat. ‘Trust me,’ he whispered. ‘Everything will be fine.’

      ‘Except that you will be five pounds poorer.’ Nolan gestured with a laugh towards a tall, dark figure standing alone on the pier. ‘Haviland’s already here. I told you he would be, and look, he’s got his fencing cases with him. He couldn’t be parted from them for even a night.’

      Archer gave an exaggerated grimace and handed over the money, more concerned about the fact that Haviland was alone. ‘Where’s Brennan?’ Nolan called out as they joined Haviland.

      ‘Did you expect him to be here, scholar of human nature that you are?’ Haviland teased and then his tone tensed. Archer could hear the worry. ‘I had hoped he was with you.’ Haviland motioned to the boat. ‘We have to board. The captain is ready to leave. There’s no more time. I was worried I’d be sailing alone.’

      ‘Well,’ Nolan said cheekily, ‘we were rescuing horses.’

      ‘And throwing knives at people’s shoulders. Don’t forget the knives part,’ Archer added crossly. He was tired, concerned about the horse and Brennan. It seemed an ominous note to leave on. Perhaps it was an omen that he should stay behind? He could take a few days and deliver the horse himself to Jamie Burke over in Folkestone. He could find Brennan. They could catch a boat together. It was a sensible solution. He should offer...

      No, he told himself firmly. He wasn’t going to give in to the excuses no matter how practical they seemed. He’d put this off long enough, put others’ needs ahead of his own long enough. He was getting on that boat. Perhaps he prevaricated out of cold feet at the last. If he took this step, there would be no turning back. His step would be larger than the others. He was going to find a new life, a new family.

      The trio boarded the boat reluctantly and took up positions at the rail, their eyes glued to the wharf, each of them lost in their own worries about Brennan. The glances they exchanged with each other all communicated the same thought: What could have happened? Brennan had been with them last night at dinner. It wasn’t, Archer knew, a matter of where Brennan was, but a matter of whether or not he was safe. Nolan tried to keep everyone’s spirits up by wagering on Brennan’s arrival, but to no avail. By the time the anchor’s chains began to roll up, there was no sign of their fourth companion.

      Archer bowed his head to the inevitable. Brennan wasn’t coming. It wouldn’t be the same the trip without him. It might be a whole lot safer, but it would lose something all the same. Wherever Brennan went, there was life and fire, he made everything exciting.

      A blur of movement on the wharf caught his attention. Archer lifted his head. Beside him, Haviland saw it too. It was Bren! Haviland began shouting and waving madly. Brennan