Devil's Match Read Free

myself!”
    They looked at each other, exchanging glances of trepidation, before Barnes, the driver, moved to vacate the box. Grimacing, he muttered under his breath to the coachy, “ ’Tis the devil’s ride ter town, by the looks o’ hit.”
    â€œAye, but oo’s ter blame ’im, wot wi’ ’em Friday-faces,” Rogers hissed back as he clambered after “Messel’—jest wisht they was ridin’ wi’ ’im.”
    His jaw set, his eyes dark with anger, Patrick heaved himself up into the box. Tossing his hat under the seat, he loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his coat before taking the reins. There would be a headwind and it looked like rain, but he meant to make good time back to London in spite of it. Flicking the whip to crack above his horses, he hunched forward in the seat as the coach lunged forward, threw the hapless occupants back against their seats, and picked up speed.
    He was furious with his family and even more furious with himself. He ought not to have come at all, he knew, but he had—and look what it had got him! Certainly not the least goodwill from them—quite the opposite, in fact. Damn his Uncle Vernon! Could he not have forgiven a boy’s hotheaded lapses? No, he reflected bitterly, none of them could. He’d never made them understand that his own honor had demanded the inquest—that it had been the only way to face Bridlington’s father’s accusations. No—they would never see that he had been forced into the quarrel; they could not know that the subsequent duels had been fought at the instigation of a vengeful parent. And they did not care, he reminded himself angrily. He’d seen the hatred and felt his aunt’s contempt, and he’d been a fool. Aye, what a fool, too, for he’d made a wager to strike back—a stupid, foolish, ridiculous wager. For a tuppence, he’d just forfeit the thousand. Yet in his heart he knew he’d either have to make a push to win or swallow his pride. And it would gall him to have to lose to Charlie.
    Rain began to spill soft drops on him and then as the storm gained in intensity he was pelted and soaked thoroughly. Oblivious of the storm, he urged his team on in the darkening afternoon until his anger was spent.

Chapter 2
2
    C aroline Ashley viewed her charge with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Though only five years Juliana Canfield’s senior, it sometimes seemed as though she were expected to fulfill a multitude of roles beyond those she had been employed to do, to wit, to restrain the younger girl’s volatility and to guide her through a London Season safely until she could hopefully be turned over to an equally strong-willed husband. Her employment had been a master stroke on the part of her mentor, Miss Richards, headmistress at the select female academy where the very cream of the
ton’s
daughters were instructed in the art of being ladies. That lady, seizing upon the despair of Lady Lenore, had suggested Caroline as a calming influence while informing the Canfields in almost the same breath that Juliana simply could not finish her education there. Sir Maximillian, after hearing the rather daunting list of Juliana’s scrapes, had endorsed the proposal almost immediately. Lady Lenore, on the other hand, had demanded to know just how an unmarried female quite on the shelf could expect to guide anyone through a Season when she had not personally experienced one of her own. For once Sir Max had prevailed, and thus had begun an association that Caroline could only consider a mixed blessing—while learning to detest the cold and arrogant Lady Lenore, she had become sincerely attached to Juliana. In a matter of days, she had discovered that it was Lenore Canfield’s overbearing, calculating disposition that inspired Juliana to rebellion. Had that lady been less inclined to rule and more inclined to affection, Caro believed the