To Wed a Wild Lord Read Free Page B

ball. Even the farmer’s daughter next door went to one in Bath, and she’s only eighteen!”
    “What I was talking about—”
    “So I’m not going to let my gown or my inexperience on the dance floor keep me from enjoying myself,” she said stoutly. “I shall eat caviar and drink champagne, and for one night pretend that I’m rich. And I shall finally dance with a man .”
    Pierce looked affronted. “Now see here, I’m a man.”
    “Well, of course, but you’re my cousin. It’s not the same.”
    “Besides,” he said, “I wasn’t talking about your gown. I meant, aren’t you worried about running into Lord Gabriel Sharpe?”
    She blinked. “Why would he be there? He wasn’t at the race today.”
    A few years ago, the Duke of Lyons had started an annual race—the Marsbury Stakes—run on a course on his property. This year her grandfather, Pierce’s greatuncle, General Isaac Waverly, had entered a Thoroughbred stallion from their stud farm. Lamentably, Ghost Rider had lost the race and the Marsbury Cup.
    That’s why Pierce was accompanying her to the race ball tonight, instead of her grandfather—Ghost Rider’s poor performance had keenly disappointed Poppy. It had disappointed her, too, but not enough to keep her from attending the ball.
    “Sharpe is Lyons’s close friend,” Pierce said. “In fact, he was at the race in Turnham Green with Roger.”
    Her stomach sank. “That can’t be! The only people there were Lord Gabriel and some fellow named Kinloch—”
    “The Marquess of Kinloch, yes. That was Lyons’s title before his father died and he ascended to the dukedom.”
    She scowled. “No wonder Poppy refused to attend tonight. Why didn’t he tell me? I wouldn’t have come.”
    “That’s why. Uncle Isaac wanted you to enjoy yourself for once. And he assumed that Sharpe wouldn’t be there since he wasn’t at the race.”
    “Still, I’ll have to face the duke, who let Roger run that awful course in Turnham Green despite knowing the risks. Why did he invite us? Doesn’t he realize who we are?”
    “Perhaps he’s holding out the olive branch to you and Uncle Isaac for his own part in Roger’s death, small as it was.”
    She snorted. “Rather late, if you ask me.”
    “Come now, you can’t blame Lyons for what happened. Or Sharpe either, for that matter.”
    She glared at Pierce. They’d had this argument many a time in the seven years since her brother had died in a dangerous carriage race against Lord Gabriel. “His lordship and Kinloch—Lyons—took advantage of Roger’s being drunk—”
    “You don’t know that.”
    “Well, no one knows for sure, since Lord Gabriel refuses to speak of it. But Poppy says that’s what happened, and I believe him. Roger would never have agreed to threading the needle with Lord Gabriel when sober.”
    The course was called “threading the needle” because it ran between two boulders with room enough for only one carriage to pass. The racer coming behind had to rein in to allow the other to drive through. Roger hadn’t pulled back in time and had been thrown into a boulder. He’d been killed instantly.
    She’d hated Lord Gabriel ever since.
    “Men do stupid things when they’re drunk,” Pierce said. “Especially when they’re with other men.”
    “Why do you always make excuses for Lord Gabriel?”
    Pierce cast her a shuttered look from eyes the exact shade of brown as Ghost Rider’s. “Because although he may be a reckless madman who risks his neck every chance he gets, he’s not the devil Uncle Isaac makes him out to be.”
    “We’ll never agree on this,” she said, tugging at her drooping gloves.
    “Only because you’re stubborn and intractable.”
    “A family trait, I believe.”
    He laughed. “Indeed it is.”
    Virginia gazed out the window and tried to regain her buoyant mood, but it was no use. The ball was doomed to be ruined if Lord Gabriel showed up.
    “Still,” Pierce went on, “if Sharpe does come, I hope