do you mind?”
Harold bristled—he’d been here first, with an appointment. But the duke gave a nonchalant shrug.
“Then come with me, gentlemen.”
At the end of the hall was a stall twice the size of the others. The stallion inside was massive, its coat a gleaming chestnut tone.
In truth, Harold had never been comfortable around large animals, but when he saw the duke glance at the horse and give the manager an approving nod, he quelled the urge to cringe.
He nodded at the stallion as well, then stoutly declared, “Now that’s more like it. I want something that’ll impress my fiancée.”
“You’re to be married?” the assistant asked, finally looking away from the duke long enough to spare Harold a glance. “Congratulations.”
The stallion tossed his head and snorted. Harold took a nervous step backward before catching himself—he did not wish to lose face in front of Beaufort.
“Storm Runner, he’s called,” Kemble told them. “He needs a firm hand.”
The duke nodded. “A firm hand, perhaps, but the animal has clearly been kept in beautiful condition.”
Harold forced a loud laugh. “Needs a firm hand, eh? So will my fiancée. A beauty, but headstrong. I’ll train them both together.”
The assistant manager opened his mouth as though to say something, but promptly closed it.
“Yes, indeed.” Harold cracked his knuckles, already anticipating the moment he could relay this afternoon’s events to his friend Cutter at their club. Here he was, sharing horse talk and manly jokes with the Duke of Beaufort.
On a roll, Harold continued, “An animal just has to be shown who its master is before he—or she—will mind him. Then it’s a smooth ride. Heh. I do enjoy a good ride.” He winked and reached over the door of the stable to stroke the stallion, but the animal tossed its head and backed away.
He waived a hand toward the horse. “’Course, I’d be willing to bet Storm Runner here will come around before Elizabeth does.”
“Elizabeth?” the duke asked quickly.
“Oh, yes,” Wetherby went on, his chest swelling further, “Elizabeth Medford. Perhaps you’ve heard of her? A baron’s daughter. Fine old family. Pretty chit, too, though, as I said, a bit headstrong. Nothing, of course, a man like myself can’t handle.”
The duke’s expression was unreadable. Could he possibly be jealous? Unreasonable though she could be, there was no denying Elizabeth was attractive. In their recent argument, Elizabeth had all but admitted an interest in Beaufort. But no bloody way Harold would let her out of his clutches now. He resolved to press her uncle to make the announcement soon.
There was just one thing left to seal this as the perfect afternoon. Harold bobbed his head toward the stallion. “What do you want for him?”
The assistant manager fidgeted. “Mr. Wetherby, if it’s a good, er, ride, you’re looking for, perhaps a racehorse isn’t your ideal fit.”
The duke glanced between them, expression still blank. Harold recalled Beaufort had a reputation for ruthlessness, and complete lack of emotion, at the card table.
Harold folded his arms. “What do you want for the horse?”
Kemble squared his shoulders and gestured toward the stallion. “Well, Mr. Wetherby, a horse with a breeding record like Storm Runner…” his voice trailed off meaningfully.
Harold’s neck heated. Damn it, this assistant was not going to make him look bad in front of the duke. “What do you want for him?”
The young man glanced anxiously at the duke, then back to Harold. “Perhaps, if you are interested, you could make an appointment—”
“I’m prepared to talk now,” Harold said with clenched fists.
“The asking price,” Kemble told them, “is twelve hundred pounds.”
The duke, a man known for extravagance in all facets of life, didn’t flinch. Harold, on the other hand, had to swallow, hard. The nincompoop of an assistant was trying to rob him.
“That is a handsome amount. I say”—Harold forced himself to breathe normally—“perhaps if you were to put the animal through its paces, show me what it’s capable of…” He needed to buy some time.
Perhaps he could spot some flaw, force the assistant to lower the price. Because if a stallion from the Derringworth stables truly went for twelve hundred pounds, Harold was way out of his league.
“Of course, I am happy to take Storm Runner out,” Kemble replied. “I assure you, when you see him in action, you’ll see his price is fully justified. I’ll just get him ready.”
Before he could do so, the duke held up a hand.
“Sold.”
“Pardon?” Kemble asked.
“What?” The question exploded from Harold before he could consider the wisdom of asking it.
The duke spoke to the assistant, ignoring Harold completely now. “I’ve done business with Derringworth’s long enough to know you stand behind your animals. Storm Runner’s worth at least that much. I’ll send my solicitor with a bank draft for the full amount first thing tomorrow. Is that sufficient?”
“Now wait a minute—” Wetherby sputtered.
But neither man paid him any attention.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Kemble said. “Absolutely.”
Anger bloomed in Harold as he realized that all along, his presence at the stable, and in front of the duke, had been merely tolerated. Come to think of it, the duke hadn’t actually laughed at his jokes. And when it came time to transact business, apparently he was invisible—at best.
“Unbelievable,” Harold muttered, and stormed out.
The two remaining men watched him go.
“Your Grace,” the assistant manager said, “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am…”
“Not to worry,” Alex told him. “He was no one of significance.”
Kemble nodded. “Exactly. Please, let me assure you that Derringworth’s does not cater to such clientele. I only pity the woman to whom he’s betrothed.”
“Indeed.” Impossible to believe that boob was marrying the fiery redhead. The arrogant ass couldn’t even handle purchasing a horse. There was no way he’d get his hands on Elizabeth Medford.
Chapter Three
“I’m in the most awful fix, Bea.”
“Whatever has happened?”
“I’ve run out of
