Tonight or Never

  The first race of the day was a three-year-old filly.

  John baited Chloe. "Why don't you enter Nettie? All you have to do is put a dish of food at the finish and she's sure to win."

  Chloe elbowed him smartly in the ribs.

  He grinned, revealing two deep dimples. "She wouldn't even have to be jockeyed."

  "John, that's not funny. Nettie happens to be a very sweet horse."

  "Not as sweet as you, carrottop." He pulled her around, placing a kiss on her forehead.

  Chloe blushed at this public display of affection. "John, everyone is looking at us!" She tried to wriggle away from him.

  "Everyone? Here I thought they were watching the race," he teased.

  "Heard you got yourself hitched, Sexton," a pompous-sounding voice spoke from behind them. "Couldn't hardly believe it."

  They both looked over. Lord Snellsdon was standing there, surrounded by his usual group of cronies.

  John had never much cared for Lord Snellsdon. The man was a mean-spirited braggart who took pleasure in berating others not as fortunate as the favored son of an earl.

  He surrounded himself with an obnoxious circle of men who shared his nasty disposition. Lord Crandall, Lord Howardsby, Lord Lakeston… They had no regard for anyone save themselves.

  Many a time John had seem them purposely run people into the streets by walking four abreast on the sidewalk; sometimes these poor unfortunates got hurt.

  Of course, they had all been to Eton together.

  John had not attended Eton. At the time, the young viscount was living a hand-to-mouth existence, trying to survive in the rural countryside of England. When he found him, Maurice—never a supporter of the cruelty of the English public school—had elected to acquire tutors for his nephew.

  John's independent nature and carefree spirit would not have made him a good candidate for Eton.

  Besides that, the marquis believed the boy had suffered enough in his youth; he would not subject him to the deprivations to be found in that "noble" establishment.

  In later years, John had always applauded his uncle's decision. From what he had heard about the place, he would never send a member of his family there. Strength of character, he believed, was fostered in other ways.

  The proof of his theory was these offensive, hateful men standing before him, who most likely started their ways thrown together in the deplorable hellhole known as Eton. Because John had not been one of their group, they always went out of their way to put him in his place. Or at least they tried. With Lord Sexton's carefree, amused attitude, such behavior never seemed to strike its mark. Insults appeared to roll off the viscount's broad back.

  His success with women irritated them further, their envy often prodding them into trying to goad him more.

  Naturally, all of this was thinly cloaked within the civility of English manners.

  Chloe fumed silently. She knew exactly what these scapegraces were about. The compassion she felt for her husband rose to the surface. John was too good a person to be subjected to this. She slipped her hand into his.

  He squeezed it briefly before answering Lord Snellsdon. "Yes, pity you couldn't make the wedding, Snellsdon; half the ton was there."

  Good for you, John. Chloe mentally patted her husband's back as his mark hit. Lord Snellsdon had missed the most talked-about event of the season.

  Snellsdon bristled. "Happened in a hurry, what? Shocked everyone, I must say." He stared pointedly at Chloe's middle.

  That barb did hit. Not to him, but John wouldn't allow anyone to insult Chloe. His green eyes kindled. He made to step forward, but Chloe held him back.

  She smiled prettily at the group. "It might have seemed that way to everyone else, but John and I had always planned to wed. He was only waiting for me to grow up; weren't you, John?"

  He looked down at her, a contemplative shadow cloaking his eyes. "Yes," he said quietly. "That is exactly right."

  "Ah, it is so romantic!" Adrien Cyndreac came up to them, slapping John on the back. "Hard to believe he is not French!" The count speared the motley group, expecting them to answer at once. Especially since he outranked everyone present.

  They all immediately assented, agreeing that it was most romantic, indeed.

  Adrien winked covertly at Chloe. She smiled back at him.

  Lord Snellsdon was not so easily put off, however. "Got much blunt on the big race, Sexton?"

  Except in jest, John never wagered. Never. The entire ton knew that. It was often remarked that it was quite strange that the viscount could be such a profligate in one area, while declining to waste himself in the other.

  Only Chloe knew the truth.

  After what his father had done to him and his mother, John could never bring himself to engage in the poisonous pastime. He would never risk anything of meaning in his life to the turn of a card.

  His convictions were even stronger now that others were depending on him to safeguard the estate.

  "I don't gamble." His response was clipped and cold.

  "Don't got the stomach for it, eh," Lord Snellsdon ribbed him. These men put great store in a man's willingness to dare all on a baize table. John had always been amused by the ridiculous assertion. One thing he had always been secure in was his masculinity.

  The Lord of Sex looked down at the shorter man through veiled eyes. "I do not need to validate my manhood in such a way."

  The insult was barely concealed. Lord Snellsdon turned bright red. Everyone knew he had never been lucky with women. "If you'll excuse us, Lord Sexton; I see the Marquis of Langton and I must speak with him."

  John nodded curtly and the group moved off.

  "Is that why you didn't want to come, John? If so, I'm sorry I talked you into it." Chloe's face mirrored her regret.

  John smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. "No, sweet. That has nothing to do with it. I do not approve of the way they treat the horses."

  Her nose wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

  "They are subjected to severe sweats and purges. Their stables are overheated and they are never allowed to enjoy fresh air except when they run. I sometimes wonder how they manage to walk onto the course."

  Chloe blanched. "I hadn't known that."

  "I don't subscribe to such a regimen."

  "Nor I," a heavily accented voice said next to them. Chloe and John were surprised to see an Arab man. He was covered head to foot in flowing robes, a burnoose shading the top of his face partially from view. Beside him stood the most magnificent horse they had ever seen. The animal was pure black, with exquisite lines.

  An appreciative smile crossed John's face.

  "What a beautiful horse!" As if the horse understood him, it made a snuffling sound, leaning in to nuzzle John. He grinned, scratching the smooth fur above its nose. "Hello, fellow."

  "He is something of a show-off, I'm afraid." the Arab man said fondly of the animal. "But he has the heart to run."

  "What kind of horse is it?" Chloe asked, adding her hand to the animal's fine coat to stroke it. She had never seen a horse like it.

  "It is an Arabian horse, of course!" The man grinned at his own humor.

  John chuckled. "Never saw a black one."

  "There are very few."

  "Why is that?" The horse nibbled at Chloe's hair; she brushed his mouth away.

  "He thinks it's a carrot," John said teasingly to her.

  Chloe made a face at him.

  "The blacks have all but been destroyed," the Arab explained.

  "But why?" Chloe gasped. "They are so beautiful."

  "They are too easy to spot on the desert. Against the white sand, they stand out. It makes a man too much of a target."

  "What a ridiculous reason for killing a horse!" Chloe was incensed, her innate sense of fair play outraged at such a practice.

  "I agree. That is why I saved him. I am Sheik Ali al Hussan and this is Shiraz." He reached over to pat the horse. "Today he races. You will see, my lady, a horse who runs with heart.
"

  "He's magnificent." John admired the stallion's lines.

  "I saw the horse you rode in on—the gray stallion. A beautiful horse as well."

  John nodded, thanking him for the compliment.

  "Perhaps you would like to race?" the Arab said hopefully. When John hesitated, the man added slyly, "The others won't be much competition for Shiraz—it will be as if we race together—despite the others. Just the two of us in a real match."

  Chloe could see that John was considering it. "I don't wager," he said.

  A flash of white teeth showed beneath the burnoose. "Who needs to wager? The race will be our prize. A true competition."

  John smiled, nodding slowly. There was a flash of wicked anticipation in the rogue's eyes.

  "I will see you on the course then." The man bowed shortly to Chloe before leading the proud stallion off.

  "Do you think you can take him?" she whispered to her husband. John was an excellent rider. In all ways.

  He chuckled. "That horse? Not a chance."

  Her mouth dropped. "Then why did you agree to race?"

  "Well, I can try, Chloe." He winked at her, excusing himself to get ready for the race.

  Chloe bit her lip as she watched him leave. Men were such odd…

  Baronne Dufond walked by, the ship crowning her hairstyle, sailing the breeze.

  A mischievous light came into Chloe's violet eyes. John might not wager, but she certainly did. Especially on special occasions.

  Like a husband racing,

  Chloe stood by Deiter and Schnapps on the side of the road as the crowd drew close in anticipation of watching the race.

  She could see John and Sheik al Hussan jockeying for position at the start line as they tried to control their horses. Shiraz reached over and nipped the horse next to him, then seemed to grin at the outrageous deed. He was raring to go.

  Chloe shook her head, smiling. He was a captivating horse. But he wasn't going to win. Chloe had put her money on John.

  The race began with a bang! and the riders were off, galloping down the road in front of them, their horses sending bits of turf flying out from beneath their hooves.

  Adrien, Deiter, and Chloe cheered as they flew past, yelling out encouragement to John over the noise of the wildly animated crowd, hooting for their favorites.

  The course was a long one—three miles over the rolling terrain, ending down the straightaway in front of them.

  Chloe stood on tiptoe to watch their progress. When they went out of sight, officials would convey what was happening via a series of specially positioned observers who were stationed along the route.

  All three of them waited with bated breath for the first report.

  When it came, they were somewhat disappointed. Both John and the sheik were somewhere in the middle of the pack.

  "He bides his time," Deiter explained. "Once in my village, a man raced—"

  "Not now, Deiter!" Adrien pointed to the raised stand. "Another report is coming in!"

  "Lord Sexton has just taken the lead. …" A huge cheer rose up from the throng. They were not the only ones who favored John. Besides being known as an excellent rider, he was well liked. In addition to that, over a third of the people here were guests in his home. It was always good manners to cheer one's host.

  Chloe jumped up and down, clapping her hands.

  A third report came in. "Viscount Sexton has been overtaken by the black!" The crowd gasped.

  "Oh no!" Chloe pulled at Adrien's shirt. "Do you think he can overtake him?"

  "I don't know—let's listen!"

  John leaned low over his saddle, squinting at the horse in front of him. From this angle, behind the rider, something seemed vaguely familiar about that horse.

  The sheik was about two lengths ahead of him now. The rest of the pack was far behind, having been left in the dust by the two of them just as al Hussan had predicted.

  A high hedge appeared in front of Shiraz. Instead of going around as the course recommended, he took the dangerous jump without breaking stride.

  John followed right behind him.

  A low laugh reached him on the wind. "Excellent, Viscount! You offer me a true race!"

  John didn't answer; he just leaned lower over his stallion's neck to gather speed.

  There was something familiar about that damned horse…

  The riders took the final turn in the course, thundering down the straightaway. "There he is! There he is!" Chloe almost yanked Adrien's shirt off his shoulder in her excitement. John had gained on the black—he was about a length behind now. Would he be able to overtake him by the finish?

  The crowd grew frenzied as the race drew to a finish. Pushing forward on the sidelines, they jostled together as the excitement of the race washed over them. Everyone was cramped together.

  Deiter was suddenly bumped by a heavyset man, his elbow going smartly into the German's side. Schnapps was flung from the Bavarian's arms—right into the middle of the course.

  Chloe screamed, covering her eyes. Not Schnapps!

  Deiter tried to lunge into the road to save his beloved pet, but Adrien held him back. "You'll be trampled," he yelled above the crowd.

  John, still trying to overtake Shiraz, gazed down the course, horrified to see Schnapps frozen in terror in the middle the road. What was he doing there? The little dog hardly ever left Deiter's arms. When he glanced over and saw Count Cyndreac holding Deiter back, he realized what had happened.

  John took a deep breath. He would have to try to save the animal.

  It was dangerous; he was on the far side of the road from the dog and it meant he would have to veer across the line of oncoming riders. No one would be able to stop on time if he didn't make it on the first pass.

  Furthermore, he wasn't sure his horse could make that rapid a turn at the speed he was going.

  Gritting his teeth, he was about to swerve over when the black suddenly pivoted in an incredible transition.

  It was a sight he would never forget for the sheer artistry of movement.

  The man and beast moved as one. Sheik al Hussan swooped down and, in a single fluid motion, whisked Schnapps into his arms, out of harm's way.

  The galloping horse turned and pranced over to the sidelines as John thundered past on his horse to take the race.

  Not waiting to hear his accolades, John turned around and rode over to where his wife was. The sheik was just handing the dog down to Deiter, who accepted the small animal with tears in his eyes.

  "That was a noble act, Sheik al Hussan." John thanked the man. "Accept my gratitude on behalf of my household."

  The man shrugged as if it were simply a small deed. "One can see he is like a member of the family." He smiled at John. "Congratulations on your win."

  " 'Twas you who should have won."

  The man shrugged again.

  "We're heading back to my home now; would you care to join us at the estate?" His lips twitched as he surveyed the crowd—most of whom were his guests. "We seem to have an extensive house party going on."

  The man shook his head. "Thank you, but I must be off—prior engagement, you understand. Perhaps some other time."

  "Most definitely," John said sincerely.

  "Yes," Chloe added. "Thank you so much for saving him—we all adore him so; he has the best personality."

  John gave her a side-long look. He supposed that was true, if one counted the showing of a tooth as a personality trait.

  "You are a kind man, Sheik al Hussan." Chloe smiled gratefully at him.

  "I don't know about that, Viscountess."

  "Well, first you save Shiraz and then you save Schnapps; I'd say that qualifies."

  A flash of white showed beneath the shadow of his headdress as he grinned. "Well… you might say I have a knack for saving things." Saluting them with a flourish, he kicked the sides of his mount, disappearing into the crowds.

  It wasn't until he was gone that John realized he had spoken the last in perfect unaccen
ted English. Saving things?

  Suddenly John knew exactly where he had seen that horse.

  He grabbed Chloe by the arm, taking her aside.

  "That was the Black Rose!" he exclaimed.

  Chloe snorted. "It couldn't be. He's a sheik."

  John took a deep breath. "No. What he is, is an expert in disguise."

  Chloe paled. "Do you think he was warning us?

  "Not at all." The corners of his mouth curved. "I think he was playing with us."

  Later that evening, Sir Percy asked John how he had enjoyed the races.

  John viewed him curiously. "You didn't attend?"

  Percy threw his hands up in the air. "Goodness no! I can't stand all that dust flying about. Makes my lace wilt."

  "Does it really?" John said softly. For there was a film of the substance covering the bottom edge of the man's left boot.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Gate Begins to Open

  "But I have tried everything! The man is liaison-proof!"

  "Are you sure, Zu-Zu? Everything?" The two women were sitting in the conservatory, sipping tea.

  "Oui! I have cornered him in the dark corridors; I have practically invited him to my rooms; I have even placed my hands upon him in an unmistakable manner—he ignores everything!"

  The Countess de Fonbeaulard pursed her lips in thought. "You are an expert, Zu-Zu. If he rebuffs your advances…"

  "I tell you, he does not look at other women! The thing speaks for itself, Simone. Why do you not let it be?"

  The countess returned her cup to its saucer with a distinct click. "You mistake my meaning, my friend. That is not the reason behind this! I do not wish to drive them apart—au contraire; I want to put them together!"

  Zu-Zu waved her hand in a dismissing motion. "They are already together. What more could you ask for?"

  "A great deal more," she said quietly.

  The Zambeau patted her friend's knee. "I understand, but these things sometimes must take their own course. Perhaps it is best to leave such matters be." She shrugged fatalistically, the French euphemism for the complexities of amour.

  "Nonsense! I am her grandmother; it is my duty to interfere."

  The two women looked at each other and laughed.