Page 9 of The Rake's Bride
“Oh, is it?”
“I fear the prognosis is grim.”
Victoria swatted lightly at his shoulder and was impressed by the solidness of it. There was no padding beneath that coat.
Blackwood finally unleashed his grin, and it was glorious. Already unbearably handsome, the expression made him shine with all the blinding light of the summer sun. It also made herknees go slightly weak. Much like the ball the other evening, she found herself wishing she did not have to return to the rest of the guests—that she and the viscount might continue to chat and laugh uninterrupted and unobserved.
Three weeks, twoballs, three dinner parties, and four fortuitous meetings while strolling in Hyde Park, and Rafe was confident he had ingratiated himself quite sufficiently with Miss Rockford. She was more comfortable with him each time they met; she laughed more readily around him, and it did not go unnoticed by her doting father.
Despite his amiable smile and ready generosity, Rafe had heard the American shipping tycoon was considered unpolished amongst most of theton—likely more to do with the fact that it was bad form that a man who had come from nothing possessed a fortune that dwarfed much of English Society. For his part, Rafe enjoyed the man’s loud laughter, so juxtaposed to the father-figure with which he’d been raised. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever heard the old viscount laugh, and he was quite certain the man’s face would have shattered had he so much as attempted a smile.
“Blackwood!”
Mr. Rockford, the elder, clapped Rafe on the shoulder hard enough to make him choke on air, but he recovered quickly and offered Miss Rockford’s father a welcoming smile.
“Mr. Rockford. A pleasure.” Both men watched as Miss Rockford executed the complex steps of the current dance with her partner, an overeager young buck too much like a spaniel to present any threat to Rafe’s position. “How are you enjoying the evening?”
“Too hot. Too crowded. Too starched.”
A chuckle escaped Rafe’s throat at the unexpected candor. Leave it to an American to distill a high society event down to such simplicity…apt as it was.
He leaned in and spoke from the side of his mouth. “Lord and Lady West have never been known for their exemplary hosting.”
Mr. Rockford grunted. “That information would have been much more useful before we accepted the invitation. Though Victoria seems to be enjoying herself a great deal.” He lifted his chin toward his daughter, and Rafe realized the man was right. Her cheeks were crested with delighted color, and her movements were free and graceful. Her eyes glittered each time she turned and caught Rafe’s gaze, making his skin warm. None of it was lost on the American, whose keen assessment Rafe felt as tangibly as Miss Rockford’s. “In fact, her enjoyment seems to be directly correlated to your presence, my lord,” he added thoughtfully.
Rafe tore his eyes away from the dance floor and met the other man’s intelligent, piercing blue eyes. He’d have been a fool to underestimate him; he was, first and foremost, a shrewd businessman. A man did not reach his station in life without a ruthless business acumen and a decent judgment of character. This was the moment Rafe had been waiting for—the one that would present him the opportunity to shift his budding relationship with Miss Rockford from friendship to one of courtship and (hopefully) a quick marriage.
“I am pleased to hear that,” Rafe said evenly, allowing Mr. Rockford to set the tone and show him how to proceed. Would the man be open to allowing a relationship between them, or would Rafe need to redouble his efforts with Miss Rockford to earn her father’s blessing?
“Do you ride, Blackwood?”
The abrupt change in topics nearly caused Rafe’s head to spin, but his mind was quick, and his tongue was quicker.“As often as my schedule permits.” He didn’t need to admit that he no longer owned any horses of his own and, instead, borrowed those of his closest friends when the need arose. Everyone benefited from the arrangement; the horses received their exercise, and Rafe needn’t truly go without.
“Tomorrow morning, then. Dawn. I ride in the park, and you will join me—that is, if you don’t find yourself in too bad a way after tonight’s festivities.”
Rafe eyed the glasses of watered-down punch with barely masked disdain. “I don’t believe that will be a problem at all.” His pulse thrummed with anticipation. This was his opportunity. He’d already worked his way into Miss Rockford’s life; to earn the trust of her father could only help him to cement his place as primary suitor—whether Miss Rockford realized it or not.
Given the narrowed eyes and obvious distaste he displayed, Rafe doubted that he’d ever fully win over the younger Mr. Rockford, but that did not concern him overmuch.
The father controlled the wealth.
The father signed the marriage contracts.
The father paid the dowry.
The corners of Rafe’s mouth tilted in a smile. The end was in sight.
The next morning,Rafe reined in the gelding he’d borrowed from Swanleigh’s mews. The beloved chestnut with a white spattering of markings on its nose was the marquess’s favorite mount, but he trusted Rafe to care for the animal and immediately gave his blessing when approached with the request. The horse and its tack were finer than anything Rafe could have hoped to afford, so the image presented was precisely the one Rafe hoped to convey to the elder Mr. Rockford. Swanleigh was not expressly aware of Rafe’s dire financial straits, but, even if he suspectedthe reason behind the request when Rafe admitted he was riding with the American, he was a good friend and made no comment.
Rafe patted the horse’s thick neck. “Good lad, Posy.” The name was undignified for a horse so large, but Caroline had named him, and Swanleigh had never been able to say no to the woman who was now his wife and mother to his son and heir.
Straightening in the saddle, Rafe scanned the rolling green with its paths and trees as his mind struggled to comprehend the depth of the attachment that had formed between his two friends. They were deliriously in love now and had been for some time before admitting it to the world. He’d watched it develop over the years, but no matter how he turned it this way and that, his mind couldn’t seem to decipher it. Swanleigh and his wife were one of only two examples of true romantic love he’d witnessed in his life; the other was Alice and Richard. His sister’s love had been tragically brief and burned with blinding brightness, manifesting in her three beloved children. Rafe didn’t ever expect to experience or even to understand such an all-consuming emotion, but he could do the next best thing. He could allow his sister’s love to live on in her children by giving them the best life he could.
Miss Victoria Rockford was the key to that.
“Blackwood!” The shouted greeting was accompanied by the reverberation of heavy hooves on soft earth, the jangle and squeak of tack.
Rafe pivoted his mount with a small press of his heel and an adjustment to the reins to see Mr. Rockford approaching from the east. The horse he rode was a stunning dappled mare so large, she was similar in size to Posy. The American wore tailored riding clothes in navy blue and buff, with polished gold buttons. His seat was smooth and comfortable, rolling with the horse’s motions much like Rafe suspected he did atop a ship’s deck.
