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Authors: Patricia Grasso
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her son.”
Ross stared at her in surprise. “How do ye know?”
“Banishing Juno has upset Hercules,” Blaze told him. “He worries about your selling his mother to the knackers.”
Ross smiled at that. “How can Hercules know what I plan?”
“He hears talk around the stables.”
“She’s got the gift.”
A stocky, middle-aged man stood a few feet away. His clothing and leather apron proclaimed him the farrier.
“You believe in such thin’s?” Ross asked him.
The man nodded. “I do.”
“Meet Duncan MacArthur,” Ross introduced them. “Duncan, this is Miss Blaze Flambeau, Inverary’s daughter.”
“Hercules’s left shoe is loose,” Blaze told the farrier.
“I know aboot the shoe,” Duncan said, “but the forge is already dark. I’m plannin’ to fix it in the mornin’.”
Ross could not credit what he was hearing. He watched Blaze press her hand against the colt’s cheek. Then she closed her eyes.
“What’s he tellin’ ye?” Ross asked.
“Hercules thanks me in advance for saving his mother from the knackers.” Blaze gave him a flirtatious smile. “Will you give me Juno?”
“I dinna give horses away,” Ross refused her.
“Will you sell me Juno?”
“A useless mare wastes food and stable space,” Ross said, gesturing to the door.
“I plan to mate Juno with my father’s Zeus.”
Ross laughed. “Yer father willna agree to that.”
“Apparently, you understand nothing about fathers and daughters.” Blaze lifted her nose into the air and walked out of the stable.
Tidy lawns and dark green manicured shrubs led to the MacArthur House. Its understated opulence and serene atmosphere came from decades of social and financial security.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” the MacArthur majordomo greeted them, opening the door before they reached it.
Blaze wondered if the man lived in anticipation of guests coming and going. He reminded her of Tinker, who always knew when to open the door.
“We’ll take tea in the dinin’ room,” Ross instructed his man.
“Yes, my lord.” The majordomo gave her a speculative glance and then shifted his gaze to the marquis. “Ahem.”
“Pardon my lapse in manners,” Ross said, his tone dry. “Blaze, I present Dodger. Dodger, meet Miss Flambeau, Inverary’s daughter.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Dodger.”
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Flambeau.” The majordomo headed down the corridor to fetch their tea.
“The dinin’ room is this way,” Ross said, leading her in the direction the majordomo had gone.
“Do you usually introduce guests to Dodger?” Blaze asked.
“Dodger has never requested an introduction before,” Ross answered. “The old sneak usually eavesdrops on conversations.”
“Tinker knows more than anyone else what is happening at home,” Blaze said. “I swear that man would be richer than my father if he resorted to blackmail.”
The MacArthur dining room reminded her of her father’s. The rectangular mahogany table with matching chairs stood in the middle of the dining room. Overhead hung a crystal chandelier. Even the blue and white porcelain Worcester service in the center of the table seemed eerily familiar.
Blaze thought the social elite were monkeys mimicking one another. No one dared to be different in words, deeds, or possessions.
“Hercules will win no races if you send Juno to the slaughterhouse,” Blaze said, sitting beside the marquis.
A smile touched his lips. “He told ye so.”
Dodger arrived with the tea and pastries, saving her from answering. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“Privacy.”
“Yes, my lord.” The majordomo started to leave.
“Close the doors, Dodger.”
“Leave the doors open,” Blaze countermanded the order.
“Yes, Miss Flambeau.”
Ross winked at her and whispered, “Ye do realize Dodger will be eavesdroppin’ on our conversation.”
“No eavesdropping, Dodger,” she called.
“Yes, Miss Flambeau.”
“Tomorrow mornin’ after
Ross stared at her in surprise. “How do ye know?”
“Banishing Juno has upset Hercules,” Blaze told him. “He worries about your selling his mother to the knackers.”
Ross smiled at that. “How can Hercules know what I plan?”
“He hears talk around the stables.”
“She’s got the gift.”
A stocky, middle-aged man stood a few feet away. His clothing and leather apron proclaimed him the farrier.
“You believe in such thin’s?” Ross asked him.
The man nodded. “I do.”
“Meet Duncan MacArthur,” Ross introduced them. “Duncan, this is Miss Blaze Flambeau, Inverary’s daughter.”
“Hercules’s left shoe is loose,” Blaze told the farrier.
“I know aboot the shoe,” Duncan said, “but the forge is already dark. I’m plannin’ to fix it in the mornin’.”
Ross could not credit what he was hearing. He watched Blaze press her hand against the colt’s cheek. Then she closed her eyes.
“What’s he tellin’ ye?” Ross asked.
“Hercules thanks me in advance for saving his mother from the knackers.” Blaze gave him a flirtatious smile. “Will you give me Juno?”
“I dinna give horses away,” Ross refused her.
“Will you sell me Juno?”
“A useless mare wastes food and stable space,” Ross said, gesturing to the door.
“I plan to mate Juno with my father’s Zeus.”
Ross laughed. “Yer father willna agree to that.”
“Apparently, you understand nothing about fathers and daughters.” Blaze lifted her nose into the air and walked out of the stable.
Tidy lawns and dark green manicured shrubs led to the MacArthur House. Its understated opulence and serene atmosphere came from decades of social and financial security.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” the MacArthur majordomo greeted them, opening the door before they reached it.
Blaze wondered if the man lived in anticipation of guests coming and going. He reminded her of Tinker, who always knew when to open the door.
“We’ll take tea in the dinin’ room,” Ross instructed his man.
“Yes, my lord.” The majordomo gave her a speculative glance and then shifted his gaze to the marquis. “Ahem.”
“Pardon my lapse in manners,” Ross said, his tone dry. “Blaze, I present Dodger. Dodger, meet Miss Flambeau, Inverary’s daughter.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Dodger.”
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Flambeau.” The majordomo headed down the corridor to fetch their tea.
“The dinin’ room is this way,” Ross said, leading her in the direction the majordomo had gone.
“Do you usually introduce guests to Dodger?” Blaze asked.
“Dodger has never requested an introduction before,” Ross answered. “The old sneak usually eavesdrops on conversations.”
“Tinker knows more than anyone else what is happening at home,” Blaze said. “I swear that man would be richer than my father if he resorted to blackmail.”
The MacArthur dining room reminded her of her father’s. The rectangular mahogany table with matching chairs stood in the middle of the dining room. Overhead hung a crystal chandelier. Even the blue and white porcelain Worcester service in the center of the table seemed eerily familiar.
Blaze thought the social elite were monkeys mimicking one another. No one dared to be different in words, deeds, or possessions.
“Hercules will win no races if you send Juno to the slaughterhouse,” Blaze said, sitting beside the marquis.
A smile touched his lips. “He told ye so.”
Dodger arrived with the tea and pastries, saving her from answering. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“Privacy.”
“Yes, my lord.” The majordomo started to leave.
“Close the doors, Dodger.”
“Leave the doors open,” Blaze countermanded the order.
“Yes, Miss Flambeau.”
Ross winked at her and whispered, “Ye do realize Dodger will be eavesdroppin’ on our conversation.”
“No eavesdropping, Dodger,” she called.
“Yes, Miss Flambeau.”
“Tomorrow mornin’ after
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