He’d heard she was a tempting armful, but no one warned him of her temper and headstrong ways. Not to mention her passionate spirit, which sparked the beauty’s dark eyes with fire.
Why hadn’t she married? Perhaps her young man had died in the war. The thought reminded Dalton of his older brother, Drake, a soldier among many who had met the same fate.
He must ask his sister, Olivia, about Alicia Spencer’s background. He should have done so earlier, but he’d never expected that she’d refuse him.
Anger. The air was still charged with it. Yet her father had shown no animosity toward Dalton. What had he said to fire up such resentment in her?
Damn the luck. Better to use his time thinking of another way to coax Lady Alicia into seeing his stallion, Bashshar. Dalton knew that one glance at the pitiful animal, and even the hard-hearted Alicia would melt and want to help him.
Dalton’s thoughts wandered back to the lady. He gathered the lead rope and led the mare toward the carriage. “Come, Cinnamon. We’ve not been beaten yet. Like brother Drake used to say, when you’ve drawn your last ace, it’s time to play the one up your sleeve.”
“Hounds of Jericho!” Alicia’s father pounded his fist on the desktop. “You’ll march right back and apologize to him. Do you hear, Daughter?”
“I can’t believe you would ask such a thing of me.” Alicia paced in a tight circle. “I refuse, and you can’t make me, Father,” she shouted, surprising them both. She had never raised her voice to him before, but this time, she was filled with a sense of betrayal. Her father cared so little for her feelings that she didn’t care what he thought of her.
Her father’s face colored a deep puce. “Very well, Alicia. I’ll give you a choice.” His heavy jowls shook with anger. “Widower Sedwick Rollins has asked for your hand. If you refuse to tend the duke’s stallion, then I’ll be forced to tell Rollins that you’ll marry as soon as a special license can be obtained.”
“You’re bluffing!” She bit back a laugh. “Rollins hasn’t a sixpence to scratch with—”
“Don’t force me to—”
“Some basket you’d be in with a son-in-law like Sedwick Rollins. With those twelve children and not a feather to fly with, he’ll not be content to live down by the river in that sod hut if he marries me.” Alicia couldn’t keep her face straight. “He’ll move his brood in here faster than the scullery lads steals Cook’s pies left cooling on the windowsill. And you’ll not keep your brandy long with Rollins dipping deep in your jugs.”
Her father’s watery eyes didn’t blink as he stared long and hard. Then he drew a parchment from his desktop and grabbed his inkpot and quill.
She wet her lips, her mouth as dry as the cold ashes in the fireplace. “What are you doing?”
His mouth firmed into a hard line, his pen scratching across the rough paper. Alicia watched as her father’s large, spidery black script began to fill one side of the page. She glanced at the letter addressed to Sedwick Rollins. Alicia’s heart leaped in her throat. “You can’t go through with this outrage.”
“I can and I will. Rollins has inherited a small purse and will be moving to Dorset. You’ll be leaving with him unless you come to your senses.”
“Mother will never allow this.”
“Your mother already knows and understands the necessity.”
“I’m going to speak with her anyway.”
“Your mother has nothing to say about the matter. You will go through with the arrangement I’ve made with Wexton, or you’ll pack your things and be gone from here by nightfall.”
Alicia had never seen her father like this before. A heavy weight pounded in her chest. She drew her hand to her mouth, but the question wedged in her throat. “Why, Father? Why are you doing this?”
“Because we’re in quite deep. I’ve borrowed against Marston Heath, and…” He closed his eyes, and she watched him fight to control himself. Once again, she sensed that he had gambled heavily and lost.
“You’re the only one who can bail us out of this sinking ship,” he said, his voice strained.
“You know what Wexton’s mother did to me, Father. How can you—”
“Damned what she did to you, Daughter. The boot is quite on the other leg, now. It’s time that family paid you back for what the dowager did. Cinnamon Rose is worth five times the horseflesh we can afford, and we have the advantage because Wexton is soft on this stallion of his. Now carry on with your part of the bargain. I’ve negotiated a price from the duke. All you have to do is cure his horse, and we’ll be in the money.”
Words were useless. There was nothing she could say to refute the value of Cinnamon Rose and the importance the mare would bring to their stable.
Her father’s cheeks puffed with agitation as he waited for her answer. Alicia sighed. She might as well talk to a stump. “You win, Father.” She ran to the study door and burst from the room.
The long hallway and the staircase at the end blurred into a watery splotch as tears welled in her eyes. Hiking her skirts, she dashed through the house, too upset to speak to her mother. First, she needed time alone. Alicia tore open the front door and sped toward the quiet sanctity of the herb garden.
Chapter Two
Lacy umbels of angelica blossoms waved gently amid the plants shading the curved garden bench. Alicia sat down, her brow furrowed. What was the use? She might as well be a prisoner, for all the say she held in her life. In spite of the active role she took in running the manor, she was required, like her mother, to obey her father, regardless of his foolhardy decisions.
Her thought went back to Wexton’s stallion. If the horse was suffering, then she wanted to help. Healing wounded beasts was her salvation, her greatest pleasure. While she remained at Havencrest, she’d focus only on the horse.
But what if Wexton’s mother, the dowager duchess, lived at Havencrest? She would consider Alicia a servant, a woman toiling with her hands. The dowager would consider Alicia’s work with animals proof that she wasn’t fit for Society.
Alicia swept her hand gently across the clumps of frilly, green leaves at her feet. The air was charged with mint, lemon verbena and scented geranium. She felt her anger change into practical determination. Maybe the dowager had remained in London instead of returning with her son to the country for the summer. Especially since the duke would be at Havencrest until his stallion improved. The idea gave her hope.
Alicia passively swatted a flowering stalk of comfrey, the cloud of yellow pollen dusting her skirts. But why should she care who would be at Havencrest? She hadn’t deserved to be banned from society, and she would face the dowager or anyone else if need be. But she wasn’t foolish enough to go looking for trouble.
A soft nicker, then a velvet nose snuggled against her ear. Startled, Alicia turned as Cinnamon Rose nibbled her neck. Despite her mood, she laughed. “Have you come to plead your master’s case, too?” Alicia asked, rubbing the mare’s satiny ear.
The horse tossed her head playfully. Indeed, the animal was magnificent. She pressed her cheek against the mare’s velvet neck. “You needn’t plead, pretty thing. I’ll help your friend.”
Alicia stood, still petting Cinnamon Rose’s reddish-gold neck, when she noticed Wexton leading a handsome curricle with a matched pair of white Lusitano horses from the livery building. She warily narrowed her gaze at him.
“Did your master put you up to finding me and giving me a kiss, Cinnamon Rose?” She couldn’t help but chuckle. Alicia grabbed