Читать книгу The Midnight Rake - Anabelle Bryant - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Phineas pushed through the door of Tattersalls and into the crowd, packed front door to rear, a sense of anticipation and wealth heavy in the air. No mere coincidence brought him to the club. Like everyone else, he wished to see Lord Trumpington’s grey go up on the block. The auction promised to be the most anticipated bloodstock offering at the horse house in months. Not one to spare a pound to improve his stable, Phineas aimed to purchase the animal. With careful planning, his unexpected trip to Brighton hadn’t interfered. Waving his hand in greeting to a friend across the room, the two met at the doorway and walked further down the ramp toward the stable area.

“Have you had a look, Dev?”

Devlin Ravensdale, Duke of Wharncliffe was a venerable expert with horses of every kind. Phin hoped Devlin’s report proved pristine so he could proceed with the sale.

“He’s remarkable, Phin. You’ll definitely want to win this auction. I haven’t seen a better example of horseflesh in the entire General Stud Book. As a direct descendant of one of the foundation sires, he’s a pure thoroughbred. If you weren’t so set on buying him yourself, I would steal him out from underneath you.”

They chuckled and then, reconsidering, Phin dropped all humor. “No, you wouldn’t.” He eyed his friend sincerely. Devlin possessed enough money to buy Tattersalls, never mind a single thoroughbred, so Phin held no doubt he would purchase the horse if not for their friendship. They had grown up together and couldn’t be more loyal comrades.

“Of course I would, so I could turn around and gift him to you.”

“No matter how much you appreciate our friendship and attribute your marital happiness to my interference, at one point you will need to stop buying me extravagant gifts. There is no debt to repay.” With the next breath, another subject leapt to the forefront. “I returned from Brighton to find my mother in house.” His voice held a dubious tone.

Devlin arched a dark brow. “You don’t say? I thought she’d decided to spend the rest of the season at Betcham Manor.” He swung open the stable door so his friend could pass.

Phineas grinned. “So did I. But she was there when I arrived home accompanied by two houseguests. Three, if you include her annoying parrot.”

Devlin followed him into the stable. “So, you haven’t gotten rid of the bird?”

“Not yet. But I may be able to recruit Jenkins to the dirty deed if the opportunity presents itself.”

Devlin nudged Phineas before replying. “Well count me in if it turns out to be a three man job.”

“As you wish.”

They neared the livestock area, aisle after aisle of wooden stalls, where a soft nicker or objecting whinny rent the air to interrupt their conversation despite the humid scent and fragrant straw proved a constant reminder of their purpose. Their steps quickened as they approached an outlying stable.

“I assume it was difficult for your mother to plan your future from the countryside.” Devlin indicated a booth just ahead. “Is there more to this story?”

“Actually there is. Quite a bit more.” But Phin stopped short in the retelling as his eyes swept over the magnificent animal in true appreciation. “I’ll tell you about Maman later. Let’s have a look.” Phineas stepped closer and ran his palm down the stallion’s fetlock. The horse stood at least fifteen hands high. Strong and well built, lean and fit, the thoroughbred was undoubtedly a sweetgoer.

“I am determined to win this auction. No matter the cost.”

The thoroughbred snorted and side-stepped, causing the men to shift their attention to the wooden ramp where a stranger lingered.

“A pure beauty that one. I’ve heard it’s the prize of the auction block today.”

The interloper eschewed a polite introduction and instead leaned against the gate wearing a cocky sneer. He continued to speak even though both men declined to reply.

“I heard the horse is damaged goods though. Too bad, it is.”

“Heard from whom and where?” Devlin stepped forward, annoyed with the rude pup who thought to interrupt and invite himself into a private conversation.

“I’ve heard it about. Some fool will purchase the horse and wind up with a problem instead.”

Phineas stepped to the forefront, the same annoyed insolence marring his face as displayed on Devlin’s. Something in the ostentatious nature of the interloper’s tone made him readily defensive. “This horse is in fine condition. Rumors circulate before auctions all the time. You’d do well to ignore them.” And then, against his better judgment, but with the same impeccable manners he always employed, he continued, “Viscount Fenhurst. Have we met before?” He initiated a handshake, skeptical of the man’s intentions.

Devlin watched the exchange with cautious interest.

“I haven’t had the pleasure. I’m Lord Ridley. My friends call me Arlis.”

Devlin interrupted with a mutter meant for Phin’s ear only. “I wouldn’t doubt the entire audience knows you’re vying for this horse. Don’t let your guard down.”

Phin nodded in agreement.

“Are you new in town? New to Tattersalls?” Phin continued to assess the dark-haired gentleman with narrowed eyes. As a good judge of character, something did not sit right. He frequented the horse house often and recognized everyone. Undoubtedly he’d never seen this man. The contrasting shock of white hair near his temple guaranteed he would remember such an uncommon appearance.

Ridley didn’t answer, posing a question of his own. “Are you fixing to bid on Trump’s horse then? I could only aspire to purchase such a fine animal.”

Phineas deferred to ignore the rude inquiry. Devlin spoke in low tones, discussing the horse and simultaneously dismissing Ridley.

“You have nothing to worry about, Phin. No one can match your bid and even if they do, you’ll have me for reinforcement. The animal is too good to pass. I spoke with Trumpington last evening at the club. He knows you’re his prime investor. I’m confident you will be riding this animal in two days’ time. More’s the pity you will house him at Betcham Manor when he’s a natural for the Ascot Racecourse.”

Phin could not stave off a smile. “You never gamble anyway. The horse is better off with me. Now let’s get back to the main floor. I have a lot to tell you. I may have been in Brighton for a fortnight, but I feel like it’s been more akin to a month.”

The two friends left the paddock and walked past Ridley with nothing more than a nod.

“So tell me about your houseguests.” Devlin glanced up from his perusal of the auction pamphlet.

The two men reposed in one of Tattersalls subscription rooms enjoying a brandy. The auction holding their interest wouldn’t start for another hour and there would be many other animals for bid before Trumpington’s horse took the block.

“After the morning I experienced returning from Brighton, breaking my fishing reel—”

“Not the Nottingham rod I just gave you?”

His friend’s immediate interjection voiced disappointment that mirrored his own and Phineas cursed himself for the slip of tongue.

“Unfortunately that’s the one. My entire morning proved unbearable, but it didn’t end there.” Phineas released a sigh of frustration. “I arrived home to find Jenkins with his smalls in a twist, my entire staff bustling about readying the house for the unexpected visit of Maman and her new friends.” He took a sip of brandy, his voice dropping lower. “Penelope Rosebery and her younger sister do seem lovely ladies.”

“Do I detect a note of interest?” Friendly mockery laced Devlin’s question.

“You sound like your wife, except you know I’m in no hurry to marry; although Penelope is pretty in an unusual sort of way. She has the most extraordinary eyes.” Phin didn’t mention the long list of other attributes rushing to mind. He wondered if Penelope had freckles elsewhere on her body or were the charming little spots designed exclusively for her perfectly kiss-worthy nose.

Devlin smirked and finished his brandy.

“What?” Phineas shook his head. “What did I say?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. You’re as transparent as glass and as forthcoming as a waterfall, so let’s hope you weren’t of the same mind in front of said female.” Devlin smothered a grin.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Penelope’s in London to locate someone in particular. She confessed she has strong feelings for the gentleman.” Phin didn’t share his theory concerning her interests. He’d be every kind of fool to offer further ammunition to his far too witty friend.

“There you are!” Constantine Highborough, Earl of Colehill, approached their table with wholehearted greetings. Lord Harold Chadling followed closely behind. The two gentlemen attended Cambridge with Phin and had come to fetch him as the Trumpington horse was going up on the block earlier than expected.

“There’s a rumbling in the crowd that the horse is unfit.” Harold offered this as the men walked toward the auction house. “The earlier time is meant to avoid further speculation that the animal is damaged goods.”

“Complete rubbish.” Phin knew the rumor as an old ploy to try to diminish bidding. “Have you heard the same, Con?”

Constantine Highborough held the favor of the ton. The folds of his starched white cravat were as perfectly formed as every feature of his face. He moved in all the right social circles and provided the perfect resource for confirming or deflating a rumor.

“Only as of today. Have you met the newcomer Ridley? I’ve heard more speculation about that man than Trump’s horse.”

“In reference to what exactly?” Devlin leaned against the doorframe of the private area where they waited.

“It is said he’s not to be trusted and you can almost see it in his eyes when you look at the man. He doesn’t hold for very long. I would wager he started the rumors concerning today’s auction.” Constantine always cut straight to the truth. “He’s an odd looking man, with that misplaced patch of white against his dark hair. He reminds me of a badger and badgers are sneaky.”

All four men reviewed Ridley. He lingered near the auction platform and appeared overeager. Phineas fingered his lucky coin, safely tucked in his trouser pocket. He intended to win this auction, no matter the extended interest by those out to strengthen their stable. Ridley’s presence did not deter his purpose and Phin wasn’t one to entertain ludicrous harbingers or speculative gossip.

Devlin agreed. “I don’t like him. He interrupted our inspection of the grey earlier and hadn’t the decency to initiate proper introductions or refrain from rude questions. He also stated he didn’t have the pockets for such an animal, so what purpose would be served by deflecting others with rumors about the horse’s health?” Unmistakable dislike furrowed Devlin’s expression.

The conversation proceeded no further as the auctioneer began to call, his deep tenor settling the crowd with alacrity, although a tremor of tentative anticipation reverberated throughout. Bid after bid, the offer for Trump’s horse climbed to an impressive high, the room fell silent and Phineas stood poised to win. The gavel sounded with a second fall. One more strike and Phin would own the horse, but when a male voice objected from the front row, the agent paused. An obstreperous rumble rushed through the room, while the same boisterous voice interrupted with what could only be a higher amount.

The new offer nearly doubled the suspended bid and Phineas, caught off guard as he’d become lost in consideration of Penelope’s fine qualities, jerked to awareness, unsure of what occurred. If Devlin hadn’t rapped his arm he would have missed the opportunity altogether, but instead he whipped his arm upward and dropped the auction paddle. The gavel fell while he attempted to muddle through the occurrence and recover.

“It was Ridley. There’s no way he can sustain that kind of funding and have remained so invisible here in London. The man is proving to be a nuisance.” Harry couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice and Harold Chadling rarely voiced an unpleasant word against anyone. Devlin and Con agreed.

“I would go to him even though he underhandedly won this auction, but without a doubt I am sure it is expected.” Phin threw an angry glare in Ridley’s direction. The crowd had surrounded the man in congratulations and the scene stoked his temper. “Let’s go, gentleman. Ridley played me the fool and I will not easily forget it. I am done here.” He dropped the auction pamphlet and left Tattersalls without another word.

It was half past midnight when Phineas fumbled for the key in his pocket as he stood on the lantern-lit porch of the East End apartment. He didn’t fear for his safety, his fists as lethal as any weapon, but one needed to stay alert during the dead hours, most especially in this section of London.

The curtain fluttered in the window to his left and then the door cracked open far enough for him to see the illuminated smile of the lady within.

“You’ll catch a chill. The dampness of this fog burrows straight to the bones.”

Her concerned tone caused him to grin despite she continued to chide him. He knew her words held a note of affection.

“And where is your coat and cravat? I suppose you thought it would be quicker this way?”

She tugged him off the porch and into the hall, as if her admonishment wouldn’t serve its purpose.

“It is most efficient given I’m restricted to this ungodly hour under the cover of the night, still I couldn’t wait to get here. I’ve had more than my share of disappointment today. A little pleasantness would serve me well.”

She laughed softly as she led him to the back of the house, the rustling swish of her skirts followed by his boot heels, the only sounds to be heard in the hall.