Taming The Duke. Jackie Manning

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      This book is dedicated to Ellyn Manning Smith.

      What a joy you are, my darling daughter. Your dad and I are truly blessed.

      Special thanks to my critique group, especially to my

      writer pals, Linda Lee Duffy, Maureen Greene and Kathy Stowers. I’m doubly blessed to have such good friends and expert critique partners. Love you, guys.

       Chapter One

       Marston Heath, England, 1811

      “Lady Alicia! Come quickly!”

      From the cool shelter of the herb garden, Alicia heard her maid’s summons and jumped to her feet. Clasping a basket of freshly gathered cross-wort blossoms, Alicia called, “Hortense, whatever is the matter…?” Her words faded when the servant bolted toward her, Hortense’s long legs windmilling beneath her black skirts.

      Alicia rushed in her direction, dropping the basket. “Hortense, what has happened?”

      “It’s your father, my lady.” The lanky woman paused to gasp for air. “His lordship has just arrived and is—” she gulped a deep breath “—awaiting you in his study.”

      “My father?” A feeling of foreboding crept over Alicia. He wasn’t due home for three more days—not until after the horse auction. “Does he appear…unwell?” she asked delicately, aware of her father’s weakness for drink.

      Hortense caught her breath. “I’m not sure, milady. I’ve never seen the master in quite such a state.” She fanned her flushed face with her apron skirt.

      “Sit and rest on the garden bench, Hortense, while I tend to this.” Alicia jumped over a clump of sweet basil and broke into an unladylike run along the garden path. If only she had accompanied her father to London. She should have known better than to rely on him for such an important errand.

      By the time she reached the manor house steps, she was out of breath. Minutes later, Alicia tapped on the heavy door to the study. “Father, it’s me.” Her calm voice concealed the nervousness she felt.

      A brief silence followed, then she heard her father’s heavy footsteps creak the oak floorboards. The bolt clicked inside the lock, and the door opened. Alicia slipped inside and faced him.

      When sober, her father prided himself on his immaculate attire. Now, he wore his dusty traveling cape. His white cravat was smudged and undone, his periwig tilted askew atop his bald head. What intensified Alicia’s worry was the dazzling smile across his unshaven face.

      “Father, you look so…unusual. Whatever is the matter?”

      “The matter, Daughter?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Hounds of Jericho! Nothing’s the matter, Daughter. In fact, I bring glorious news.”

      The smell of whiskey on his breath confirmed her worst suspicions. “Glorious news, Father?”

      He moved behind his desk. “Our fortunes have been reversed by a miraculous intervention.”

      Alicia eyed him warily. “Oh, Father, you didn’t gamble the money I gave you to bid on the mare, did you?”

      Her father chuckled. “You remind me of your mother when you accuse me so.” Pointing to the chair beside his desk, he said, “Take a seat while I tell you of our good fortune.”

      Anger and frustration welled inside her. He had promised that this time he could be trusted. She had wanted him to prove his trustworthiness as much as she had wanted Good Times, the magnificent Thoroughbred mare her father was supposed to have bid on at Tattersall’s Auctioneering Yard. The horse possessed the ideal bloodlines for Alicia’s growing racing stock. She braced herself for his excuse. “Very well, Father. Tell me what happened.”

      “Your new mare awaits you in the pasture.”

      She could hardly believe her ears. “Good Times?”

      His smile faded for a moment, then reappeared as brightly as before. “Er…nay, not Good Times. But Cinnamon Rose is a mare of better lineage and conformation than Good Times will ever be.” He avoided her gaze, edging her fear up a notch.

      “But the bidding isn’t due to begin at Tatter-sall’s until tomorrow,” she said. “Where did you find this horse?”

      “I came upon the mare by the grace of good fortune.”

      A familiar uneasiness invaded her mind. “I gave you almost two hundred pounds, my year’s savings, to bid on Good Times.” Alicia sat up stiffly and straightened her shoulders. “You gambled my money, then bought some bonesetter of an animal with what was left.” She stood up. “Don’t insult me by lying, Father.” She glanced away, not wanting to repeat this embarrassing scene again. “How could you do this again after promising me—?”

      He opened the desk drawer and plunked down the bulging silk purse she had given him when he’d left for the auction. She blinked when he spilled bright gold coins across the desktop and stared while he counted out the full amount she’d given him.

      Alicia dropped into the chair. “If we own a new mare, I want to hear every detail about how you acquired her.”

      Her father grinned as he steepled his large hands in front of himself. “Cinnamon Rose is champion stock,” he said finally. “Why don’t you see the mare first, then we can speak more on the matter? The mare’s tied to the willow by the stream. Go and see her, then decide for yourself.”

      Alicia rose from her chair. “I’ll do just that. But I’ll be back to hear how you managed to gain a horse without paying so much as a shilling.”

      When Alicia passed the stable a few minutes later, she heard a soft nickering. Jupiter, one of the three Thoroughbreds that made up her breeding stock, whinnied at her from the paddock. She called to him. “I’ll be back later to give you some tender carrots, sweet one.”

      Her beloved horses—they were her joy, her comfort, her life. Jupiter was the first foal she had bred that showed the promise of quality racing lines. With a choice mare such as Good Times…

      Alicia bit back her frustration. No, she wouldn’t allow this setback to anger her. Besides, she had no one to blame but herself. Although she had wanted to believe that her father could overcome his weakness for drink, she must face the truth. He would be helpless amid the horse-mad gambling world that frequented Tatts. His stories of when he rode the Prince of Wales’s horse, Escape, to victory at Newmarket would guarantee her father free drinks until dawn.

      A gaggle of geese honked at her as she cut through the fowl yard and hurried toward the pasture beyond. She had no right