Page 22 of Lessons for Marquesses
The mare spun around to glare at him, sniffing for his scent in the air filled with the last fight’s tobacco and sweat and blood.
“Well, Mr. Wolf, what do you think of Minny?”
Nicholas jerked from his study. “Minny?”
She kissed the mare’s nose. “She prefers it over the St. Clair Witch. Don’t you, girl?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Georgiana St.Clair.
The object of his revenge stood a cockpit away.
Georgiana St. Clair.
He wanted to shove her smile to the straw. He knew how he would do it. A foot on the short pit wall, two—no, three—strides across and without scaling the other side, wrenching her down by her frilled shirt. A boot thrust to her slim back and he’d leave her sucking for air, just like that day she, William St. Clair’s spawn, had taken possession of his home. Hislife.
Nicholas heard himself speak because somewhere in his rotted soul, a part of him honed on self-preservation, had taken over. “Well. Here she is.”
“You know of her, yes?”
Christ, why were there laws that prohibited doing exactly what he wished? “I do. Very much so.”
“And she is what you expected?”
“She is…” His throat closed around his reply.
Should he just come out with it, tell her who he was, scream into her face, destroy her anticipation?Anticipation built on my back, on the blood of others, the blood of my brother.
This, thisMinny, was Wild Squire in a purer form, stripped of her sire’s good nature. A conqueror. How improved was Georgiana St. Clair from her father? She was a triumph in breeding. Neither male nor female so that its victims knew not how to proceed. With a ready smile and a quick wit hiding the ruthlessness.
“Mr. Wolf? Please. Do tell me your thoughts.”
“She is… perfection.”
“Truly?”
“Bred to slay those who underestimate her.”
“How brutally poetic! Did you hear that, Minny? You were bred to slay.”
The St. Clair Witch sensed the rage within him. The mare swished her tail, twisted her head to Nicholas, and pinned her ears.
“She’s not to run,” Nicholas said, to see Georgiana’s reaction.
“No, not this time.”
“That must be a blow to your plans.”
Her throat bobbed. She met his eyes. Resolute was the only way to describe her expression. “Merely a delay wherein I strengthen my forces.”
She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t even going to admit her loss.
“There are always risks in delaying,” he said. “The enemy may reinforce their numbers as well.”
“True. But I believe fate postponed the conquering to make the slaying that much more sweet. Would you like to see her run tomorrow? I should like to see your Palliard run. He is the favorite…”
Further words failed to register. How had Palliard been favored over this mare? For the same reason he’d been able to bribe the livery stable to refuse her, the butcher to stuff her inthe garret, and Drearden to hurl Georgiana St. Clair’s dreams to the turf. She was a female.
