“Ethan told me in the army they called you the Devil Riders, because you all ride like the devil. And not even the devil could catch you.”
Gabe shrugged. “People like to talk. We all love fast horses—which is why we’re starting this horse-racing venture.”
But Nicky wasn’t to be diverted. “Ethan also said before that, they used to call you the Duke’s Angels,” Nicky said.
“Yes, the duke of Wellington made a comment once—he was using us for dispatches at the time—and the name stuck for a while. There were five of us then, but poor Michael was killed,” Gabe told him. They each drank a silent toast to Michael.
“Why angels?” Nicky asked.
“Perhaps because of their names, Nicky,” Miss Tibby suggested. “The named angels were Michael, Gabriel, Rafael, and…” She hesitated.
“Lucifer, who was a fallen angel,” Luke explained. “I’m christened Lucian, which is close enough.”
Nicky looked at Harry, disappointed. “So you weren’t an angel, Mr. Morant?” Nicky was fast becoming one of Harry’s staunchest admirers, thought Gabe. Harry could outride any of them, and he had a bad leg just like the little boy.
“Harry was one of the Duke’s Angel’s, all right,” Rafe said. “Weren’t you, Harold?”
Harry gave a wry grin. “I was.”
Nicky looked puzzled. “Does England have an angel called Harold, then, for we don’t have one in Zindaria.”
Miss Tibby frowned. “No, we don’t in England, either, Nicky.” She turned to Rafe. “I’ve never heard of any angel called Harold.”
Every one of the men produced a look of surprise, Gabe, too. It was an old joke.
Ethan leaned forward. “Sure you have, Miss Tibby. And don’t you sing about him every Christmas?”
Tibby frowned. “I don’t think so.”
Ethan said, “Then do you not know the carol ‘Hark the Harold Angels Sing’?”
Miss Tibby huffed with pretend disapproval and then joined in the general laughter.
Even Callie laughed, Gabe noted. It lit up her face briefly. He was determined to get her alone, find out what she was fretting about.
After the picnic, Gabe invited Callie to ride in the curricle with himself and Nicky.
“Oh yes, Mama,” Nicky chimed in enthusiastically. “Come and watch me drive the horses. It is such fun.”
She looked trapped. Her desire to please her son warred with her desire to avoid Gabe. Her son won, as he expected, and she moved toward his curricle feigning delight.
She held herself rigid when Gabe lifted her up into the curricle. He was about to lift Nicky in when right on cue Harry rode up, saying, “Nicky, would you like to ride with me for a while?”
Nicky’s eyes widened. “Yes, please, sir,” he responded eagerly, as Gabe had known he would, and before Nicky’s mother could say a word, Gabe lifted the child up in front of his brother.
“He likes to go fast,” he told Harry, who winked at him and moved off.
Gabe climbed nimbly into the curricle beside the princess and snapped the reins.
For a short distance she said nothing, then, “I suppose you’re feeling pleased with yourself.”
“Indeed I am,” Gabe agreed, his eyes twinkling. “My stratagem worked perfectly. Your son is having the time of his life and I am alone with you. What could be more perfect?”
She didn’t say anything.
“You expected me to deny it, didn’t you?”
She laughed. “Nothing could have convinced me you did not arrange that beforehand with your brother. I have spent the last few minutes thinking up a good scold, and now you’ve taken the wind right out of my sails.”
