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The Viscount’s Vice

Page 127

by Wendy LaCapra

Hampton moved back to his desk. “Very well, Preston may assist,” he finally said. He was quiet for a moment, his hand resting on the surface. “I have a horse. Calder. He’s been in my stable for three years.”

Asquith knew Calder. Everyone knew Calder. The racer was at the end of his racing career, but as a stud he was invaluable. Such a quality horse would redefine possibilities.

“I’ve more horses than I have use for,” Hampton continued. “I’d like you to have him.”

But Asquith understood immediately what was being offered, and it wasn’t a horse. It was an acknowledgment. It was Hampton, saying: what you’ve done for my son, and what you’re doing now, has been seen.

“How much?” Asquith asked.

Hampton smiled. “Let’s call him my insurance. I had already decided to sell you the horse, but if you would guide Preston in the right direction, I will be in your debt.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Still, I would appreciate it if you bruited it about that you acquired the horse at private auction.” He paused. “I’ll tell Scott the truth, so it will not affect your... marital ambitions.”

Calder could be his. Without injury to his purse. No one would believe he married Lenora for her dowry. But he and Hampton would be forever connected.

“And I have another condition,” Hampton added. “You must take him today.”

Asquith looked up. “Today?”

“The horse represents my word. And my appreciation. If I am to allow Preston to put himself in harm’s way, I need my own bond, assurance you will watch over him.”

Asquith considered. Preston was undertaking considerable risk. The forged bond would be Asquith’s insurance, Calder, Hampton’s.

“I accept,” he said.

He watched Hampton write the letter and then press his seal. Then he was holding in his hands a document that would change his life.

When he emerged from Hampton House, the quality of light felt different. The air, lighter.

He inhaled the crisp winter scent, thinking of fathers and sons. Of risks taken and risks avoided.

And of paths that could not simply be trod, but had to be scythed through the weeds.

Then, he heard a woman’s low murmur and the squeak of a wheel.

He turned.

With a touch of tenderness, he recognized the velocipede-wary governess. She was pushing the tiny charge that had enchanted him in the same baby carriage. Beside her stood a lady wearing a large and striking pelisse.

The mother, most likely.

The lady groaned as she gazed down on her baby. The lower part of her pelisse slipped away as she touched her back.

Ah. Soon, the mother would likely welcome another child.

“My current… discomfort has disordered my mind,” she spoke under her breath and mostly to herself. “In the slightest difficulty, I perceive a dreadful disaster.”

She shifted the hand to her stomach in a suddenly familiar fashion.

Asquith’s gaze flew to her face. Although they’d never met, he realized he recognized her pallor. Her worn face was one that had been tired for months and had grown accustomed. Grayish circles tinged the skin beneath her eyes.

He stood utterly still.

He thought of how pale Lenora had seemed during his morning call and how she’d had one hand folded protectively over her stomach.

Lenora, who had not eaten. Lenora, whose scent had changed in some way he hadn’t been able to name. Lenora, who had asked him if he was a decent man and waited for the answer with an expression he had not understood.

Until now.

He knew he was staring. The lady stared back, affronted.