Marrying the Marquis by Patricia Grasso Page A

many times.”
    “Comin’ on yer left are the judges’ boxes,” Ross said, ignoring her comment. “The last judge will wave the colors of whichever rider wins for the spectators who canna see.”
    Ross halted his horse when they neared the last part of the mile. “Ye need to quicken yer pace at this point before crossin’ the Devil’s Ditch. Ye can see the race ends uphill.”
    “Once Peg gets through the holes,” Blaze said, “no one will catch her.”
    Ross nudged the horse down the Devil’s Ditch and through the Running Gap. With Blaze clinging to him, they climbed the uphill side and rode across the clearing beyond the finish line.
    “Bunbury Farm is on yer left,” Ross said, “and Burwell is on yer right beyond that copse of trees. If ye win, ride down the path over there. Rooney and I will be waitin’ just out of sight.”
    “I understand.”
    Ross glanced over his shoulder at her for the first time. “I admire yer determination and spunk.”
    “That’s high praise coming from a Highlander.”
    He smiled at her.
    She returned his smile.
    “What will ye do with the coin ye win?”
    “I’m saving to buy land for an animal refuge.”
    “God in heaven canna refuse such a worthy cause,” Ross said. “Why dinna ye ask His Grace for the funds?”
    “No practical businessman like my father would invest in a profitless project,” Blaze answered, and then sighed. “God save the world from practical people.”
    “Do ye count me among the practical?”
    “Have you considered selling me Juno?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “And?”
    Ross winked at her. “I havena made a decision.”
     
    Blaze studied her reflection in the cheval mirror. She wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but her appearance would not induce vomiting or incite screams of terror.
    Hopefully, her Nanny Smudge had been correct. A pleasing personality was better than beauty, which always faded in time.
    Unfortunately, she had never been known for her sweet disposition. She had more in common with a cantankerous camel than a lap dog.
    Blaze turned this way and that, studying herself from all possible angles. She wore a violet daygown with matching slippers and white stockings embroidered with butterflies.
    After dressing like a jockey every morning, Blaze wanted to look pretty for the marquis. That realization created a melting sensation in the bottom of her belly. Whatever the reason, she wanted him to think her more appealing than the stepsister who’d been offered to him in marriage.
    Blaze had brushed her fiery hair back, allowing it to cascade almost to her waist. The marquis liked her hair loose. Something was missing, though.
    Crossing the chamber, Blaze yanked the highboy’s drawer open and reached inside for the jeweled, butterfly hair clasp that had once belonged to her mother. In fact, her mother was wearing the butterfly ornament when she’d posed for the portrait hanging in her father’s drawing room.
    Blaze lifted a length of blue ribbon off the bedside table and looked at the mastiff. Puddles raised his head, his eyes fixed on the ribbon, and then scurried behind the privacy screen.
    “Come, Puddles.”
    Nothing.
    “You must dress for our guests.”
    Nothing again.
    “Do you want a cinnamon cookie?”
    With his tail between his legs, Puddles appeared from behind the privacy screen and sat in front of her. Blaze attached the blue ribbon to his collar and tied it in a bow.
    Cookie?
    “Eat cookies later.”
    With a few minutes to spare, Blaze sat on the chaise to practice distance communication. She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to even. In her mind’s eye, she pictured herself standing in front of her horse’s stall.
    Love Peg .
    No answer.
    Love Peg .
    No answer.
    Love Peg .
    “Are you ready?”
    Blaze glanced over her shoulder. Raven stood in the open doorway.
    “Are you and Alex taking tea?” Blaze rose from the chaise.
    “I am taking tea,” her sister answered, “while Alex and the constable