Catherine Coulter: Pendragon

Oh dear. What would happen now?

At three o'clock in the morning Meggie crawled beneath the thick covers on her bed and turned onto her back. She smiled, an idiot's smile, but it didn't matter. She was thrumming with happiness, with anticipation. Giddiness washed through her veins, and she wanted to shout to the cherubs that adorned the ceiling of her bedchamber, she was so very happy.

Imagine, her very first week in London and she'd met her future husband.

Jeremy Stanton-Greville. Meggie Stanton-Greville. Lady Stanton-Greville. It sounded wonderful. It sounded perfect.

What a beautiful man he was. Just imagine, her almost-cousin, and she'd known him nearly all her life, and here he was in London at exactly the same time she was and surely a sign that he'd been sent here for a specific reason, namely to see a grown-up Meggie Sherbrooke through a man's eyes and throw himself at her feet. Oh yes, the last time he'd seen her, she'd been thirteen-bossy and loud, smacking her brothers and cousins whenever they deserved it, which was often. Not very appetizing memories for him. Her memories of Jeremy were, now that she thought of it, of a young man constantly in motion, constantly on horseback, always racing, windblown, laughing, white teeth. And he'd been full of himself. But it hadn't mattered. She'd loved him the moment he opened his mouth that last time she'd seen him when she was thirteen years old. He'd come with Aunt Sophie for a visit. She'd taken just one quick look and it had been all over for her. She'd not let him out of her sight. Then he'd left and time had passed. Five whole years. And, after all, she was young and there was so much to do, and she'd forgotten about him, about the impact of him. He'd had but to reappear and that impact was back, slamming her hard, right in the heart. Talk about heated blood, hers was boiling her from the inside out. It was entirely too wonderful. No, evidently, tucked away deep inside her, she hadn't forgotten him entirely. She smiled up into the darkness. And tonight, there he'd been and everything was different, everything had changed. When he'd taken her hand, when he'd smiled at her showing those lovely white teeth again, she'd wanted to throw herself in his arms. What would happen then-ah, kisses and more kisses. Nothing of that sort had happened, naturally, but to dance with him, she'd feel ready to burst with happiness.

After a few polite phrases had been exchanged, Jeremy had asked Uncle Douglas if he could pay a visit-today, in not more than eight hours from now.

He had another party to attend this night, a pity, but there it was. Just before he left them, he took Meggie's hand, smiled at her yet again from his superior height, and told her she'd become a beauty, and kissed her cheek.

"Young men will take one look at you and fall to their knees," he said.

"I used to line up Max, Leo, and Alec on their knees so Rory could walk over them," she said, and thought, / only want you on your knees .

Jeremy burst into laughter.

"Rory got so good at it, he'd beg them to line up for him, but farther apart, so he could leap from one back to the next. Then, of course, the boys lined up so that Cleopatra, one of our racing cats, could practice her leaping by jumping from one to the next."

"I had forgotten about the cat racing. I didn't know you were so involved."

"Oh yes. I'm Mr. Cork's official trainer. He's the current champion, at least until the next meet. We'll see. Cleo's leap gets longer and more timely with each race. I don't remember, do you like cat racing?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I love horses. You must admit that racing cats is rather ridiculous compared to racing horses."

She didn't agree at all, felt as if he'd smacked her, but just very lightly, and said only, "That is a pity. I'm sure you'll come about." She couldn't wait to see to it that he did. She would race cats and he would race his horses. It was a perfect match.

Jeremy said, "That is quite an image-of both the leaping cat and of Rory. How old is Rory now?"

When she fell asleep not five minutes later, Meggie dreamed that Cleo beat Mr. Cork in a race that lasted only three seconds. Cleo had pumped up her back legs, taken two long high leaps and landed over the finish line.

Another sign, Meggie thought when she woke up at nine o'clock the next morning, instantly awake, filled with so much excitement she thought she'd vomit. It was the sort of excitement and fear she'd never felt before in her life. If feeling sick to her stomach was the price, she'd endure it gladly. Yes, Cleo's dream performance was a sign. Two leaps, two graceful soaring leaps, and Meggie would have him.

Jeremy Stanton-Greville, Baron Greville, of Cardinal House in Fowey, arrived at the Sherbrooke town house at precisely eleven o'clock in the morning.

Darby, only fifty years old, had taken over his butler duties six months before, and he was still basking in his new responsibilities. And finally, the staff recognized his importance. He knew he was awe-inspiring, what with his measured walk, more of a smooth glide really, his dignified set of the shoulders and his incredibly well-pressed black knee pants and white linen.

He had known Jeremy Stanton-Greville since he was nine years old, newly arrived in England from Jamaica, and Mr. Ryder Sherbrooke's brother-in-law.

What a handsome man he'd become. Darby hadn't seen him since he was a carefree young man, wild and free and a new member of the Four Horse Club, wearing their colors, racing to the death.

For the first time since he'd assumed butlerdom, Darby smiled, showing a missing molar.

"It's Darby, isn't it?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good God, I see you're now in charge of this place. Congratulations." And Jeremy shook Darby's hand, nearly sending the redheaded Darby into a swoon of pleasure.

"Ah, my lord, it's been too long, far too long. I haven't laid an eye on you since-what was it-September of 1815, yes, that was it, there were such celebrations because Napoleon was gone once and for all. How have you been?"

Jeremy smiled. "I have been just fine, Darby, traveling quite a bit, to Jamaica, you know, to my plantation there and then to Baltimore."

"You went to Baltimore? Why ever would you wish to go there?"

Jeremy turned at Meggie Sherbrooke's voice. He turned and smiled at her. "Hello, Meggie. Yes, I was just telling Darby that I spent several years in Jamaica at Camille

Hall, my sugar plantation there. Then I went to Baltimore to stay with James Wyndham and his family. They have a very famous stud and racehorses. I learned an immense amount."

"Surely you already knew an immense amount, Jeremy. After all, you were raised by my uncle Ryder."

He took the white hand she was offering him. "Would you believe it? I learned even more about horse racing and breeding. In addition to racing horses, I want to start a stud at my home in Fowey. I needed to learn everything I could before I began."

At the touch of his hand, Meggie nearly swallowed her tongue. Never in her eighteen years had she felt the slightest bit of anything at all when a boy or a man had touched her-admittedly most of the touching had been done by male relatives and the good Lord knew there was no titillation in that. Jeremy was a relative, but not really. They shared no blood. She couldn't remember his touching her when she was thirteen, except maybe to take her hand when he'd arrived or when he'd left. She could just remember standing about, staring at her god, perfectly willing to worship him from whatever distance was required.

"I suppose there is more money in horse racing than in cat racing," she said.

She looked down at his hand holding hers. She didn't want to release him. He'd stopped talking and was looking at her now, a dark eyebrow cocked up a good inch.