Magic in the Stars
he’d had in a week to track Saturn’s moons—and now he’d have to
spend it hunting his damned brother, who couldn’t keep his trousers buttoned.
If Ashford wouldn’t insist on visiting his village mistress while betrothed to
another, he wouldn’t tempt fate.
    Although Duncan was a damned good rider and Zeus was a
superior horse.
    That realization provoked the unwelcome memory of Lady
Azenor’s doom-and-gloom prediction. Theo didn’t believe in hocus-pocus. His
mother had left a journal of vague prognostications that had been a source of
amusement when he was younger . . . . But as far as he
could remember, they all made as much sense as assassinating planets.
    Theo cast a stoic eye to the immense belt of glittering
stars overhead. Selfish bastard that he was, he didn’t want to be left with Ashford’s
responsibilities if anything happened to his damned lordship. Saturn would
return in a month, but he had only one older brother.
    “Saddle horses,” Theo told the groom, “I’ll fetch Erran and
Jacques. You wake the stable hands.” With resignation, he closed the telescope.
    Hours later, as men carried the bloody and unconscious marquess
in on a stretched canvas, Theo suffered a sick sensation in the pit of his
stomach. He’d just cursed Duncan earlier in the evening, had wanted to punch
him outright. And now . . .
    He hadn’t hurled since childhood, but acid ate at his
midsection at the sight of his omnipotent older brother rendered helpless.
    He didn’t want to believe in foolish superstition. Everyone
fell off a horse sooner or later. But . . .
    Duncan was a bruising equestrian who should have had no
trouble in weather as clear as it was tonight. But impossibly, the marquess now
lay comatose, head and face bloodied beyond recognition, with a bone sticking
out of his twisted arm. His big body appeared lifeless, not stirring even as
the servants bumped him over the threshold.
    Biting down his fear and self-contempt, Theo damned prophecy
as superstition, swallowed his anxiety, and concentrated on what needed to be
done.
    “We’ve sent for every physician and surgeon we know,”
Jacques said worriedly, following the litter in.
    How long had Duncan been out there before the horse returned
and while they’d hunted over acres of estate? How much blood could a body lose
in the hours he’d been lying alone and untended?
    “How bad is it?” Theo asked, holding Jacques back while the
servants scurried about with hot water and bandages. “Broken bones?”
    “Broken head,” Jacques said, his frown deepening. “Broken
arm, but it’s the head that’s bad. Looks like Zeus took a fall and Dunc sailed
right over his neck. It happened down at the bridge, where all those rocks line
the path.”
    “The bridge” was no more than an ancient stone trestle
across a deep creek that flooded in the spring. The path was a short cut from
the village to the house, not a public road. Had the horse broken its leg and
not returned to warn them, no one would have found Duncan for days. As
marquess, he had many responsibilities and often spent weeks elsewhere without
leaving word. They would scarcely have noticed his absence.
    That’s when Theo’s gut really took fire. He still didn’t
want to believe that planets foretold fate—but the lady had been right in too
many respects.
    “Zeus is too old to startle or bolt easily,” Theo said, dismissing
illogic. “What would make him throw Duncan?”
    Jacques’ eyes widened. “Dunc quit taking Zeus hunting
because he started spooking at gunshots.”
    Would angry farmers shoot at Duncan? That was more logical—and uglier— than blaming planets. “I can’t
think like that,” Theo decided, rubbing his head to clear out the superstition
and panic. He was a man of books and science and not cut out for imagining
villains. “Send for Margaret and her maids. We need women to tend him while we
wait on the physicians.” Theo headed for the stairs and his brother’s
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