Winner Takes All

by Anna Harrington

  Just as she knew why he’d had to leave when he did. Because if he’d stayed any longer he would have made love to her, unable to resist the delicious temptation she presented of beauty and intellect and the shared skill of working well with horses. He’d already claimed more of her intimacies than he’d had a right to, although he didn’t regret any of them. Just as he didn’t regret caressing her thigh now in slow, sensuous strokes that made her sink into the hay beneath her.

  “But you’re vying for a Derby win.” He pulled his hand away without warning, and a soft whimper fell from her lips at the unexpected loss of his touch. “I make it a rule not to embrace the competition.”

  Her face flushed, and she scrambled to sit up in the hay. “Why, you infuriating son of a—”

  “Horse trainer?” He pulled himself up to his full height and coolly crossed his arms, as much to keep himself from reaching for her as to scold. “What’s the real reason you’re here with that colt, Francesca? The truth this time.”

  “His name is Midnight’s Promise. I had him sired from the Earl of Derby’s stallion and one of the Duke of Kenilworth’s best brood mares. Cost me a small fortune to make those arrangements, but the two men had no idea what bloodlines their horses possessed, or the speed and stamina that could be produced from them. Midnight’s three now, old enough to show off his talents and my skills at breeding.”

  “By racing him yourself in the Derby?” Disbelief edged his voice.

  “By winning.”

  Shaw laughed, although from what he’d seen of her horse, the colt had a very good chance of doing just that.

  “Because if I don’t win,” she added loudly enough to cut through his laughter, “my father plans to marry me off.”

  The laughter strangled in his throat.

  Chapter Two

  Frankie slid Shaw an assessing look across the seat of his curricle as he drove her to Uncle Jonas’s house. So far, he hadn’t said a word about her announcement in the stable. No comments, no questions…nothing. All he had done at the news of the agreement with Papa was hold out his hand to help her to her feet and quickly announced that he’d fetch his rig so he could take her home. She might as well have declared that the sun rose in the east for all the reaction she’d garnered from him.

  Even now he just stared straight ahead and occasionally flicked the ribbons to keep the beautifully matched team moving at a quick clip. The faster they arrived at her uncle’s country pile, she knew, the sooner he could deliver her home and out of his life. For good this time.

  But then, what had she expected? That he would grab her into his arms, declare his undying love, and demand that she marry no other man but him? After all, she’d spent years dreaming of exactly that.

  Ah, but dreams never did come true, did they? Or he wouldn’t have left four years ago.

  He’d loved her once, she’d been certain of that. As certain as she’d been of her own love for him. As certain as they’d both been that any kind of lasting future for them was impossible. But that hadn’t stopped her from dreaming and wishing and wanting for so much more than she could ever have.

  “Stop staring,” he grumbled and irritably flicked the ribbons.

  “I can’t help it.” When he shot her a quick look of surprise, she shrugged and turned away before he could see her true feelings for him on her face. “I like to size up the competition before a race.”

  Certainly she’d always enjoyed sizing him up.

  When she’d finally found her breath after falling from Midnight, the sight of him had simply knocked it right back out of her. Heavens, he was as handsome as ever, right down to the little crinkles in the corners of his eyes when he smiled and that sandy blonde hair that she’d once loved to run her fingers through. It was as soft and silky as a horse’s mane, and sometimes just as untamed.

  No—he looked better than before. Now he practically glowed with confidence and strength. But she supposed that was what happened to a man who was set free to pursue his dreams.

  Oh, he’d possessed those traits before, certainly, if in lesser quantities. That was part of the reason she’d been drawn to him so fiercely when she’d returned home from school at eighteen and found him in charge of Papa’s stables at Willow Wood. The rest came from the way he’d worked with the horses—gentle hands, soft words, easy caresses. Not at all one of those brutes who forced a horse to bend to his will when it was broken. Not someone who felt the need to break a horse at all. Instead, he’d worked in a way that made it seem as if he’d had a conversation with the horse and simply convinced it to see things his way. Just as he had with her—gentle hands, soft words, easy caresses.

  Apparently, he still could, if the way she’d tingled beneath his touch earlier was any indication.

  “You knew I would be at the Derby,” he muttered.

  “Not for certain.” But merciful Lord, how much her foolish heart had hoped he would be! “But you were certainly surprised to see me.”

  “Surprised isn’t exactly the right word.”

  Her foolish heart stuttered. “Then what would be?”

  He grimaced. “For one, I expected a man.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  That earned her a scalding glare. “At least you’re back in a dress now.”

  “Where I belong?” she challenged. She’d changed out of the boy’s clothes and into the dress she’d brought with her for coming and going from the track, although to be honest she’d felt more at ease in buckskin breeches than flower-print muslin. With his hand on her thigh.

  Being with him again felt like coming home. She hadn’t realized until that moment exactly how much she’d missed him.

  “Trust me, Francesca. No one has ever been able to put you anywhere you didn’t want to be.” He muttered, “Including in a dress.”

  A warmth tingled at her toes, nearly enough to make her forget about her swollen ankle. But not enough to soothe the ache in her heart. I wanted to be with you, but I didn’t get to be there…

  “So why are you letting your father force you into marriage?”

  The question jolted her. So, he had been thinking about what she’d said, and all this time, too. “That’s not exactly what he wants to do.” She straightened on the seat and focused on the horses’ ears flicking forward and back as they tried to eavesdrop on the conversation. “Papa worries about me and wants to see me with a good husband who will take care of me and provide a secure home and children.”

  “You don’t want that?”

  Her lips twisted. “I’d rather be a spinster.”

  She felt his chocolate eyes dart in her direction, but he said nothing to reveal his thoughts.

  Her shoulders sagged. “That’s not entirely true, I suppose—not if the right man came along.” She didn’t dare look at him as she said that! “But I’ve been resisting courtships and refusing to accept suitors the way Papa wants me to.”

  He snapped the ribbons. “Lord Darlington only wants the best for you.”

  “I only want the best for me, too, but that doesn’t mean being shackled to the first society heir who comes along.” Or the second, or the third. She wasn’t certain she’d find happiness with any of the lot of them. “Unlike some women, I’ve never cared about the size of a man’s…allowance.”

  He stiffened. Pleasure sparked through her that she could still keep him on his toes with her innuendos and flirtations. Thank God some things never changed.

  “So I made an agreement with Papa to give me three years to raise and train Midnight before I accepted suitors. If the colt wins the Derby, he’ll allow me to continue to run my own life, even one as an unmarried horse breeder.”

  “And if you lose?”

  If, not when. Perhaps Shaw thought she had a chance at winning after all, and her heart skipped with excitement. “Then I’ll go onto the marriage market, just as every other society miss does.” She’d resolved herself to that, yet she couldn’t prevent a bitter taste from forming on her tongue
at the thought.

  “How did you convince the viscount to go along with this ludicrous plan?” A harsh edge of frustration undercut whatever casualness he’d hoped for.

  “The usual way any daughter cajoles her father into letting her do what she wants, I suppose,” she said dryly. “I threatened to run away to New York.”

  He threw a surprised glance her way.

  She smiled victoriously. “Apparently, the only thing my father fears more than having a daughter who’s a horse breeder is having a daughter who’s an American.”

  His lips quirked into a grin. “So you bought yourself a three-year delay.”

  “A lifetime when I win.”

  “You won’t win.”

  “Because you think you will? I hate to tell you this, Jack.” She reached to pull the ribbons from his hands and take over driving the team down the narrow country road. “But you can’t always get what you want.”

  “Believe me,” he said quietly with regret, “I’ve already learned that lesson.”

  She turned to gape at him. He couldn’t possibly mean—

  “Attention on the horses,” he ordered, putting his gloved hand over hers and gesturing at the horses’ flicking ears with the other. “They’re still a fairly green team and will take advantage if you let them.”

  She stared straight ahead, fully aware of the heat and strength of his hand on hers. Memories flooded through her of having his hands on her body, of all the delicious pleasures he’d given her. She swallowed. Hard. “And would you—take advantage if I let you?”

  “If it means winning the Derby, any man would.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  A long, silent pause passed as he reconsidered her meaning. Then he repeated hoarsely, “Any man would.”

  She pulled back sharply on the ribbons, bringing the team to a sliding halt as she swung around on the bench to face him. His hand remained over hers, and the heat of his touch seeped through the leather and into her fingers. He didn’t move, yet she felt wary anticipation pulse within him.

  She ached to touch him, to run trembling fingers through his hair, slip her hand behind his nape, and tug his head down to hers. She yearned for the taste of his kiss, for his mouth to hungrily devour hers, his tongue to tease across her lips until she opened to him. For his strong arms to gather her close. For the way he’d always made her laugh with his stories and the affectionate gleam in his eyes.

  The closeness between them had always been about more than just physical intimacies, yet when she’d been in his arms, she’d felt safe, confident…loved.

  She wanted nothing more than to be in his arms again.

  “Jack,” she whispered, her voice a rasping ache, and reached up to touch his cheek.

  He sucked in a ragged breath at the contact of her fingertips against his rough morning beard. He covered her hand with his but didn’t put it away from his cheek.

  “Let me be clear,” he warned. His fingers tightened on hers as if he could sense the longing in her and wanted to force it down before she said or did something they would both regret. “Seeing you again was completely unexpected, and I applaud the agreement you made with your father. But I’m in this race to win it, and I won’t let anything or anyone stop me.” He brought her hand to his lips and placed a tickling touch of his lips to her palm before lowering it away. “Not even you.”

  She resisted the urge to blink away the stinging tears of rejection and forced out, “I would never expect you to.”

  She gave a hard snap of the ribbons and sent the team onward, turning them onto the narrow lane that snaked up to Uncle Jonas’s rambling country house. They were so close that she could see the tops of the brick chimneys of the old manor poking out above the trees and hear the hounds barking from their kennels.

  Oh, what a cake she was to be upset! Most likely, Shaw agreed with her father that marriage would do her good, that it would give her a more proper purpose than raising horses. That marriage to a society son would provide status, position, a respectable home…a respectable husband. After all, isn’t that what Shaw had told her when he’d refused to make love to her that last night before he left Willow Wood? That they could never have anything more than secret assignations and veiled flirtations?

  She’d known that as well as he. But heavens, how much his refusal had hurt!

  Just as it hurt now.

  “To make it easier on everyone,” she announced, forcing her voice not to quaver, “I’ll switch Midnight’s training to the afternoons. That will give you the mornings without having to see me at the track when I take him out for runs.”

  “No, you won’t. You won’t be riding that horse or any other, not for a very long time.”

  To prove his point, he gently brushed the toe of his boot against her right foot. The light contact shot blinding pain up her leg and into the base of her spine, where it exploded in a burst of stars.

  “Don’t ever…touch me…again,” she forced out as she panted down the pain. Only half of that statement was targeted at the nudge of his foot.

  He shook his head. “As a jockey, you’ve just been scratched from the race. And from being an exercise boy, too.”

  “I can’t be. I’m the only one who knows how to ride Midnight.” She handed him the ribbons so she could rub at her swollen ankle. “I have to win.”

  “So do I.”

  “Oh? Is your father planning on marrying you off to a man you don’t love, as well?”

  His face hardened like stone. “No.”

  “Then whatever your reason,” she said glumly as her uncle’s house came into sight around the bend in the lane, “it isn’t as grim as mine.”

  He answered that with a silent flick of his gaze in her direction.

  “So unless you plan on rescuing me by marrying me yourself,” she tossed out, the devil making her do it, knowing fully well that Shaw wouldn’t bite at the bait, “it seems that we’re back to where we started.”

  He stopped the curricle in front of the house, tied off the ribbons, and jumped to the ground. “And where is that?”

  “With my horse winning.”

  “That is going to be quite the feat then,” he muttered as he lifted her off the rig, pulled her securely into his arms, and easily carried her toward the house. “The first horse in the Derby’s history to win without a jockey.”

  She slapped his shoulder, but then couldn’t bear to move her hand away. Instead, she curled her fingertips inconspicuously into the hard muscle beneath his jacket that flexed invitingly with each step he took. “I’ll find a way to ride.”

  “No, you won’t. Even if you aren’t found out as a woman the morning of the race in the jockey’s room when the handicap weights are assigned, you’re in no shape to race.” This time, he wasn’t at all teasing. “You have to put equal weight into both stirrups to control a racehorse, especially one as headstrong as yours. You’ll be fighting him every furlough when he’s racing neck and neck with the rest of the field, and if you can’t bear down into the stirrup, you’ll never be able to maintain proper position on his back.” He didn’t look at her as he carried her up to the front door that was hidden from sight of the stable yard, thanks to an overgrown wisteria that choked the portico. “You’ll be riding off-balance. All it will take is one bump by one of the other horses to knock you from the saddle. You’ll fall again, most likely in front of the rest of the field, and this time,” he warned as he gently set her onto her feet, “you won’t survive it.”

  She turned her face toward his, her hands resting on his upper arms as she awkwardly found her balance on one foot. Damn him, he was right. She could barely stand, let alone ride.

  “Yet if you persist in this foolish idea and decide to ride him yourself anyway, you’ll leave me with no choice but to tell the officials, expose you, and have you and your horse scratched from the race.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “To save your life? In a heartbeat. For God’s sake, Francesca, hav
en’t you realized it yet?” His mouth was close to hers, so close that his warm breath tickled her lips. “I would do anything to keep you safe.” Then he admitted in a murmur that was impossibly softer, “I always have.”

  His mouth found hers, and she melted beneath his kiss.

  The exquisite sensation excited her, like a strong summer wind rushing through her, as the present and past collided. Like the feeling of finally coming home after a long time away. So very long…She couldn’t stop herself from arching into him. She couldn’t help tightening her hands on his hard biceps and thrilling in the way the muscles flexed beneath her fingertips. Just as she couldn’t stop the soft sigh that came from her as she parted her lips in invitation for him to take more of her kiss. To take everything he wanted.

  But he didn’t. Instead of deepening the kiss, he cupped her face between his gloved hands and tore his mouth away to rest his forehead against hers. His eyes squeezed shut as he fought to regain his breath, and his face hardened into such a dark expression…anguish.

  Confusion corkscrewed through her, and she whispered, desperate for answers, “Jack?”

  In an instant, the pain she saw in him vanished, and with a forced grin that never touched his eyes, he released her and stepped back. He tugged roughly at his leather gloves as he strode back toward the curricle, as if he blamed them for his momentary loss of control.

  “I’ll have Paddy walk and feed your horse this afternoon,” he informed her. “I won’t tell him that it’s yours.”

  Damn him and his kindness! What she wanted was answers about how he felt toward her. Then and now. What she wanted was to be in his arms, to hear his husky voice whispering that everything was going to be all right, that she wouldn’t have to marry anyone but him even if she lost the race. That this time he wouldn’t leave her.

  “You won’t ride in the race,” he called out as he leapt up onto the rig, untied the ribbons, and released the brake. “And you won’t win even if you do.” The team immediately came alert beneath the control of his expert hands. “So if I were you, I’d start thinking up a new plan for delaying your walk down the aisle.” Then he pinned her with a look so intense, so powerful and dark, that she shivered. Beneath his gaze, all the desire, confusion, and pain that had been between them years before rushed back with the force of a lightning strike. “And quickly.”