“Are you ready for the race today?” Sir Stirling asked.
Leslie picked up the toast sitting on her plate. “As ready as I can be.” She nibbled the toast.
“I should feel sorry for Lord Barnton,” he said with a laugh.
Evan heaped eggs and bacon onto his plate. A maid entered with a fresh pot of coffee and filled their cups.
“Lord Barnton deserves everything he is about to get,” Evan said.
“I think you are going to enjoy seeing him trounced,” Alice said.
“I am.” He thanked the maid, took a sip of his coffee, then added, “Just as Lady Carr will enjoy trouncing him.”
“You are looking fine this morning, Lady Carr,” Sir Stirling said.
Leslie froze, her fork midway to her mouth. “I beg your pardon?”
Mischief lit his eyes. “I said, you are looking fine this morning.”
He knows. Impossible.
“I noticed that, as well,” Alice said.
Leslie willed herself not to look at Evan—who she knew was staring—and ate the eggs on her fork. She wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin and smiled sweetly. “Who knew rising early was good for the health?”
“Rising early, you say?” Mr. MacLaren said.
The cad was egging her on.
“What else could it be?” she said, and cursed her rebel tongue.
His brows rose.
Thankfully, before he could reply, Baroness Trent entered with three other guests. But that didn’t stop him from casting her amused glances throughout the remainder of breakfast.
***
Early that afternoon, Leslie waked with Evan toward the stables. She liked the way the muscle of his forearm flexed beneath her fingers. She longed to feel those arms around her again.
“Your hair is quite fetching,” he told her.
She resisted the urge to run a hand over the braid wound tight at her nape. “Thank you. I find the style very functional when I race.”
He chuckled. “You have a hairstyle just for racing? Hmm.”
Hmm?
“How much have you raced, my lady?”
“Enough to know that hair flying in my face is dangerous, Mr. MacLaren.”
“Are we not close enough friends that you might feel free to call me Evan—at least when we are alone?”
“If it pleases you,” she said, and managed to keep her voice even. “But only in private, and you may call me Leslie.”
“I am very fortunate.” He covered the hand that lay in the crook of his arm.
Leslie gasped softly at sight of the Arabian held by the stablemaster just outside the stable door. Evan slowed to match her pace. The snow white of the Arabian’s coat fairly shone in the early afternoon sun. He tossed his head and the muscles in his neck appeared almost chiseled. He carried his tail high, a testament to his fine breeding.
“Spectacular, is he not?” Evan asked.
“Aye,” she whispered as they neared the animal. She tracked her gaze from his tail, along his back, up his neck to his head. Her heart sped up. “He must be fifteen hands, if he’s an inch.”
“Sixteen, in fact, my lady,” Sir Stirling said as he and Baroness Trent stepped up beside them.
“Indeed, Sir Stirling is correct,” Baroness Trent said.
“A veritable beast,” Sir Stirling murmured.
Something in his voice drew her attention to him. His gaze remained on the horse, but he angled his head. A corner of his mouth ticked up and she almost thought he asked if she was certain she wanted to go through with the race.
“As Baroness Trent said, he is a spirited horse,” Leslie said.
As if to demonstrate the truth of her words, Ares pawed the ground with his left hoof. Leslie left Evan’s side and stepped close to the horse. She lifted a hand and he shifted his head as if to make eye contact with her and give permission for her to touch him. Leslie flattened her palm against his neck. The thick corded muscle beneath her fingers tensed. If he’d been a man, she would have said he was showing off. Who knew? Perhaps the male of any species shared that trait.
Baroness Trent beamed. “Did I not say you would be pleased?”
From the corner of her eye, Leslie caught sight of Lord Barnton as he emerged from the stables leading a horse. His bay was just as magnificent as the Arabian. Its chocolate brown color mingled with copper in a spectacular blend.
“He is at least two hands taller than the Arabian,” Evan muttered.
“Never fear,” the baroness whispered. “Size isn’t everything. Would you not agree, Leslie?” The older woman’s eyes twinkled.
Leslie laughed before catching herself. Sir Stirling lifted a quizzical brow. Evan however, turned a cool eye on her that said, I am not the least bit worried—and neither are you.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She wasn’t a schoolgirl. What was it about him that set her heart aflutter with a mere look? A corner of his mouth curved in a tiny smile that told her he was well aware of her thoughts. This would not do.
Lord Barnton reached them. “Baroness Trent.” He angled his head. “Lady Carr, I am pleased to see you.”
“I feel certain you knew I would be here,” she said.
“I did. I am still pleased.” He looked at Sir Stirling. “Stirling.”
Sir Stirling canted his head. “Barnton. You slept well, I hope.” His eyes twinkled. “I suspect you will need all your senses this afternoon.”
“I did, thank you.” Lastly, his eyes shifted to Evan. “MacLaren.”
The young man gave a slight bow. “My lord.”
“I hope Apollo is to your liking, Lord Barnton,” the baroness said.
“He is magnificent,” he replied. “Thank you for allowing me to ride him.”
“He will love the workout,” she said. “It is rare that these beasts have the opportunity to challenge their strength.”
“Have you laid out a course for us, Baroness?” Leslie asked.
“Matthew was kind enough to do the honors.” She smiled at the stablemaster.
All eyes turned onto him, and he said, “The east road winds around through the estate and ends at the gardener’s cottage near the pond. You will circle the pond and take the road back.”
“How long is the road?” Evan asked.
“A little under three miles,” Matthew replied.
“Six miles round trip,” the earl said. “The race will last no longer than ten minutes.”
“I wager no more than seven minutes,” Baroness Trent said.
“Aye,” Matthew agreed. “If you push the animals to their best, seven minutes.”
“Is there anyone at the pond to observe them as they make the turn?” Evan asked.
Leslie noted the earl stiffening.
“Lord Henry graciously agreed to observe from the pond,” Sir Stirling said. “You will see half a dozen other observers along the way.”
Lord Barnton smiled, but Leslie recognized the strain behind the action. “We shall do our best to entertain them.” He looked at Leslie. “Are you ready, my lady?”
“If you are, sir.”
Evan stepped up beside her and clasped his hands together in invitation to give her a leg up. The horse was so tall, she could never have lifted her leg high enough to fit her boot into the stirrup. She nodded thanks to Evan—who, blast his soul—seemed to look straight through her eyes into her soul—and grasped the pommel. Leslie braced her left boot on his hands and stepped upward. He lifted her easily and she swung her other foot over the horse’s rump and dropped onto the saddle.
“No sidesaddle, darling?” Alice said.
Leslie grasped the reins Matthew handed her and looked left, where she met her friend’s laughing eyes. “You know I abhor riding sidesaddle.”
Alice walked on the arm of a handsome gentleman. A dozen other guests followed.
“You despise it with a passion,” Alice said with a laugh. “But you should be sporting and give Lord Barnton some sort of advantage.”
; “No need to worry about me,” the earl said, an edge to his words. “Lady Carr would be well advised to race Ares as hard as she can.”
“You have five stone on her.” Alice and her gentleman stopped a few feet away. “You are already at a disadvantage.”
He gave her a thin smile. “As I am a gentleman, that is as it should be.”
Alice’s eyes glinted with mischief. “I say she will beat your time by—” she looked at her companion “—what say you, Liam, seven seconds?”
“That is quite a lead,” he replied.
Alice locked gazes with the earl. “Aye, it is. Fifty pounds. Who will take my bet?”
“I will take that bet,” a gentleman from the group said. Mr. Adderton.
Alice gave him a nod, then addressed Lord Barnton. “Will you take my bet as well, sir?”
He leapt easily into the saddle. “If it pleases you, my lady.”
Alice laughed, full and throaty. “It will please me greatly to take your money.”
“I may disappoint you on that score.”
“You could never disappoint me, Lord Barnton.”
Leslie dipped her head in order to hide a smile. Alice was a master at word play. The earl didn’t stand a chance. She realized Evan was watching her. The now too-familiar warmth heated her cheeks. She really had to do something about him. A mental picture flashed of her astride his hips, riding him like the stallion he was.
“If we are ready?” Lord Barnton’s voice cut into her thoughts.
Leslie shifted her gaze to him. “I am ready.”
He nodded and pulled on his reins, so Apollo made a half turn toward the starting line beyond the stables.
Leslie started to do the same, but paused when Sir Stirling stepped close to her horse. “If you encounter any trouble, my lady, don’t hesitate to call for help from any of the spectators.” His expression sobered. “You are certain you will not encounter any difficulties?”
Was he asking her if the earl was going to cheat?
“Ares is a handful,” he said.
There it was. He wasn’t worried about the earl cheating. He was worried she couldn’t handle the Arabian.
“You are too kind,” she replied. “But I am a skilled horsewoman.” She pulled the reins to the right and met Evan’s gaze.
“I shall be waiting at the finish line for you, my lady,” he said.
Oddly, she found that thought comforting—and exciting.
Leslie urged her horse in the direction the earl had gone. Baroness Trent stood in the middle of the road, a white, lace handkerchief in hand. Lord Barnton waited on the left side of the road. Leslie brought her horse to a stop on the right side of the baroness. She lifted the handkerchief over her head. Footfalls approached from behind.
“Ready,” she called.
A murmur rippled through the onlookers behind them.
“Set.”
Leslie tensed.
“Go!” The baroness slashed the handkerchief downward.
Leslie dug her heels into the horse’s ribs. Ares screamed, then shot forward. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Apollo. Like Ares, he seemed to ride the wind. The animal was beyond magnificent. His hooves pounded the ground so fast his legs blurred. He was fast. Faster than Ares…almost.
Baroness Trent had been right. Ares was a god amongst horses.
Leslie hunkered down. Ares’ neck pumped furiously as he ran. She relaxed into the rhythm. The meadow to her left, the trees beyond the field, the outbuildings, all passed in a blur. Only Apollo and the earl remained in sharp focus, keeping time with Ares’ speed. Even the onlookers and their shouts whipped past in a frenzy, lost in the thunder of wind across her face and blood through her ears.
Her heard pounded in rhythm with the horses’ hooves. Every time she raced, she understood what had compelled her brother to race. The thrill…the danger. There was nothing like it. Evan’s handsome face flashed before her eyes. His intense stare, the fire that lit his eyes when he looked at her. Perhaps there was one thing as thrilling as racing.
The pond came into view in the distance. Lord Henry stood beneath an oak tree beside his horse. Apollo stayed nose to nose with Ares. She had yet to push Ares to his fullest. Leslie suspected the same could be said about Apollo. The earl was a skilled rider. He wouldn’t push the bay until they neared the finish line.
It seems mere seconds when they reached the pond. Leslie pulled back on the reins as they began the turn. A bare two feet to her left, the water stretched out across the field as still as glass. To her right, Leslie discerned Apollo’s heavy breathing. Surely the horse wasn’t tiring. She kept her gaze on the curve of the path around the pond, but from the corner of her eye, her mind registered Apollo’s nose, pulling ahead.
Good, let him tire before they neared the finish line. Surely, the earl understood that it was better not to tire his horse too soon, but she wondered if his pride would allow her to stay even neck and neck on the race back to the finish line. Apollo drew ahead another two inches. How much of a lead could she allow? Baroness Trent had said Ares was faster than Apollo, but how much faster?
Could she allow, say, half a length? If she allowed more, the earl was sure to believe he had the advantage. Was the risk worth seeing his face when she shot across the finish line ahead of him in the last second? Leslie tasted satisfaction. There would be no way to claim his horse had hurt a leg this time. They were in open country with observers positioned along the way. That, she realized, was interesting. She recalled Sir Stirling’s suggestion that she call for help along the way. Had she misread his concern? Did he distrust the earl as much as she did?
Ares sped up. Leslie laughed. The animal couldn’t stand to lose to Apollo any more than she could to the earl. As usual, despite the fact she’d bound her hair in a tight braid, tendrils had broken free and whipped across her face.
They rounded the far end of the pond, headed back toward the road. Apollo took the lead another inch. Leslie caught sight of an apple-sized rock protruding from the ground ahead. If one of Ares hooves hit the rock, they could go down. The stallion could be lamed. Apollo kept pace to her right. She couldn’t veer out of the rock’s way.
Leslie pulled back on the reins. Ares bellowed. Apollo shot past them. Leslie jerked the reins right and they missed the rocked by a bear inch. Her heart thundered. The earl already had a thirty-foot lead.
“Let us see what you are made of, Ares.” She dug her heels into his ribs and his stride quickened so fast that she had to grip the pommel to keep from falling.
The thunder of his hooves nearly drowned out the pounding of her heart. They drew closer to Apollo. Three onlookers cheered as they passed. The earl looked over his shoulder. Satisfaction tightened her belly at sight of his dark expression. She was gaining. She might win—and he knew it.
Ares’ nose came even with Apollo’s rump. The earl hunkered down and whipped the reins against Apollo’s flank. They pulled farther ahead. Apollo’s legs moved in a blur.
“Come, Ares,” Leslie whispered. “You aren’t going to be beat by another stallion, are you?” She kicked his ribs.
She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the beast galloped faster. Once again, Ares’ nose came even with Apollo’s rump. Then his stomach… Chest. Her heart pounded. The earl looked at her. Fear darkened his eyes. Oh, he clearly hated losing. So did she.
Leslie hunkered low in the saddle. “Come on, lad. That’s it.”
Ares reached nose to nose with Apollo. They had a mile and a half to go.
Ares pulled ahead by half a nose. Apollo neighed. Leslie threw her head back and laughed. He didn’t like losing either.
Reins snapped. Ares screamed. Another crack of reins. Ares flinched and veered right. Leslie felt herself falling. She clamped her thighs around the saddle and grabbed the pommel in time to keep from going down.
Apollo stumbled. She drew a sharp breath as Ares shot past him. She pulled back on the reins. Ares bellowed and tossed his head. The earl cried
out. Ares slowed, and Leslie pulled the reins to the left. Ares started to turn, then she halted when Apollo raced past dragging the earl. He’d fallen, and his boot had caught in the stirrup.
Leslie cracked the reins across Ares’ rear. The beast lunged forward. Apollo wasn’t slowing. The earl tried to reach for his boot, but bounced off the ground and couldn’t reach the stirrup. Ares neared. They were a mile from the finish line. There were onlookers up ahead. Maybe someone would see them coming and try to wave Apollo down.
Ares pulled closer. The earl swiped for his legs in an effort to pull himself up. He cried out and went limp. Leslie’s heart pounded. They neared Apollo and she urged Ares to Apollo’s left. The reins whipped at his sides. She would have to get close to Apollo’s head in order to grab the reins without possibly losing an eye. They would reach the finish line in minutes. She could see the stables in the distance. Still, they were too far away for anyone there to know what had happened.
A cry went up. Mr. Drucker and Lord Robert stood near the fence on the right side of the road and had caught sight of them. They raced into the road. Apollo neighed loudly. Fear tightened her stomach. Leslie hunkered closer to Ares’ neck.
The two men waved their hands and shouted for Apollo to stop. Apollo abruptly veered left. Leslie yanked the reins left in order to avoid colliding with the animal’s flank. He left the road and raced across the field. Her blood chilled. She couldn’t see the earl, but she didn’t like his silence.
“Now, Ares.” She snapped the reins across his flanks.
He gained on Apollo. She kept clear of the whipping reins, but when they neared the bay’s neck, Leslie handed Ares’ reins off to her left hand and grabbed for Apollo’s reins. Her fingers closed around the thin leather. She pulled back on Ares, and Apollo’s reins. Apollo screamed and tossed his head. Her shoulders ached with the strain of slowing both horses. Slowly, too slowly for her liking, both horses finally stopped.
She gripped the pommel, swung her leg over his hindquarters and dropped to the ground. An instant later, Leslie reached the motionless earl. She disengaged his boot from the stirrup, then dropped to her knees beside him. She pressed two fingers to the side of his neck and released a breath when his heartbeat thrummed against her fingers.
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