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.
Leslie caught sight of the blood oozing from a gash just above his right temple—and his left side where his coat had torn, she realized with horror. Blood leaked too quickly from the wound. She pushed to her feet and yanked off her inner petticoat. She knelt again, folded and pressed the petticoat against the wound. The wound needed to be bound. How could she bind it without him bleeding to death?
At the pounding of boots, she looked up. Mr. Drucker and Lord Robert raced toward her. A need to cry rushed to the surface. Thank God. Lord Henry galloped toward them down the road. The men would be able to help bind the wound and get him to the mansion.
The men reached her side and Mr. Drucker dropped to one knee beside her.
“We must bind the wound,” Leslie said. Blood had seeped through the petticoat to her hand.
The pounding of hooves yanked her gaze in the direction of the approaching horse. Lord Henry neared them. She caught sight of another horse racing toward them from the direction of the mansion.
“The damned petticoat is nigh well soaked with blood,” Mr. Drucker muttered. “Robert, give me your coat.”
The younger man whipped off his coat and handed it to Mr. Drucker. “Have you another petticoat, my lady?” he asked as Lord Henry arrived.
“Aye.” Leslie stood.
Lord Henry leapt from the saddle. “How is he?”
“Alive,” Mr. Drucker said, and pressed Lord Robert’s coat against the wound.
Leslie stepped around Ares and slipped off her second petticoat. She hurried around Ares, the petticoat in hand.
“Lord Henry, tear the petticoat so I can bind the wound, if you will,” Mr. Drucker said.
Lord Henry took the petticoat and tore it into one long strip, then handed it to Mr. Drucker. The rider came into better view and Leslie recognized Sir Stirling.
; Lord Henry went down on one knee. “I’ll lift him while you wrap the petticoat around him.”
Sir Stirling reached them and jumped from his horse. “What happened?”
“He fell from his horse and his foot caught in the stirrup.” She refrained from saying that the idiot had cracked his reins across her horse’s rump and, in the process, had fallen from his horse.
She’d known he hated losing, but she hadn’t guessed that he would go so far as to put his life in danger to keep from losing.
Chapter Six
Evan helped Leslie up onto her horse, then swung into the saddle of his mount and they rode side by side behind the wagon carrying Barnton. What the bloody hell had happened? He didn’t believe for an instant that Barnton simply fell from his horse. For all his faults, he was a superb horseman. In truth, while Evan had wanted Leslie to beat the earl, he hadn’t been sure she could. He glanced at her. She kept her gaze on the wagon, her mouth a tight, thin line. What had her so worried?
They reached the stables.
The baroness hurried toward them. “Take him to the house,” she ordered. “The side entrance.”
They continued to the house with everyone following at a fast walk. At the side door, Evan leapt from the saddle. Leslie dismounted before he reached her.
Sir Stirling reached the cart. “Lads, grab his shoulders.” Stirling grasped his legs while the driver and the footman grasped his head.
They lifted him from the wagon. Evan hurried ahead of them and opened the door. They entered a hallway and Evan took Barnton’s left leg from Stirling.
The baroness reached them, and said, “Take the stairs to the left. We will put him in his room. Louisa,” she called, “have Angus fetch the doctor right away.”
They took the stairs and Baroness Trent directed them to the first guestroom on the right. She pulled clothes from a drawer. A maid appeared in the doorway.
Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 45