“Who are they?” Jamie asked.
“Members of the Four-Horse Club,” Mari replied, her eyes widening as the two young drivers traded good-natured insults. “They normally assemble at Cavendish Square on alternate Thursdays to drive to Salt Hill along the Bath Road. Jillian told me it originated with a group of reckless youths racing over rough roads years ago.”
“It looks like they are getting to ready to race now.”
“That is against the rules. Sir Peyton and Mr. Annesley are the patrons who oversee Rotten Row. I know Jillian said they absolutely forbade racing.”
“Lads dinnae always follow rules, lass,” Jamie said and pointed across the way. “It looks like they are attracting an audience.”
Mari shaded her eyes and looked over to where Yancy Newell and Nevin Faulkner sat astride their horses along with a small group of onlookers. Yancy tipped his hat to her, then narrowed his eyes at Jamie while Nevin just stared at him.
Jamie quirked up a corner of his mouth. “I dinnae think those two much like me.”
“Only because Yancy is keen on Amelia and Nevin fancies himself Violetta’s beau.”
Jamie shook his head. “They are welcome to those lasses. Neither one thinks past the next party. ’Tis nae—” He stopped as a man fired a pistol into the air and the bays half reared before their handlers whipped them into racing. He watched as the carriages careened wildly, the spokes of the wheels getting much too close for safety. The young men whipped their horses again, and Jamie flinched.
“I would like to tan the hides of those two fools,” he said as he set his mouth in a grim line. “’Tis nae need to whip the beasts.” His words were almost drowned out as the small group watching yelled for their favorite to win. The carriages nearly rolled as they finished in a cloud of dust. Jamie couldn’t see who won, not that it mattered. “Eejits,” he muttered. “Idiots. Simpletons. They put those animals at risk by running too closely.”
Mari looked as though she might actually agree with him for once, but before she could say anything, Yancy and Nevin rode up.
“That is a mighty fine piece of horseflesh,” Nevin said as he looked over Nero.
“Aye, ’tis an Andalusian,” Jamie answered, “one of Lady Newburn’s bre—er, stock from Spain.”
As if he knew he were being spoken of, Nero arched his silvery neck, and his short ears perked forward while he blew softly through flared nostrils, his large, velvety eyes watchful.
“Can he run?” Yancy asked.
“Aye.”
Nevin’s lip curled. “Do you want to put that to the test? Perhaps for a slight wager?”
Jamie studied him. “Nae. I have nothing to prove.”
“One might interpret that as not having enough confidence in your mount,” Yancy said.
“Or perhaps not enough confidence in your ability,” Nevin added as he edged his horse closer.
Jamie refrained from clenching his fist and kept his face impassive. The two were baiting him. Nero snorted and pawed the ground. The stallion wanted to run, and Jamie had no doubt he could leave both lads eating his dust, but he didn’t want to put Nero at risk for breaking a leg. He’d seen how those carriages rocked over the ruts that needed to be smoothed out. The terrain was too uneven.
“Ye will have to wait until another day to find out,” Jamie answered.
Yancy nudged his horse nearer. Nero flattened his ears. “Move back,” Jamie ordered. “Dinnae close him in.”
It was too late. Nero bared his teeth, slicing at Yancy’s horse. Jamie reined him in, but not before his sharp hind hooves delivered a kick aimed at Nevin’s animal, who reared, front legs flailing. From behind him, he heard Mari’s roan squeal, and then Mari screamed as her horse bolted, thundering down Rotten Row.
Cursing, Jamie lashed out, but both men backed their horses away. He turned Nero, giving the stallion his head as he leaned over the withers to allow the powerful hindquarters to work. The gelding ahead was running full out, and Jamie could see Mari’s position was precarious as she swayed dangerously on the side-saddle. He made a silent vow he would teach her to ride astride if only God would keep her upright until he could reach her.
The hope was short-lived as the gelding veered suddenly, coming to an abrupt halt as one of the returning barouches cut across his path. Mari sailed over the horse’s head to land with a hard thump that Jamie could hear as Nero skidded to a thundering stop.
Jamie slid from the horse before the gravel quit flying. Oh, Lord. How badly was Mari hurt? Or worse… She was so still. He knelt beside her, half-crazed. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t insisted she learn to ride…
Mari moaned, her eyes fluttering open slowly.
“Dinnae move,” Jamie commanded, holding her shoulders as she started to stir.
“What happened? I remember—”
