Page 21 of Seduction of a Widow

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.