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“No, I’m not going to kidnap you.” He released her so suddenly that she nearly fell. “But you go in there and I’ll tell them all who you are…or rather what you are.” He looked down at her. “What have you done, bound your breasts?” He reached out with his free hand to brush her hair with his fingertips. “And you’ve cut your hair, your beautiful hair? Sapphire, have you lost your mind?”
She looked down at the floor, at the tips of her polished black boots. Mr. Carrington had to have them made just for her because they were so small for a man.
“Sapphire,” he said quietly. “Think. Use that brain of yours that I know you have. We don’t need this kind of scandal. Nor does the gentleman who hired you when you falsely represented yourself.”
We? What did he mean by we? She bit down on her lip. And she hadn’t thought about the others at Carrington Farms. She and Prince had been winning every race; her competitors would jump at the chance to discredit her, the horse, Carrington. Even in America, women were not allowed to race. They would all be disgraced, and not just Mr. Carrington. Red had hired her. Cosco had reluctantly allowed her to ride Prince. She owed it to these men not to make them pay for her falsehoods.
“All right,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around her waist, hating him for doing this to her, hating herself for getting into a position that could allow him to do this to her again. Worst of all, she hated herself for wanting him the way she did right now.
“You’ll go with me?”
He held out his arms and she couldn’t stop herself; she stepped into them and closed her eyes, burying her face in his shirt, in the scent of him.
“I’ll go with you,” she said, and then whispered, “at least for tonight.”
As Blake promised, he discreetly escorted Sapphire down the corridor, through the kitchens, and up a rear staircase. No one saw them and they were soon in his hotel room. “Let me get you something to drink,” he said as he locked the door behind them.
She just stood there in the middle of his lavish hotel suite, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.
“Champagne?” he asked.
She shrugged. “That would be fine.”
“I’ll order something for us to eat later.”
“Later,” she repeated.
He popped the cork on the champagne bottle and poured her a glass. As he pushed a fluted crystal glass into her hand, she lifted her gaze. “Did you intend to have a private celebration with someone?”
He scowled. “It was a gift from a colleague. I was here on business and Manford—he’s downstairs—he was the one who convinced me to come down. If I hadn’t given in, I might not have—” He fell silent.
Sapphire wished she knew what he was thinking. He had seemed happy to see her downstairs, but now…now she couldn’t be sure.
“Drink up,” he said. “And come sit down. I want you to tell me where you’ve been all these months.” He led her to two chairs beside each other in front of a fireplace glowing with burning coals. Though it was June, it was still cool at night, and Sapphire sat on the edge of the upholstered wingback chair, appreciating the heat coming from the marble hearth.
“There’s not that much to tell.” She sipped the champagne, looking at him over the rim of the glass. He was thinner than he had been when she last saw him. He didn’t look as if he had been taking very good care of himself. Had it been because of her? Had he been worrying over her? “I left Boston that night, and a day later I met a nice man and I ended up at the Carrington stables, riding as a jockey.”
He shook his head. “I want the whole story, Sapphire. Every step you took on that road. Every person you spoke to. I can’t tell you how distraught I’ve been.”
She studied the lines across his forehead, still wishing she knew what he was really thinking. No, what he was feeling. Then she began to tell him what had happened in the months since they had last sat beside each other—the people who had helped her, the boys in the stable, the horses she had groomed. She told him about Petrosky and Red and the kittens in the barn. She told him all about Stowe back at Carrington Farm who seemed to be more Red’s dog as of late than hers. She talked about her riding lessons and cutting her hair and how she’d nearly been caught once bathing in the tack room.
Before she knew it, the case clock on the mantel was chiming midnight and she had been in the chair beside Blake so long that her legs were stiff when she stood to stretch them.
“I should go,” she said.
He stood in front of her and drew his finger along the collar of her starched white shirt, nearly identical to his. “I still can’t believe you’ve been masquerading as a stable boy, a groom, a jockey, whatever the hell they think you are, all these months.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you got away with it.”
She smiled. She didn’t know what had happened to her anger in the past four hours, but it was gone. Now, all she felt was a strange sense of peace.
“I don’t understand why you would be surprised that I could get away with pretending I am a young man.” She reached up and stroked his neck just above his collar, mimicking his gesture. “I got away with pretending I was a maid, remember? Molly the maid.”
He smiled, tipped his head back and chuckled. “That was wrong of me.” He pulled her into his arms and she gazed into his eyes, lifting her brows.
“Was that an apology?”
He kissed her lightly on the lips and for a moment she held herself stiff in his arms. A thousand thoughts flew through her head. What she wished he would say. What she wished could be…
Then she felt herself relax and sensed that peace again. She parted her lips, allowing her eyes to drift shut.
