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Saxon gripped the window ledge. Had Raggert done precisely that? And, if so, was it too late to thwart whatever plan he’d set into motion?
Restlessly, Saxon peered out, counting the occupants of the carriage. Trenton and Ariana Kingsley, Raggert, Stoddard, Sullivan, and Lord Tyreham. Brackley had already ridden off astride Dagger in order to give the thoroughbred a brisk mile-and-a-half walk in preparation for the race.
All those attending the Derby were accounted for.
And since Saxon’s own job was to stay behind and, along with his uncle and Mrs. Hopkins, oversee young Alexander, all he had to do was wait.
By the time he’d collected his pistol and slipped a metal file in his pocket, the carriage had disappeared around the drive, along with the very suspect he intended to investigate.
Determinedly, he headed for Raggert’s quarters. Pausing at the doorway, he glanced about to ensure he was alone, then extracted his file and, with one swift slide, gained the entry he sought.
There was enough light shining from the window to guide his way, and Saxon moved about, checking the drawers, wardrobe, even the pockets of Raggert’s clothing for signs of anything incriminating.
He found it beneath the bed.
There, wrapped in a concealing sheet and shoved beneath the bed’s far corner, was a horse’s girth—complete with billet straps and covers—distinguished by a tiny gold plate engraved with one word: “Dagger.”
Saxon stared at his findings, his mind already at Epsom. Swiftly, he stuffed the girth back into the sheet and restored it to its hiding place. Relocking the door, he took the grounds at a dead run.
Minutes later, having alerted his uncle to the urgent nature of his business, Saxon leaped into the phaeton and took off for the Derby.
The starting flag rose … and hovered.
Rather than the dread she’d anticipated, all Nicole could feel was an acute surge of relief. She was undiscovered. Thanks to Dustin’s planning, she’d successfully fooled the Clerk of the Scales, the starter, and the other jockeys. At long last, the race was about to commence. Now she had only one thing left to do.
Win.
“We can do it,” she informed Dagger softly. “I know we can.”
The flag dropped.
And the Der
by had begun.
Urging Dagger forward, Nicole glanced neither to the left nor the right. She was oblivious to the crowds and the cheers, focused only on Dagger and where she intended him to go.
They were out in front, leading everyone but Baker who was directly to her left, closer to the inside rail. Dagger was taking the ascent beautifully, but it was her job to determine the best place to move forward and, ideally, over—to dominate the inside rail in order to shorten her distance to the winning post.
Pacing, Nickie, she could hear her father say. Don’t avert your head. It will confuse Dagger and slow you down. Trust your instincts. Then follow them.
Leaning forward in the saddle, Nicole pushed Dagger for a spurt of speed. He complied, and an instant later, they shot ahead of Baker and Demon, then over to the inside rail.
Tattenham Corner was just beyond the curve of the horseshoe. That meant the sharp descent would soon be upon her. She had to take the curve slow and easy, pace Dagger as they shifted downward, then hold that pace as they headed into the straightaway that would take them to the winning post.
It was at that moment Nicole felt her saddle slip.
The slightest of motions, she felt it nonetheless. And so did Dagger. He missed a step, then regained it, as Nicole fitted herself more snugly against him. The saddle was loose, there was no doubt about it. But why?
Legs gripping Dagger’s sides, Nicole forced herself to concentrate on the course. They were rounding the curve now, shifting into the decline as Tattenham Corner loomed just ahead.
The saddle jerked to a side.
“Something’s wrong.” In the grandstand, Dustin came to his feet like a bullet, his gaze fixed on the deep green color of Nicole’s cap.
“What do you mean?” Ariana demanded.
“I mean, Stoddard is off balance. Something’s wrong.”
