Chapter 17
The race was shaping up to be quite a show.
Peter loved it. He was sitting atop Augustus ready to go. Now, perhaps if he’d been a bit smarter, or mercenary, he would have picked a faster horse, but he loved Augustus and the only horse he would be racing today would be him.
The Duke of Windbourne was there on his Arabian, ready to race down the field too.
This was not a proper racetrack. Oh no, the Duke of Rivers had found a place out in the middle of nowhere, the sort of thing that only wild, powerful men did to get around the rules of society.
The Duke of Rivers had set it all up.
He had paid a man, the field had been scraped, and it was going to be a bloody brilliant turf battle.
Several other lords were there. Money had already been put in the pot, and the money from the pot would be going to a children’s hospital that was being built in the East End of London by none other than the Countess of Seaborough.
It was a collaborative and collective effort of people coming together to have a good time, to show off their horses, and to do a bit of good. And yet she wasn’t there.
Where the devil was Ruby?
He kept looking for her, but he had yet to spot her as the gentleman lined up their horses, all sleek and fierce and raring to go.
There were perhaps fifty people watching the race.
Lords, ladies, the Duke of Rivers, of course, and the Duke of Westfort, the Earl of Seaborough, and their wives were watching.
Fennyman, the gaming house owner, and the Duke of Rivers’ butler, Harlowe, were in attendance.
He didn’t quite understand why a butler was needed at such an event, but fair play to Rivers for bringing him out to have a nice day.
Lady Ruby’s parents were there as well, which surprised him, especially if she was not going to show. His brow furrowed. Surely, she would be standing with them if she was.
But then much to his shock, he spotted a lady in the crowd that surprised him.
His sister, Abigail! Abigail was standing in a beautiful gown of green silk and a straw bonnet decorated with white roses.
She was resting her gloved hands against the makeshift rope that had been put up to make certain that people didn’t rush onto the racetrack.
When she caught sight of him, a copse of oak trees lending shade just behind her, she waved at him.
At him.
He looked about almost as if he was certain that she was waving at a patron he was unaware of, or some other friend that she had come to see, but then he realized that she was there for him. He couldn’t stop the smile spreading over his face.
This would be a good day, if Ruby would but show up. He kept searching the crowd.
“Are you looking for someone, my lord?” a young voice said. It was the voice of a boy who had not quite gotten the deep timbre of manhood, one that was almost familiar, but not quite.
“I am, lad,” he said without looking back. “Someone very dear to me. And I…” At last, he turned to look to the boy and his voice died in his throat.
“I don’t suppose Ruby has a brother,” he rasped.
“No,” the lad said, shaking his head to indicate he had no hidden siblings. “My parents would never bother to hide them. They would fling them out proudly.”
He blinked. “You’re not really going to race, are you?” he breathed.
Ruby beamed, which caused a rather sprightly dimple to form in her cheek. “Oh yes, I most definitely I am.”
“That’s why my sister is here,” he groaned. “Isn’t it?”
She waggled her brows and smiled brightly.
“Don’t do that,” he whispered. “You look too beautiful when you do that.”
She tsked. “You’re a very smart fellow to figure it out so quickly.”
“You do look like a boy, but you also look like you, and I know my sister knows how to do such a thing.” Something happened to him then as it hit him that Abigail and Ruby were in cahoots together. “You went and saw her, didn’t you?”
She gave him a little salute. Her hat was rested at a jaunty angle atop her boy’s wig. She looked magnificent in a loose jacket that covered up her form. The coat spilled over her hips, hiding their curves. And she wore breeches and waistcoat and sat with a magnificent sort of swagger.
“You do male arrogance very well. If you were to get down, I’d expect you to swagger like a swain,” he said. “Did she teach you how to do that?”
“Oh no, I didn’t need to be taught how to swagger,” Ruby returned, resting her hand on her thigh just as a man would. “I already know how to do that. And, of course, I have watched many men like yourself do it. It’s quite easy to replicate once you understand the whole point.”
“And what is that?” he queried, adoring this.
“To show everyone around that one is the very best and can’t possibly be argued with.”
“And are you the very best today?” he asked, knowing she was.
“Oh, for certain,” she crowed. “Everyone should simply get out of my way. My mare won’t be stopped.”
“Except possibly by me,” a deep voice rumbled.
The Duke of Windbourne brought his horse up beside them. “Hmm, lad,” the duke began, “nice to see you today. I haven’t made your acquaintance. May I know your name?”
“George,” she blurted.
“George?” the duke queried, his lips twisting in an amused smile as his dark eyes traveled over Ruby.
“A very good, patriotic name,” he said. “Now, George,” he said, leaning in, “you stick close to that fellow there, Viscount Skyburn, and he’ll take very good care of you.
And you two can watch my horse’s tail as I fly down the track, and you will be forced to eat the clods kicked up by his hooves. ”
Ruby snorted. “That’s only because you have horses that you will not share. Though my mare is magnificent, your Arabians are legend.”
The duke laughed. “Why should I share them? They’re mine.”
She sighed. “Typical sentiment of a duke.”
Windbourne nodded. “That’s right. Typical sentiment of an English duke,” he said. And then he waggled his brows. “But I suppose for the right people, who’ve shown me that they’re the right sort, perhaps I might consider parting with one as a wedding gift.”
And with that, the duke turned and looked down the track, clearly ready to go.
Peter exchanged a swift, amused glance with Ruby. He couldn’t believe it, but it seemed that the duke recognized who she was too.
“Drat,” she whispered. “I thought my disguise was better than that.”
“I think it’s good enough for most,” he assured. “But that one? He’s unique.”
“You can say that again,” she laughed.
And then a flag was waved, and they were off, battling down the track.
Peter gave his horse, Augustus, his head, and Augustus’s powerful body tore down the field. And for several moments, it seemed as if he was most certainly going to be in the lead. He thrilled at the feeling.
Then Ruby tore down next to him and soon her mare, who was light and agile, was outpacing him.
Much to his shock and pure delight, he realized that Ruby was happier than he had ever seen her, here with him, racing for her life, with his sister supporting her.
This was all she had ever needed. This was all she’d ever wanted, to be free, to have someone like Abigail in her life, and to have someone like him who loved her, cheering her on rather than telling her she needed no one.
He always would because he knew she would do exactly the same for him. And as he tore down the track, he prayed she’d win, prayed she outpaced all the other gentlemen.
But then he heard someone yelling in his ear. “Something’s wrong, old boy. Something’s wrong.”
Peter’s heart hurtled into his mouth, terrified that something was wrong with Ruby’s horse. Everything looked well for her, and she was close to the finish line. He breathed a sigh of relief, but then suddenly he felt his saddle swing to the right.
He turned his head left and spotted the Duke of Windbourne. The duke’s eyes were wide with terror. He was shouting at Peter, pointing, and then he realized that his saddle was coming free of the horse. Before he could do anything or grab hold of Augustus’s mane, he was soaring in the air, flying.
The sky was blue up above. There wasn’t a cloud in the hot sky.
Not a single bird soared over head. No, there was nothing but bright blue.
He couldn’t hear anything, not the screams of the crowd, nor the hoofbeats of the horses around him. And he hit the ground hard. So hard that he tasted dirt. And for one moment, he was terrified that he was going to be beaten to death by horse hooves racing down the track. But then all went black.
“Where the devil is she?” the Duke of Rivers demanded.
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” replied Fennyman, somehow managing to look completely at ease in the country, even though he had lived in the city almost all his life.
“She’s supposed to be here,” Rivers said. “Why isn’t she here? This entire thing was arranged for Skyburn and her.”
Lord Philip strode up to them. “I don’t know why she’s not here, but she did leave the house this morning. She went to go visit someone.”
Rivers blinked. “Who?”
Philip wiped an errant lock of hair back from his eyes. “The actress, Abigail Simpson, the one I was telling you about.”
“The one that he’s overly sensitive about?” Rivers demanded before he scowled. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense. If he’s having an affair with her, why would Lady Ruby go and see her?”
“To stab her,” Fennyman drawled. “But she’s not that sort. And I don’t think there is an affair of any kind, except for the one taking place between Skyburn and Lady Ruby.”
“No, indeed,” Harlowe agreed. “Besides, Lady Ruby might be passionate, but I certainly don’t think she’s actually going to follow through with her threats to stab someone.”
“I don’t know,” Philip said. “People can be quite passionate when it comes to the heart. But,” Philip continued, “I’ve done some digging.”
“Have you, by God?” Rivers said.
Fennyman arched a brow. “More digging than I did?”
“Yes,” said Philip with a hint of triumph. “I had a strong hunch. And I talked to a few servants, who talked to another few servants who worked for Skyburn’s father years ago.”
“And?” prompted Rivers and Fennyman together, both rather impatient.
Philip paused for effect. “Mrs. Simpson is his sister.”
“Who?” Rivers demanded.
“His sister!” affirmed Lord Philip.
Fennyman groaned. “Of course, that makes perfect sense. But it would have helped if we had known this.”
“It must be causing a difficulty in the whole arrangement of this affair,” said Rivers.
Fennyman snorted. “Now, what could make you say that?”
Harlowe cleared his throat, bringing his gloved hand to his mouth. “She’s here.”
“She’s late.” He hated when people were late. He couldn’t see her and so he queried, “Where?”
Rivers looked about the crowd, catching sight of the flag as it waved at the start line and the horses began to race down.
“There,” Harlowe reiterated.
“Where?” Rivers demanded again, still unable to see her in the crowd.
A note of amused horror slipped past Fennyman’s lips. “No.”
“Yes,” said Lord Philip, cheering.
Harlowe let out a peep of dismay. “It can’t be.”
“Can’t be what?” Rivers demanded, exasperated.
“There,” the other three shouted at him, and then he realized that they were not looking at the crowd. They were looking at the race.
His eyes flared.
The person, the young man, racing between the Duke of Windbourne and Viscount Skyburn was none other than Lady Ruby Reynolds. One wouldn’t know it if one didn’t know her. And if one didn’t know her predilection for breaking every single rule, they’d have never guessed.
She looked like a boy of about seventeen years of age, but it was definitely her. If she’d had a brother, he would’ve looked like that.
And suddenly Rivers felt sick to his stomach. If something happened to her, everything was over. If something happened to her, Skyburn would never forgive him.
“What have I done? What have I done?” he kept murmuring.
“Shush,” Harlowe said. “She’s winning.”
“What?” Rivers asked, opening his eyes, not having realized he’d closed them.
Fennyman let out a rather surprising cheer. “Look at her go. Look at that mare.”
Rivers felt a flare of hope that all would work out and a smile began to tug at his lips.
And then Lord Philip let out a cry of dismay. “Something’s wrong.”
“What?” Rivers gripped the rope before him.
“The Duke of Windbourne is going to run Skyburn off the track,” Fennyman said.
“What are you talking about?” Rivers said. “He’s not that sort of person.”
Fennyman shook his head. “He must be. Look, look, he’s racing far too close to him.”
And then it suddenly became clear.
Windbourne was trying to warn Skyburn.
Viscount Skyburn flew through the air, his saddle rattling to the ground. His horse still darted forward, and Rivers felt everything he had ever worked for disintegrate. And he didn’t care, not one bit, because in that moment, he was very sure that one of his closest friends was dead.