As people returned to their conversations, he looked down at Pris, hanging on his arm, looked into her eyes, bright emerald and enchanting. Different from before; he only needed that one look to know she was-for the first time since he’d met her-carefree. As she should be.
His own smile deepening, feeling his heart lift in response to her clear happiness, he took her hand, moving her back a pace, out of the pressing crowd. “Barnaby mentioned you were nearly caught by Crom.”
Luckily, Barnaby had prefaced the news with the information that all had gone well, so he hadn’t reacted as he might have, for which small mercy he was grateful.
Pris’s smile didn’t dim, but her eyes widened. “Thank God he was there-Barnaby, I mean. He stopped Crom just before he walked in. I was halfway down the aisle with Black Rose-I would never have got out if Barnaby hadn’t intervened.”
“He’s useful in such situations. So how did it go?”
She was very happy to tell him; he listened, not just to her words but to the music in her voice, to the lighter notes in the soft brogue that never failed to mesmerize him, to the burbling lilt of happiness that made music of her joy.
It was a lighter, brighter melody he hadn’t heard from her before; the sound wrapped about his heart and warmed him in some mysterious way he couldn’t begin to describe.
“But what of you?” She opened her eyes at him. “How did you fare with Harkness?”
He told her, then, straightening, looked over the heads. “Speaking of Harkness, let’s go and talk to Barnaby- there’s more that happened later.”
Taking her hand, he led her through the crowd, stopping when she insisted he partake of the sandwiches and delicacies laid out on a table. With a plate in one hand and her by his side, they tacked through the company, pausing to acknowledge and thank those of his house hold and Demon’s lads they encountered along the way.
The three stewards each made a point of coming up to him, congratulating him, shaking his hand, thumping his shoulder. All three were not just pleased but deeply delighted at the outcome of his actions, his response to their request he investigate the rumors.
“To have struck such a blow against the felons plaguing our industry-well, m’boy, what more could we ask?” Lord Canterbury clapped him on the shoulder again. “Not even your father could have done better.”
It was clear someone had explained all to them; Dillon was left to wonder who.
The General was sitting beside Eugenia; after she added her warm congratulations, he met Dillon’s gaze and simply smiled. “Well done, m’boy. It was the right risk to take.”
Looking into his father’s old eyes, Dillon clasped his hand, held it for a moment, then with a smile, released it. If his father had told the stewards, it was because he’d felt the need to protect him-to ensure that having taken the risk, he wouldn’t face any unnecessary repercussions. An understandable action, yet…
Putting his misgivings aside, he allowed Pris to steer him to Barnaby, who was chatting with Rus, Adelaide, and Patrick.
Pris stood beside Dillon while he and the others exclaimed and exchanged comments, recounting and reliving their glorious plan. She couldn’t stop smiling; she couldn’t recall the last time her heart had felt so light-she literally felt like dancing with happiness. It took discipline not to jig.
“I can’t believe it’s all over.” Adelaide beamed at Dillon, then looked up at Rus beside her. “It’s such a relief.”
Smiling every bit as much as Pris, Rus glanced down, then tapped Adelaide’s nose. “All’s well that ends well.”
Pris laughed, and agreed. Given the light shining in Adelaide’s eyes, given that Pris knew her twin was far from blind, she was starting to suspect that Rus wasn’t as unaware of Adelaide’s plans as he pretended to be. Indeed, she was starting to wonder if he was considering falling in with them, in his own, eccentrically wild way.
She hoped he did; she’d known for the past year that Adelaide was the right lady for him. She was quieter, steadier-an anchor for his mercurial temperament-but she didn’t shock easily, nor was she weak. Her strength wasn’t the obvious, outgoing sort, but the type that endured. She would be the steadfast rock around which Rus’s life could revolve.
Glancing up, Pris met Patrick’s eyes and saw a similar speculation there. She let her own smile widen; grinning, Patrick nodded.
He turned to Rus. “You were going to introduce us to the Cynsters’ head lad.”
Distracted from his contemplation of Adelaide’s face, Rus blinked, then nodded. “Yes, indeed! Come on-he’s over there.”
Flashing a grin at Pris, Dillon, and Barnaby, Rus led the other two off.
To Pris’s surprise, Barnaby instantly sobered; the change was dramatic, as if he’d dropped a genial mask to reveal the sharp mind and hard intelligence behind it.
“What’s up?” Hard blue eyes fixed on Dillon’s face, Barnaby raised his brows.
She glanced at Dillon in time to see his lips twist, wry but deadly serious.
“I would have greatly preferred the news of our accomplishment to have remained among friends, so that any potential recriminations concentrated on Cromarty and Harkness, and reached no further. However…” Looking across the room at the three stewards, Dillon grimaced.
“But it was clearly not to be,” Barnaby returned, “and with any luck we’ll have driven Mr. X from the field sufficiently forcefully that he’ll be too busy licking his wounds to worry about lashing out at anyone.”
Barnaby’s voice faded toward the end of that sentence; Pris inwardly frowned when he glanced-ruefully?-at Dillon.
Dillon caught the glance, fleetingly raised his brows. “Precisely.” He spoke quietly. “Badly injured curs are at their most dangerous-they feel they have nothing left to lose.”
Barnaby grimaced. “Too true.”
“However”-Dillon’s voice strengthened-“that’s apropos of what I have to report.” He met Barnaby’s instantly alert gaze. “We assumed Cromarty and Harkness, not wanting to incriminate themselves, would resist any inducements to tell us more-for instance who Mr. X is. After witnessing their reactions after Belle won, I believe we should revisit that assumption.”
Barnaby’s eyes lit. “You think they’ll talk?”
“I think that, with a little judicious persuasion, they might come to view self-incrimination as the lesser of two evils.”
“Oh-ho! Right, then.” Barnaby rubbed his hands together. “When are you thinking of paying them a visit?”
“I’ve had my race stewards invite them, separately, for an interview-they’re at the Jockey Club awaiting my return.”
“Ah.” Barnaby nodded in understanding. “In that case, let’s give them another hour or two to dwell on the future.”
“My thinking exactly.”
Pris had listened without comment, her joyful smile still in place, her tongue firmly fixed between her teeth. She longed to demand a place-at least a listening brief-at the interviews with Cromarty and Harkness, but…that wasn’t possible. Such a request would be unreasonable, too difficult to arrange…and while before, she’d felt a part of their team, now…now she’d found Rus, and he was free and no longer under any threat, her part in the adventure had ended.
And Dillon was moving on without her, as he should. He and Barnaby would pursue Mr. X as far as they could. Everyone would expect it, and of course, they would forge on…
She no longer had any part in their game. The knowledge caused a definite pang, but she quelled it. She kept her expression bright, and smiled encouragingly when Dillon glanced her way.
Demon appeared, collected as always, as if viewing the assembled celebrating multitude from a lofty but benign height. Pausing beside Dillon, he sipped, then said, “It was I who told the club stewards.”
Dillon’s gaze swung to him; he raised his brows.
Demon faintly smiled. “You were watching Cromarty and Harkness-you didn’t see how many others were watching them, too, how many others were visited by sudden suspicions.
