looked like he was going to indulge in a bout of fisticuffs with his brother-in-law. Aelfreth, sick as a dog, had handed over his silks without a word of protest, right down to his signature red, black, and white handkerchief. Bannister was muttering profanities as he saw to William, Beast was contentedly napping amid the commotion, and Eve was…
In love with her husband.
How could she have doubted him? How could she have put some silly fear about scandal and ruin ahead of the kind of faith she saw in Deene’s eyes every time he looked at her? She still had the sense he wasn’t being entirely forthcoming about his situation with Dolan—and didn’t Mr. Dolan also have a great deal to answer for on this fine day?—but nothing else seemed to matter beside the magnitude of Deene’s faith in her.
“You don’t seem nervous,” Kesmore observed while Deene led William from his stall.
“I cannot disappoint my husband, Joseph. He has placed all of his trust in me, and this… this is reassuring.”
Kesmore draped a heavy arm around Eve’s shoulders, and she realized—because the man could not be seen exactly hugging Deene’s jockey—this was a show of support from the earl. “How is it, my dear, Deene asks you to risk your fool neck in a goddamned idiot horse race over wet grass and greasy mud, and this earns him your undying devotion?”
She didn’t understand it entirely herself, and had considered that Deene had asked her to ride merely as a show of loyalty, while he fully intended to ride himself; but no, they’d argued about which of the two of them should ride the colt—they’d finally argued, in heated whispers and long silences, and even a few pointed fingers and waved hands, and now Eve was going to do the unthinkable and ride William in a match race.
The steward watched while William was trotted straightaway, turned, and trotted back. The horse went sound—of course he did—and with no evidence of any drugging.
“To the starting line, then,” the steward said. “Greymoor wants a clean race.” This last was directed at Eve where she stood beside Kesmore. “No bad conduct, no allegations of bad conduct, not even muttering into your ale next week about bad conduct—not with the riding crops, not with the horses, not with anything, or Greymoor will declare the match a dead heat, see if he doesn’t.”
Eve tugged the brim of her cap even lower with an acknowledging nod, then breathed a sigh of relief to see the steward hustle off toward the starting line.
“Thank God there’s no handicapping, so we don’t have to weigh you in. The finish will be tricky as it is,” Kesmore said, keeping his voice down while Deene went about saddling William up. “You dismount at the first opportunity, and we’ll put Bannister or one of the lads up to walk the horse out. You off, Bannister on, and then out of these silks, my lady. Louisa will assist you.”
Eve nodded again, accepting that the subterfuge was unavoidable. She hardly wanted her family knowing she’d indulged in such a flight, much less the world at large—why, it would cause a scandal—
She watched Deene snugging up the girth on the horse and wondered why this hadn’t occurred to her earlier. If it was discovered Deene had let his wife ride even in a private match race, there would be such awful talk, about him, about her… Dolan would exploit that talk and use it mercilessly.
Her knees went weak at the magnitude of the risk Deene was taking. She moved a little closer to Kesmore. “You will keep an eye on Deene, please. He’s been under a tremendous strain, and I fear he isn’t thinking clearly.”
“He isn’t, and I will. Do not take off those goggles if you value my sanity, madam, not until you’re out of your silks and in a very private situation.”
He took a flask out of his pocket and held it out to Eve, who declined with a shake of her head. Kesmore blinked, as if realizing he’d just offered strong spirits to a lady, then took a nip and put the flask away. “The whole damned Windham family is mad. I have reason to know this. Even Lady Ophelia, who is the soul of kindness and discretion, has agreed with me on this.”
Kesmore muttering about his prize market sow was not soothing Eve’s nerves. She caught Deene’s eye and realized the moment had come to leave the safety of the stable block.
Deene smiled at her, a private, challenging smile. A smile that said, “You can do this,” and even, “I know you can do this.”
He’d hatched up a daring plan, a crazy plan—and a plan that could work.
“Come, Aelfreth.” Deene’s voice was raised a little, to carry over the bustle in the barn. “Your horse and your adoring public await you.”
Eve checked the chinstrap on her cap and tried to swagger out to the yard like a jockey. Deene tossed her up on the little racing saddle, then climbed aboard a very sleepy Beast. Kesmore, on his black, came up on William’s other side, and they moved off toward the noise of the crowds at the starting line.
William was on a fine edge, bursting with the need to compete but still mindful of the rider on his back.
“Don’t override,” Kesmore muttered as they moved off, “but don’t underride either, lest the horse start taking matters into his own hands, except a horse hasn’t any hands.”
He sighed gustily and took another quick nip from his flask. “I’ve married into a family of lunatics, and now the Denning line must strengthen this deplorable tendency. I’m not having any children, and what children I do have aren’t going to be given any ponies. They shall ride pigs, see if they don’t.”
“Joseph.” Deene’s tone held banked humor. “You are excused. Find Louisa and try not to lose your composure entirely.”
“Louisa awaits us on the rise, the better to plan my commitment to Bedlam as this race unfolds.” He kneed his horse off to the right, leaving Eve riding beside her husband to the line that would mark the start of the race.
Dolan’s gray was dancing around beneath his jockey, looking barely sane, gorgeous, and quite put out with the idiot holding onto his bridle.
“Evie?” Deene halted Beast, who seemed content to come to a bleary-eyed stop amid all the mayhem and tension of the impending race.
“They’re waiting for us, Deene.”
“Let them. Turn William as if you’re letting him study the flags and pennants. Let him see the crowd as he’ll see it when he roars up to the finish.”
Not a detail. Eve had lectured herself at length not to forget this at the last minute, and here she’d gone…
“Listen to me, dearest, most precious wife, but pat the horse while you do, because Dolan is looking this way.”
Eve thumped William soundly on the neck, as a male jockey might.
“You will win this race not because we have money riding on the outcome. I assure you we can afford the loss, and we don’t honestly need the coin if we win. I promise you this. You will win this race not because it means we keep William—he’s already covered every mare I could possibly put him to. I promise you this as well.”
He wasn’t finished. Eve gathered up her reins just as Goblin started to prop in earnest, and the stewards started motioning her closer to the starting line.
“There is more I would say, my dear.” Deene reached over and stroked a hand down her shoulder, and Eve felt all manner of tension dissipating at just his touch. “You will win this race because it is yours to win, because this horse is yours to command. I have every faith in you, every faith. But if you don’t win, that hardly matters. I will love you for the rest of my days and beyond, because when I asked for your trust, you gave it to me.”
Another pat to her shoulder, and then he gathered up his reins and signaled to the steward that the horse and rider wearing the Denning colors were ready for the start.
Eve nudged William over to the starting line—the start was a dangerous, tricky moment—gathered up her reins, and crouched low over William’s glossy neck. Lucas Denning had just told her he loved her, he trusted her, and he would love her for all the rest of his days.
He believed she could win. He believed she
“Dolan is headed this way on a showy buckskin.” Kesmore passed his flask to Lady Louisa, who took a delicate sip and offered it to Deene.
“No, thank you.” Not for one instant would Deene take his eyes off the horses sprinting forward from the
