“You can do this,” Eve whispered. “
She didn’t need to shout. William’s ears swiveled, proof he was listening for her voice. In Eve’s mind, she heard her father’s voice, though, imparting a piece of advice she’d never understood until that moment.
“In any fair contest, the horse with a sense of rhythm will beat the larger, stronger mount who lacks rhythm. Rhythm is what makes the beast efficient, so he’s not working against himself, his rider, or his job. Let your horse develop his own rhythm, and then time the aids to his cadence. It’s like dancing, my girl. Just like dancing.”
They cleared the second-to-last fence flawlessly, William’s strides to the fence perfect, his move off a graceful bound.
“Well done, Your Highness. One more, and we’ll be bound for home.”
They were closing the distance to Dolan’s stallion too, stride by stride. Eve resisted the urge to check William’s increasing speed. The colt had yet to mistime a fence, yet to misjudge a single distance. She crouched lower over his neck and gave the reins forward a hair.
“Go, William. Get us home.”
He tackled the last fence from an impossibly long distance, his leap flat and efficient enough to gain half a stride and bring him up to Goblin’s quarters. The gray was breathing in great, heaving bellows as the jockeys turned their horses into the straightaway toward the finish.
William galloped on, his stride, if anything, lengthening, while beside them, Goblin threw up his head. His jockey cursed over the thundering of the hooves and screaming of the crowd, and Eve knew a moment’s sympathy.
Had Deene not insisted she show William that final stretch, the waving flags, the shifting crowd, that might be William registering a protest at having to gallop on into what could appear to a horse to be absolute mayhem.
But it wasn’t William. Deene had recalled this detail, and so Eve gave the reins forward another hair.
“It’s your race, William. God bless you, it’s your race.”
“Deene, congratulations are in order.” Dolan stuck out a hand, which Deene merely glared at.
“The stewards have yet to render a decision.” Deene nudged Beast forward, intent only on getting to Evie and William, on holding his wife in his arms and taking her somewhere safe and private where he’d never, ever let her go, nor even sit on a horse again.
“Deene.” Kesmore trotted his black up along beside Beast. “Greymoor will stay with her, you needn’t hurry.”
“Shut up, Joseph. When Greymoor finds out my jockey is a woman, there will be hell and a half to pay, and I don’t want Evie dealing with that alone.”
The stewards would keep any horse crossing the finish line in sight at all times until they’d confirmed the horse was the same one that began the race, and this would very likely result in Eve’s gender becoming common knowledge. Greymoor was a gentleman, but he’d resent like hell that his race had been tainted by a breach of the rules.
Kesmore kept pace even when Deene moved up to the canter. “Given what Dolan attempted, I’m not sure you need worry so very much for your jockey.”
“Two scandals for the price of one. I’m counting on it.”
“You’re counting on
“Aelfreth will swear he was drugged—the man’s still barely able to stand, and you saw the condition Beast was in this morning.”
Eve was up in her irons, hand-galloping William in a great sweeping arc while Greymoor on his black paced her a few lengths back. As she brought William down to the canter, then the trot, Greymoor closed the distance, reaching William only a moment before Deene did.
“Well ridden,” Greymoor pronounced. “Deene, it appears congratulations are in order, though my official decision will wait until I’ve conferred with my subordinates.” They trotted on another moment, until Goblin’s owner joined them on his golden horse. “Dolan, good morning.”
“Greymoor.”
Bannister came bustling up, tossing a cooler over William’s sweaty quarters while another groom put a hand on the reins.
“Off you go, lad. Well done.” Bannister peered up meaningfully at Eve, who had made no move to take off her cap or goggles, thank God.
“Right. Off I go.”
Beneath the mud and grime flecking her cheeks, she was pale as a ghost. Deene felt his heart turn over in his chest as Eve swayed a bit on William’s back. William, still bristling with energy from his victory, began to dance, and Eve almost toppled from the saddle.
Deene was off his horse and dragging Eve against his chest just as Greymoor reached for her as well.
“Husband.” Eve’s voice was distant, a fading whisper that had Greymoor’s dark eyebrows pitching upward and Kesmore swearing under his breath. Greymoor reached over and gently removed Eve’s goggles.
“Lord Deene,” Greymoor said quietly. “A word with you and Mr. Dolan.”
“You may have your word,” Deene said, “in a moment. Kesmore, where is your lady?”
“I’m here,” Louisa said as her husband assisted her to dismount.
Eve’s eyes fluttered open. “Lucas, did we win?”
Such hope shone from her eyes, such trust. “You won, Eve.” Never had Deene been more grateful for his command of English. “You crossed the finish line first, you put in the best race, you rode like hell, and you won.”
She reached up and laid her hand against his cheek. “
“Deene.” Louisa was glaring at him, Greymoor’s expression wasn’t exactly friendly, and Dolan was looking amused.
“Off with you now,” Deene said, passing Eve into Kesmore’s arms. “I could not be more proud of you, Wife, or more impressed. Well done.”
Greymoor at least waited until Kesmore had moved out of earshot. “Well done, but you must know any horse and rider combination where the jockey is not of the male gender…”
Dolan spoke up, his brogue thicker than Deene had ever heard it.
“If your great, pontificating lordship would cease nattering for a moment, my brother-in-law and I will be havin’ a wee discussion yonder, like the gentlemen we are.”
“An odd pronouncement, Dolan,” Deene replied, “considering you tried to drug my horse and succeeded in drugging my jockey.”
“Enough,” Greymoor hissed. “I will meet you both at the stable block, once I have conferred with the other stewards, and you will behave yourselves until then.” He stalked off, swung up on his black, and cantered away, leaving Deene resisting the urge to plant a fist in Dolan’s handsome face.
“You might have gotten my wife killed today, drugging King William. I hope the knowledge chokes you to death, Dolan.”
“I did not drug your damned horse, Deene, and if you want to live to see another sunrise, you will stop implying to the contrary.”
Rage at the man’s indifference threatened the edges of Deene’s vision. “Eve heard your minions plotting last night, Dolan. We switched Beast for William, else you might have succeeded in fixing the race. Do you know what your fate would be if word got out you’d tried to fix this race?”
“Listen to me, Deene.” Dolan swaggered in close and planted his fists on his hips. “I did not fix the bloody race. Until I rose from my bed this very morning, I had every intention of losing the damned race—why would I drug your colt if I wanted to lose to him?”
“You
“For God’s sake, I wanted my daughter raised in the household of a bloody benighted damned lord of the realm. I wanted every advantage for her. I wanted her auntie, the marchioness, firing her off in a few years. I wanted…” Dolan’s hands dropped from his hips. He scrubbed a palm over his chin then dragged his fingers through
