The Viscount's Sweet Temptation (9 page)

Perhaps it was the way he carried himself. His bearing was almost military, shoulders back, revealing the broad chest covered in a plain woolen waistcoat and coat. Just before he sat, he laughed at something his companion said and she wished she were close enough to see if the laughter carried into his eyes. Were they fair or dark? Whatever the color, she’d wager they were quite expressive.

The man following him had to be a brother, for the two were cut from the same cloth. The second was only a smidgeon taller, and perhaps that much more polished in his style. Perhaps he was titled. The difference in their bearing made her think of a son brought up to be an heir and one who was free to choose his own path. Yet this taller, polished brother didn’t hold a candle to the first, in her book. If she had to choose one as a suitor, she’d pick the first.

Hearing her own thoughts, Joanna burst out in a laugh, which she quickly swallowed. A suitor was the last thing she wanted. Mama gave her a stern shake of the head and Joanna looked down the course for the horses to appear
.

She must be desperately bored for the thought of suitors to enter her head. All of her mother’s harping had finally sunk in. As much as Joanna hated to admit it, she must find a husband soon. But that was of no concern today.

The next two races each ended in a flurry of cheers, and Joanna sat up straighter, clenching her hands around her reticule
.
The Oatlands Stakes, a two-mile distance, would be run next. Patriot’s race.
Please, let him do well
.

Where was Robert? She looked about the grandstand but didn’t see him. She wanted to ask him what strategy he had set, and why he thought it was a good plan. As the horses came in to sight at the rise, Patriot was pinned between two other runners
.

What idiot was riding him? How was Patriot supposed to make his kick while buried in the pack? “Ohhhh,” she moaned.

“Are you all right, dear?” Mother leaned closer and took her hand briefly.

“I’m fine, but Patriot isn’t.”

“Yes, he does seem to be putting on a poor show, doesn’t he? Robert will not be pleased.”

At the moment, Joanna didn’t care whether her brother was pleased or not. It was his own fault Patriot was behind. If Robert had let her ride…

She held her breath until her throat burned, then released it in a huff. One of the horses dropped back at the base of the Dip. Patriot was free to make his move, at least, but was so far behind the front-runners, Joanna had no hope for a win
.

Her heart pounded in her ears. The horses began the final climb and the big bay began to pull away. A gray colt tried to keep up, to no avail. Patriot gained on the gray, but as they crossed the Finish Post, Patriot was still half a length behind.

“Hurrah, he placed third!” Mama clapped her hands and smiled widely.

Joanna’s stomach sank. Third place. She just
knew
he would have won if only Bruce hadn’t been ill, or she had been allowed to ride. Her disappointment weighed her down in her seat. There were no more races, but she had no desire to rush to see her horse like she normally would. If she saw Northcotte now, she’d probably forget her upbringing and rail into him in front of everyone. She folded her shaking hands across her lap and shut out the noise of the excited crowd, and hoped Mama was not eager to return to the inn.

~*~

David sat unmoving for a moment, unable to believe what he’d just seen. Triton had done what no horse from Fernleigh had since Zephyr. He took the win in his first ever race. The gray colt finished half a length behind him, and Northcotte’s black stallion was third.

Knightwick pulled him to his feet. “You did it!”

From the corner of his eye, David noticed Northcotte’s sister and mother sitting a few rows back. The dowager countess appeared pleased with their horse’s third place, but the sister’s frown showed her disappointment. She met his gaze, then looked away when her mother spoke.

Someone reached for David’s hand to shake it, offering congratulations, and several others slapped him on the shoulder, accepting their own losses as owners or bettors good-naturedly. David smiled, nodded, and hoped he said the right words, but something kept the excitement of accomplishment from fully engulfing him.

Perhaps it was the fact his father was not there to share in the joy. Everything David did with the horses, he did with love of seeing the animals develop into well-trained, beautiful and fast creatures. But some small part of him, the boy he’d been, still longed for praise from his father. Still wanted to see the man smile.

Now that the reality of the win was upon him, he had to admit to himself it would not change anything. It might have a year ago, before David’s aunt and uncle had died, but nothing their horses did would ease that pain. All David could do was hope his father might at least show some interest in the stables again. Show some interest in life.

As he and Knightwick walked to the Coffee Rooms where the Jockey Club held court, David noticed a group of men standing near an open door at one end of the stables where those who didn’t own property nearby sheltered their horses. “Something looks amiss.”

Knightwick followed his gaze. “I wonder what is happening. Perhaps two grooms are fighting over the outcome of their race.”

“If that were the case, Old Edwards would be off to one side taking bets on the winner. I don’t see anyone betting.”

His brother laughed. “Quite so. Let’s go investigate.”

The voices of the onlookers reached the pair before they got there, with words such as
ill
and
murder
being tossed about. Knightwick spoke to a man on the edge of the circle. “What’s the excitement about?”

“Near as I can tell, either a horse or a rider has been killed.”

“You aren’t certain which?”

The man shrugged. “They haven’t called for the horse doctor or the people doctor, so I can’t say.”

In David’s mind, that just meant the victim was beyond treatment. He was about to ask if the constable had been sent for when the man pushed through the crowd and entered the stables. David strained to hear anything within the building, but the gossip in the crowd was too loud.

A short time later, two stable hands carried out a body on a board, covered by a horse blanket. Knightwick nudged David’s arm. “Let’s go to the Coffee Rooms. They’ll know anything we need to know. We can get our winnings and take our horses home.”

The Coffee Rooms were packed with people eating at the tables, and milling about talking about the day’s races. Knightwick led the way and stopped to speak to an earl. “Have they mentioned who was killed in the stables?”

The earl nodded. “A groom, he was. Not a local boy. Worked for Lord Northcotte. Heard he took sick this morning and someone else rode for him. They found him dead in a stall during the Oatlands Stakes.”

David met his brother’s pointed gaze, but neither of them spoke. After their discussion of Northcotte’s possible involvement in the death of Zephyr, and the near death of their horses last year, it seemed beyond coincidence his name should be floating about this current death. No one said murder, but the constable had just arrived. They’d have to see where the investigation went.

Other Books by Aileen Fish

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May you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you're dead.

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Kane's sudden run of near-fatal accidents always happen when Enya is present. She might be hot, but he's not willing to die to get to know her. Then he discovers she's fighting for his soul. That damned immortal temptress might be the death of him.

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The Viscount’s Sweet Temptation

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Reincarnation. A guardian angel on steroids. A woman who claims to be writing about his lives.
 

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When his oversoul-the guardian angel on steroids-shows him the changes he has to make in his past lives in order to clear the karma affecting this one, he's forced to ask Gabi for help. Together they dig through a series of lives looking for answers, and for a chance at happily ever after.
 

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(All proceeds from the sale of this anthology are donated to the
Turpentine Creek Wildlife Refuge
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Outcast
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