Two small words Artemis could barely speak, her throat gone suddenly tight.
“I always liked Lord Branwell,” said Rake with an approving nod. “A much better man than that brother of his.”
She kept her mouth closed regarding the last point.
She knew differently, of course.
A few minutes later, Artemis, Rake, and Gemma were making their way through the grandstand and out onto the racecourse, where it was no less crowded. The rain that had begun to drizzle wasn’t stopping anyone from ruining their new silks and celebrating the day with an abandon that would be bordering on the hedonistic by nightfall. Other sporting competitions, like donkey races, footman sprints, and cock-fighting, were already in the offing, but Rake kept their path direct. As the Duke of Rakesley, the crowd happily and readily parted for him as the Red Sea did for Moses.
Artemis’s gaze landed on a familiar form in the distance—Bran—and everything and everyone else faded into nonexistence.
It was the unfiltered joy in his eyes that had her experiencing a wobble. In all these weeks, this was the first time she’d seen a light within him.
Instinctually, her body responded with a lifting feeling in her chest, as if the blood in her body had gone suddenly weightless.
Then his gaze shifted and unerringly met hers across the ten yards that separated them. What held their gazes locked was more than awareness or her ever-present desire—need—to touch him and tofeelhis touch in return.
Connection.
That was what pulsed in the space between them.
In this moment, she felt connected to this man in a specific way. A feeling that sank through the body and into a place deeper—the spirit.
This was the place where one plus one madeone.
She hadn’t expected ever to experience this feeling again—and certainly not with this man.
Nay.
That was what her mind wanted to believe.
But her body—her spirit—knew a different truth.
This feeling couldonlybe experienced with this man.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
For the race, Bran hadn’t stood with the other trainers—or even with his own lads and grooms from the Roost.
He hadn’t been able to.
He’d needed a secluded, unobtrusive shadow in which to slip.
The fact was he wanted Radish’s victory too much.
Heneededit too much.
Considering the crowd of thousands, seclusion had been easier to accomplish than he’d expected. Once he started walking, eyes tended to avert once they realized he had a limp. Whether they couldn’t watch out of disgust, pity, or embarrassment, he’d long stopped wondering. Rather than seeking a place near the start and finish line, he’d located a perfect shadow on the backside of the tack house on the opposite side of the racecourse.
Further, he enjoyed a view of not only the track, but the grandstand, too. Artemis would be there. Of course, he couldn’t make her out amongst the indecipherable throng. She’d said she would be here, and he harbored no doubt that she was.
Unbidden, their encounter on the beach two weeks ago came to him, and he saw her as she’d been—sable hair, loose and breeze-tousled, her dark eyes light with joy.
Nay,encounterwas the wrong word.
It was a word too without direction or purpose. An encounter could be random and without forethought.
There had been both forethought and purpose in thatencounter.
