Bran saw that he wouldn’t be exiting without an explanation. “Sir Abstrupus has had a special carriage constructed for Radish’s transport.”
Rakesley’s head cocked to the side. “A horse carriage?”
“More of a large caravan that a team of four will pull south to Epsom Downs.”
An impressed little laugh escaped the duchess. “That’s ingenious.”
“And it holds?” asked Rakesley, his skepticism fading fast. It wouldn’t be long before the duke had one such caravan constructed for the transport of his own Thoroughbreds.
Bran nodded. “So far, it has.”
“How long will it take?”
“We’re hoping for twenty-five miles a day.”
Rakesley did a quick calculation. “Eight days?”
“Thereabouts, barring any unforeseen circumstances.”
With that, Bran offered his farewell to the duchess, nodded at Rakesley, and ignored Artemis’s glare as he turned on his heel and made his—slow … hitching—way toward the stables. He’d told no lies. He needed to talk through the ride with Lafferty, consult with his head groom about Radish’s transport logistics for the next eight days, and see that Radish was being tended and feeling settled.
But mostly, he’d needed to put some distance between himself and Artemis.
She had questions, her eyes told him.
Well, too bad.
After having endured his thousandth congratulatory slap on the shoulder, he’d just reached the stables when he heard a voice at his back—“Bran!”—its familiarity cutting through the din of the crowd. Only one woman presently at Doncaster would call him by his given name. He was tempted to ignore her and keep walking. But he knew a futile effort when he encountered one.
When Artemis had something to say, she would say it.
He pivoted and got a good long look at her flushed cheeks and dark eyes bright from exertion. She’d been running. “The bargain,” she said, the two words slightly breathless.
He crossed his arms over his chest and contemplated her. “With Sir Abstrupus?”
She nodded.
“What about it?” he asked. Whatever it was she was getting at, he was certain he wouldn’t like it.
She drew herself up to her fullest height, gathering herself within a fortress of righteousness. “The terms aren’t fulfilled.”
Bran felt his brow lift. “I believe they are.”
“But Radish won,” she said, certainty tipping into smugness. “So, he will run again.”
“And?” He knew what she was getting at, but that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for her.
“And I have rights.”
“Rights?”
“To observe his training.”
A feeling pulsed through Bran.
A feeling that had a corner of his mouth wanting to curve upward.
A feeling that was wrong, wrong,wrong.
