“But not too large, and that is rather the point.”
“The point?”
He nodded. This could work. “We’re off to Tattersall’s.”
“Tattersall’s?” she asked. It was clear she’d never heard of the place.
“It’s a horse market. There’s only one thing Nestor likes more than fast women, and that’s fast horses.”
Miss Hart looked unconvinced.
“Unless you’d like to try the fast woman approach?”
“I think not.”
“Fast horses, it is.”
“Horses?”
“We are going to sell Nestor a racehorse.”
“A racehorse?”
“A fictional one.”
“Why?”
“Because an Arabian stallion can easily go for five thousand pounds, and we just so happen to know a lord who has that amount of blunt.”
“And how do I and my…small-ness…fit into this scheme?” She looked as if she hadn’t wanted to ask.
“Well, you don’t. Not as you are anyway.”
“Explain.”
“Do you still have the trousers from last night in your possession?”
“Pardon?”
From the expression on her face, it looked as if it was occurring to Miss Hart that he might not simply be an eccentric lord, but one who was madder than a March hare.
His next words certainly wouldn’t disabuse her of that impression.
“As my stable lad, you’ll do quite nicely.”
And with that, he stood. He’d always known when to make an exit. Miss Hart’s flummoxed gaze fast upon him, he crossed the room and stopped at the open doorway. “Meet me at the foot of the stairs within the half hour. In your trousers,” he added, as if that weren’t already clear.
With that, he exited the room, leaving Miss Hart and her dumbfounded expression behind. A spring in his step, Archie felt utterly inspired and utterly alive for the first time in months.
Somehow, he’d convinced his muse to spend more time with him.
How could this afternoon be anything other than a lark?
Chapter Five
The afternoon wasn’t a lark.
It was a mistake.
