“How old is it?”
“Two years.”
“It can run?”
“Next year at Ascot, it will leave the field in its dust.”
Nestor glanced about and lowered his voice. “Have you discussed the Arabian with anyone else?” he asked in a near whisper.
“Actually, I was just on my way to see Rakesley.” The Duke of Rakesley was a known breeder of thoroughbreds. Four years running, a horse from his stable placed at Ascot, Doncaster, and Epsom. One would only approach Rakesley about serious horseflesh that could contend.
Nestor paled, looking utterly stricken. Then his fists clenched at hissides, and determination hardened about his mouth. “You’ve found your man.”
“Pardon?”
“Fifty-fifty.”
“Let’s not be hasty. I feel quite confident that Rakesley would appreciate the opportunity to invest. He does have one of the finest stables in the land.”
Nestor shook his head, adamant. Archie understood this was serious business, that the future of several families hung in the balance, but, oh, this was fun.
“Wecould have one of the best stables in the land, Archer.” If a whisper could be a shout, Nestor’s was. “No other investors. I quite insist upon it.”
Archie shrugged. “If you insist.”
This was going easier than he’d dreamed possible.
Too easy.
He didn’t trust anything that was too easy.
Anything worth having offered up a bit of resistance. It must be striven for.
“Of course,” he found himself saying, “you’ll have to meet the contessa.”
Just behind him came a muffled feminine squeak.
This was, indeed, fun.
Valentina couldn’t believe her ears.
Had Lord Archer truly said what she thought he’d said?Yes.But…
Why?
Why was she to meet Lord Nestor?
In a world of bad ideas, it was the worst.
But the sound in Lord Archer’s voice said it all.
While she might be on the point of apoplexy,he was enjoying himself.
“Meet the contessa?” asked Lord Nestor. “Why would I need to do that?”
See?She wasn’t the only one who thought the idea terrible.
“She’s quite mystical about it, really,” said Lord Archer, grave.
