Chapter Nine
Jethro
––––––––
POLO WAS THE only contact sport I enjoyed.
Hunting was a solo pastime—something that was both a hobby and a curse. But riding and being around horses had been my one saving grace as a kid.
Still was.
I permitted myself a brief second where I leaned against Wings and breathed in his musky scent. My heart rate hadn’t equalized ever since we’d arrived an hour ago.
What the hell had happened in the carrier coming here? Why had Nila chosen that exact moment to bombard me with questions that had every power to skin me alive?
Jasmine had been wrong to say I had to make Nila fall in love with me. I’d tried—I’d spun some concoction in the shower about her fabricating a web and capturing a Hawk. It’d sounded ridiculous and so unlike me that Nila’s eyes had widened, noticing my slip.
There would be no seducing her with deception. No winning her with tricks. If I wanted her to fall in love with me—to grant me another way of fixing myself and being able to survive the next ten months until my inheritance took place—I would have to let her inside me.
Allow her free reign to my complications and disease. I would have to let herseeme. All of me.
And I didn’t have the power to do that. Regardless of what Jasmine thought.
Sighing heavily, I looked out over the large grassy field. Poloplayers were dotted about, tending to their horses beside a mismatch of caravans, floats, and cars. Tyre tracks had squelched through sodden grass, turning green to mud.
A little distance away, the polo arena was pristine and untouched, just waiting for galloping horses to tear it into a brown mess. And just beyond was a movable grandstand taking centre stage—looming over the field, offering fabulous viewpoints of the soon-to-start match.
Men and women milled about, finding their seats in the tiered chairs or making their way to the tents below which housed gourmet snacks and exclusive wines. There were no hotdog stands or cheap beer in plastic cups. These events were for the elite of England—families with a bank balance in excess of ten million pounds. Caviar, foie gras, and salmon mousse were on the finger-menu along with some of Hawksridge’s wine and vintage beer.
Nothing inferior was allowed.
I peered harder, trying to spot Nila in her black dress amongst the teaming mass of spectators.
Nothing.
What do you expect?
Kes would’ve taken her to the reserved tent on the outskirts of the food and grandstand area. We had our own private gazebo where guests were encouraged to socialise. We also offered uncut diamonds at rock bottom prices to all those we trusted.
Not only was polo beneficial for my mind-set, but it was also a brilliant day for our bank account.
When we’d arrived, I’d deliberated on how best to avoid Nila while taking her to where she needed to be. All my worrying was for nothing as Kes had appeared the moment I’d backed Wings down the ramp and hobbled him to the tethering post.
Moth was his horse, but he summoned a stable boy to attend to her while he offered to take Nila to the viewing area.
With a weighty look at me, Nila had nodded and disappeared with my brother. I hated that she went with him so easily, but at the same time, I was happy to see her go. It gave me time to get my head on straight before the match started.
Hopefully, once I’d had a day on the field with the sound of racing hooves in my ears and power in my veins, I would be better.
I would be stronger.
Moth nudged my spine. I twisted to pat the dapple grey. Nila’sreaction to the horse hadn’t escaped me. She’d melted the moment Moth had demanded attention.
I doubted she’d ever had pets growing up—her father seemed too consumed with his empire, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he put his children to work the moment they understood how to wield a pair of scissors.
The Weavers had always been the same—treating their offspring like slave-labour—getting wealthy off the toils of family who were denied a childhood.
My heart suddenly warmed.Maybe I can give Nila what she’s been missing?
