“Make me!” she shouted, a little too caught up in the spirit of things and feeling rather powerful, now that she was tall.
Magnus plunked her to the ground again.
“Are you trying to start a riot?” He laughed.
His hands remained on her waist.
They both seemed to realize this at once.
Then he dropped them and she staggeredbackward. “You would just toss them all aside like cordwood.”
His laugh was marvelous and rich, the very essence of primal male satisfaction. Torch flames were reflected in his pupils. It was as though heknewthe heat left behind by his hands on her waist had traveled to the nether regions of her body.
She no longer had breath to shout for Shillelagh.
But Dot did.
And Dot did.
“SHE’S WINNING! OH MY GOOD HEAVENS! SHE’S AHEAD!! GO SHILLELAGH! IT’S FATE I KNEW IT WAS FATE!”
“GO BRIGHTWALL! YOU CAN DO IT, YOU BEAUTIFUL BEAST!” Delacorte bellowed.
The crowd swarmed the rope rail.
And a roar of exultation exploded from the crowd as Shillelagh, by the tip of her silvery nose, won the race.
Alexandra, in a reflex of exultation, turned and leaped into Brightwall’s arms.
She felt iron bands latch around her. Briefly she was pressed against the hot wall of his body. Then he released her and they backed away from each other as if she was a grenade in danger of detonating.
Alexandra spun away from him, her heart racing.
When she dared to glance back, it was to discover that Brightwall was utterly motionless. As if stunned.
Mr. Delacorte was cheerfully philosophical on their walk back to the carriage. “Ah, he’ll win the next race. He must have known the ladies were betting on Shillelagh tonight, and wanted to be a gentleman.”
Alexandra laughed.
Magnus still hadn’t said a word.
“Oh, look! Is that Mr. Pike?” Delacorte waved at someone in the crowd filing away from the track. “I didn’t know he liked donkey races! I wonder if he brought his sweetheart with him.”
Dot stumbled.
Magnus caught her by the elbow. “Careful now, Dot. It’s easy to lose our footing in the dark,” he said.
Mr. Pike heard his name and obviously recognized the voice.
His hand shot up and his smile was briefly bright in the darkness. And then he was lost to the crowd.
They all filed into The Grand Palace on the Thames before the eleven o’clock curfew, and found Mr. Pike already home, up on a ladder in the foyer preparing to douse the chandelier lights for the night.
He paused to stare in astonishment when Colonel Brightwall and Delacorte entered with two ladies in brown hoods.
“Pike! Did you have money on Brightwall?” Delacorte asked him.
“Shillelagh tonight—I won ten pence!” Pike told him cheerfully.
