Deverell dropped his voice a notch and leant in closer to Lottie’s ear. “Shall we make it a true wager?”
Lottie inclined her head, lowering her voice in turn. “Terms?”
“A favour,” he said. “Of my choosing.”
“Then I shall claim one in return, should I win.”
“Agreed.”
The trumpet rang out. Below, the field sprang forward in a sudden blur of colour and muscle.
“They’re off!” Lottie cried, snatching up her opera glasses.
Deverell’s grey mare broke sharply and went to the front almost at once, swift and eager beneath her rider.
“Come on,” he murmured under his breath. “That’s it. Settle her.”
Beside him, Lottie leant forward, searching the pack. Her dark bay colt was buried midway in the field, running keenly behind two larger horses, his head tossing as though offended by restraint. He was fast, she knew it. She held her breath as Deverell’s grey stretched her lead.
“Easy now,” Deverell said softly. “Steady… steady…”
Lottie dared a glance at him.
Mr Deverell’s expression had changed. His eyes—usually so full of mischief —were fixed and fierce upon the track, his jaw tight, one gloved hand gripping the rail. The wind lifted a curl against his temple, and the morning sun traced gold along the edge of his cheek.
“Hold her there,” he whispered. “That’s it, my girl.”
Lottie’s pulse skipped. It was perfectly ridiculous, for the man was speaking to a jockey and horse, and yet it sent an unexpected warmth creeping up the back of her neck.
Her colt began to move, slipping through a narrow opening between two tiring runners, and surging forward.
“Oh!” Lottie breathed, lowering her opera glasses.
But Deverell’s grey answered the challenge at once, lengthening her stride.
“Ah,” he said. “There she is. Keep the pace, my love.”
Lottie’s lips parted.He does not mean you,she told herself sternly.
“Good girl,” he breathed, and then louder, “Come along. Don’t give him the rail.”
Lottie stood, quite without thought, and so did Deverell. They were shoulder to shoulder now, both leaning over the box’s rail as though the outcome of the race might be urged on through sheer will.
The grey faltered slightly at the bend, and the colt came on.
“Come on,” Lottie hissed. “Just a little more.”
“Push, sweetheart,” Deverell growled beside her. “Come now. Take it.”
The roar of hooves drowned the rest, thundering through the air like distant artillery. The two horses drew level, running neck and neck in one great heaving thunder of muscle and will.
“Now!” Deverell barked, striking the rail. “Take it now, my girl.Take it!”
“Go!” Lottie cried. “Go on—yes!”
With a final burst of speed, her wild, beautiful, untameable colt flew across the post. The crowd roared around them.
Lottie gasped through her laughter, one hand clutching the rail, the other holding the opera glasses flat to her bodice asthough they might still her heart. Her bonnet hung crooked and her cheeks flushed with excitement.
