Page 58 of To Defend a Damaged Duke
“I suspect so,” agreed Tommy.“If Sam Leonard goes on and wins this wretched thing, there will be hell to pay.A point I made to the duke several times whilst visiting his lodge.”
Sidney grunted.“Need to work on yer pillow talk, Tommy.No wonder you only stayed the one night.”
Tommy’s vulgar response was cut off by Sidney’s low appreciative whistle.
“His Grace looks good in that black clobber though, don’t he?”Sidney said.
“He’s not wear— What the devil is he doing?”
A minor commotion was underway in the centre of the parade ring.Having inspected Ganymede with utmost care, stroked his hand down the beast’s withers, even checked his hooves, the fourteenth Duke of Ashington was in the process of donning a black velvet huntsman’s cap.With a flourish, he removed his greatcoat, carelessly handing it to a grinning Sam Leonard.
Tommy gasped sharply.“He’s…no, he can’t be.”
“What the…?”Even Sidney’s mouth hung open.“He bloody is, you know.”
“Come on,” urged Tommy.“Quick!Let’s get closer.”
He barged his way to the front rail, Sidney limping after him.Ignoring the curses in his wake, Tommy arrived just in time to hear Benedict’s rich baritone, ringing out across the assembled owners.
“Ganymede is in perfect form for today’s flat race, Sam,” he declared.One finger at a time, he pulled off his fine kidskin gloves and tossed them into Sam Leonard’s waiting hands, exchanging them for a thicker pair of riding gloves.“I’ve examined the turf—the going is quite excellent,” he added.Surveying the track beyond the parade ring, he shielded his eyes with his left hand.His right was occupied with unfastening the buttons of his emerald-green topcoat.“So good, in fact, I am of a mind to ride him today myself.”
Every eye at the racetrack was fixed on the impromptu striptease.
“Bloody hell,” swore Tommy as a collective inhale gusted around him.Then he swore again.“The bloody, bloody…rakehell!”
As if doing nothing more than taking a stroll through his walled garden, the duke wandered over to Ganymede, and, in one fluid motion, mounted him.His mouth closed in on the horse’s ear, his lips moving as he spoke to the creature, words inaudible to the watching crowds.
“You’re my treasured turtle dove,” murmured Tommy, and a thrill ran through him.
“And you’re my prettiest stewed dumpling.”A wheezing Sidney drew alongside.“Never knew you cared so much, Tommy.”Still cackling, Sidney tugged on his arm.“When you’ve put your peepers back in yer head, take a gander over there.”He gave Tommy a nudge.“Someone ain’t too happy.”
If looks could kill, Lord Lyndon would be arrested and hung from a gibbet outside Newgate, and the fourteenth duke’s body trampled to mincemeat under seventeen hands of prime racehorse.As it was, with his black silk shirt billowing like a sail in the breeze, Benedict and Ganymede were making their way to the start line.His face pale as death, Lord Lyndon brandished his cane, defending his position on the front row as if his life depended on it.
His ability to afford his own breakfast tomorrow morning certainly did, if his heavy bets were any indicator.
“I’ve seen the duke race, once,” offered Sidney as they waited for the riders to assemble.“He was riding Nimbus then, his horse that won the St Leger umpteen times.Never seen anything like it.Like the wind, the pair of them.Don’t think he raced him again after that.”
“He didn’t,” said Tommy.“He retired from racing after their sixth win to give the others a fair chance.”
“Decent of him.”
Tommy wouldn’t have expected anything less from his humble lover.
“Of course, I didn’t realise back then that the bloke wasyourduke,” Sidney rambled on.Tommy didn’t wish him ever to stop.It was possibly the only thing keeping him from undignified tears.“He was the marquess of something-or-other fancy then.And I was so far back in the cheap seats, he could have had three eyes and a nose covered in festering warts for all I’d have recognised him.”
Tommy and Sidney left the parade ring at a brisk march and moved to the finishing straight, once more elbowing racegoers aside.Sidney’s massive shoulders came in useful.As they took up position, only a narrow stretch of turf separated them from Benedict’s twin.
“Flew like a whole wild night was in pursuit of him,” continued Sidney, oblivious to Tommy’s internal chaos.Dry-mouthed, he gripped the rail, his heart no doubt beating at a similar tempo to Lord Lyndon’s, though for entirely different reasons.
Sidney rested his meaty forearms next to Tommy’s.“Or half the town’s runners, at any rate.Never seen the like before nor since.”
Lord Lyndon, now on the opposite side of the track, was still alone.Watching intently.One gloved fist covered his mouth as if trapping a scream.
The competitors formed a higgeldy, restless line, the horses pawing and whinnying in anticipation.Benedict sat high atop Ganymede, a foot or two back, keeping clear of the melee.His lips moved again as his hand fondled the beast’s silky ears, no doubt whispering more of the same sweet nonsense he whispered to Tommy.
As the race starter stepped up, the excited chattering crowd fell silent.Tommy held his breath as, like a declaration of war, the starter’s pistol shot ripped through the air.And it was, for the few that knew.Two jittery horses reared at the blast; one dug its heels in and refused to budge.The rest cantered away.
Ganymede might as well have been stone deaf for all the effect the harsh firing crack had on his nerves, and for a few moments, Tommy lost sight of both the horse and Benedict, swallowed up in the thick of the race.
