Page 101 of Lessons for Marquesses
Coming around, she dug in her heels and Minion, tight and refocused, sprang from the line.
To gain the lead meant she would have to take the outside, and she knew Mr. Wolf’s strategy included coming wide to stop her. He had at least three miles to antagonize Minion before they would disband and fight for the win.
Georgiana caught up to Palliard’s rear before the first turn where it started to pour from the heavens. Mud formed with every hoof strike, and while Mr. Wolf had only to deal with the rain as they crossed a field worn by livestock, mud splattered over Georgiana.
Minion surged left and outside without heeding Georgiana’s direction. Palliard ran wide and Minion switched course, aiming inside for the opening at the flags. Mr. Wolf closed the gap, leaving Minion to race farther inside. Again he closed it until the only space was a needle’s width.
Georgiana pulled Minion back. By the time they reached the edge of the home wood, they were covered in mud and Minion was ready for Bedlam.
She wiped a splotch of mud from her eye, forded a bog, and picked out their path. Palliard’s strides were widening. He was used to skimming the turf, not slogging in it. He was so far outside he wouldn’t be able to hold the line past the turn at the copper beech.
She pressed Minion to the opening. Mr. Wolf allowed her in, and then he edged closer. Minion thrashed her head at the affront. He kept on, pressing her without ever touching her.Georgiana’s arms screamed at the effort to pull Minion back, but she did it.
They were going to have to take the outside, and hopefully Minion had enough in her to win. Her mare tore into the mud, Palliard matching her strides and then Minion was gaining. The stallion came wide at the copper beech. Minion knocked Palliard hard and then Georgiana knew. If this had been a real race, she would have been disqualified immediately.
Still, Minion’s frustration wasn’t vented. She struck again, catching Mr. Wolf’s boot and petticoat in Georgiana’s stirrup leather. When Georgiana slowed, Palliard surged ahead, effectively trapping Mr. Wolf.
One misstep and he’d be thrown, trampled, and dead.
For a harrowing moment, they struggled to free themselves over the mounds of sodden silk. Georgiana loosed her foot from her stirrup, leaned into the writhing crush of horseflesh, and clawed her skirt to her thigh. Mr. Wolf yanked her stirrup leather from its hook.
They were free.
They entered the grounds of the house proper. She pulled her foot from the other stirrup to balance herself, stretched over Minion, and neck and neck, both horses raced toward the starting post.
Julian waved his coat and shouted her name. Now only a hundred feet from her. Fifty. Minion dug in, and by sheer will, surged across the makeshift post by a head.
Over the raucous applause, Georgiana let her mare run out her energy. Though she deserved no celebration. This was, as Mr. Wolf had warned, exactly her mare’s imperfection in an otherwise perfect horse. Minion had committed an egregious foul that could have cost Mr. Wolf his life. Her opponent had jockeyed brilliantly, a tough race but a fair one. He hadn’tbumped her. He had triumphed over Minion’s weakness. Others would have done the same.
Minion lined up for Georgiana to take her stake. For once, Georgiana did not indulge her mare, reining her away from the hedge and putting her to a cooling trot.
Mr. Wolf eased in beside her, both of them breathless.
“Lesson learned, Mr. Wolf,” she said.
“You did very well.”
“Indeed, I suppose saving your life deserves some note.”
They rode on around the set course, ignoring the rain, Georgiana formulating a way to tell Julian he’d lost five hundred pounds on an overindulged mare and a poor trainer.
They finally slowed to a walk near the copper beech where Mr. Wolf handed her back her stirrup and leather. His voice was warm, honest she’d have to say. “If I were half the rider you were…”
“That sounds like placation.” Shoving her skirts under her seat, she smiled up at him. “But I will take it, thank you. And you are all the rider I am. More, presently.”
“But you”—he grinned with a darting glance at her leg—“have prettier knees. Presently and for years to come.”
“Why do you say that?” The question snapped from her teeth.
“Because it’s the truth.”
“Mr. Wolf, I mean this with no disrespect. But if you have any consideration for my feelings, I would that you not call me charming, praise my knees, or attend to me beyond the minimum required for our mutually agreeable acquaintance.”
She urged Minion ahead. Sharply, he called her name, and her heart made her stop. She waited for him to come aside, and when he did, she kicked herself for not running off. She would never love another man because there would never be one like Mr. Wolf. Tall, wise, patient, sometimes harsh, a brilliant rider. And deadly handsome in a skirt.
She looked at the black hairs dusting his powerful legs. The skirt was a farce but deep down, she wondered if he wore it in support of her breeches. She wondered if she asked him to, would he wear it again.
“I misspoke last night,” he said.
