Page 36 of Betrothal Between Enemies

‘You can still change your mind.’ He whispered the temptation. ‘Until the starting gun goes off, I can tell your father I took his advice and gave the wager to charity.’

‘You know I can’t. We can’t. This is a moment of weakness, that’s all.’ Like last night. They’d given in to anger and vented that on each other, physically, verbally.

He gave a curt nod, his smiling eyes shuttering as he disengaged her arm. ‘Then, excuse me. I have a bet to place.’

He’d not placed the bet yet? With only minutes to go before the race began? That one thought stayed with her as she joined her parents in the stands at the starting line. Why had Alistair waited so long? Was it because he’d hoped the outcome might be different? That she’d change her mind? He had pinned his hopes on her until the last.

She felt sick. He’d hoped, and she’d taken that hope away from him. Just as he had the most to gain had they wed, he also had the most to lose in the success of their ruse. Their success meant taking the future from him—a future he’d professed not to want when this began, but one that had become more appealing to him as time went on.

Alistair joined them, sliding a private look her direction as the last horse hoofed the line. The horses were restive, heads tossing, hooves stomping in eagerness to be off. ‘It is done, my love. Just as you asked.’ It was the beginning of the end.

Chapter Twenty

The starting gun went off, and Ismay jumped even though she’d been expecting it. Lorenzo galloped straight to the fore with Black Diamond’s Promise predictably at the rear. Ismay trained her gaze to follow the horses for as long as possible. Much of the race would be run out of sight of the stands, although some guests had chosen to move their carriages deeper into the race’s path in order to see the middle portion.

For those who opted to stay in the stands for the start and the finish, a system of flags not unlike a ship’s semaphore code had been installed. Sighters had been placed in high towers at three places on the course and given a flag that corresponded to the horses’ racing colours. When the horses passed the tower, a flag would wave, communicating to the sighter back in the starting line tower and the people in the stands which horse was in the lead, and so on.

‘It’s rather ingenious of Lord Danton,’ her father said in gruff appreciation. At the half-mile mark, the first flag waved—a bright cobalt blue for Lorenzo. Cheers went up in the stands. The cobalt flag was followed by red for Scarlet Mystery, a green flag went up, a purple, an orange, followed by silver for Black Diamond’s Promise. ‘At least she’s not last.’ Her father slid a pointed look at Alistair.

‘I prefer to think she’s moved up,’ Ismay said staunchly, playing the committed fiancée, but in truth there wasn’t much play-acting in it. This was one very small way she could support Alistair. ‘Black Diamond’s Promise left the starting line last, and now she’s sixth out of ten.’

At the mile marker, Black Diamond’s Promise was running in fourth. Ismay smiled smugly.

Her father arched a censorious brow. ‘Fourth or tenth makes no difference to the bettors. The ducats are still lost.’ Something fierce and fighting woke inside Ismay. Her grip on Alistair’s hand tightened in reflex.

‘I want her to win,’ Ismay whispered. Her throat clogged with emotion as she glanced at Alistair. His blue eyes held hers, and something painful lurked in their depths mingling with innate comprehension as if he understood this had become more than a horse race. This was about the overlooked, the underestimated, the lost. It was about them. Two lost people who had been found for a brief time.

‘Iz, I can’t give you that,’ he murmured. Iz. Last night, she’d not hoped to ever hear him call her that again.

‘Tell me you at least bet on her to show?’ she asked quietly beneath the tumult of the crowd. If he had and if Black Diamond’s Promise finished third, it wouldn’t entirely be a loss. There would be a little victory.

Alistair shook his head and chuckled ruefully. ‘I did not think that would make our point.’ Their point being to demonstrate heady recklessness at every turn. He handed her the binoculars. ‘Here, you watch our girl. I’ll watch for the flags. They should be coming into view now. How is she doing?’

At the mile-and-a-half mark, the horses were tiny specks on the curve of the horizon, breaking out of the woods. Even with binoculars, Ismay strained to catch sight of Black Diamond’s Promise, her heart thudding as she found the mare pushing hard at the top of the pack.

‘She’s in third, Iz. Her flag’s in third.’ Excitement limned Alistair’s words.

‘No, she’s not. The flags are late. She’s in second.’ Ismay pushed the binoculars into his hands. ‘Look.’

‘Dear God, she is.’ Alistair’s face lit with contagious, reckless exhilaration. He turned back to the binoculars. ‘Iz, Lorenzo is falling off, he’s in third.’

She rose, clutching Alistair’s arm. The crowd was on its feet cheering for their favourites, the quiet roadside erupting in noise and chaos as the horses thundered nearer. She was riveted on the almost-miracle playing out in front of her. Even if Black Diamond’s Promise took second, it would be unheard of, but in these moments, Ismay wanted more for the mare as Black Diamond’s Promise galloped past, fully extended, dark coat flecked with sweat. ‘Go! Go!’ she cried as if her words mattered, as if they could give the mare strength to hold on to the slimmest of leads, as if the mare understood exactly what was at stake: hope itself. If Black Diamond’s Promise could win, what else might be possible?

Black Diamond’s Promise crossed the finish a nose ahead of Scarlet Mystery, with Lorenzo crossing uncontested in third, and Ismay threw her arms around Alistair. His own head was tossed back, his cry a loud whoop to the sky as he swung her around. Exhilaration pumped through her blood. He kissed her hard on the mouth, and they stared at one another in utter disbelief. For a moment, there was no ruse, no looming goodbye, no complicated, unsortable feelings. Just joy.

Alistair held her close, and she breathed him in, steadying herself against the surging crowd as people slapped him on the back in congratulations. ‘What a note to go out on,’ he whispered to her. ‘We couldn’t have planned it better. Let’s go collect our winnings, and then let’s celebrate. We’ll be the highlight at Danton’s dinner. Enjoy the moment, Iz. By the end of the evening, we’ll be evicted from Eden.’ Just exactly what she had asked for.

* * *

Everything had gone according to plan. Some might even say it had gone like clockwork. It had only taken Sir Thomas two minutes after arriving home at Vista Sulla Baia to request a moment of Alistair’s time in the study. Just as anticipated. Just as wanted, Alistair reminded himself although his gut said differently. He left Ismay at the stairs and followed Sir Thomas behind closed doors. He already knew the script. The scene needed only to be enacted.

There was no offer of a drink. Sir Thomas had probably deduced he’d had enough to drink with all the celebratory toasts that had been offered on his behalf this evening. But Alistair had been careful not to overimbibe, intuitively understanding that this conversation was coming and he’d need his wits. Although what he’d use them for was not clear. The outcome of this conversation was unfortunately predetermined.

Sir Thomas sat behind his big desk. ‘This is a difficult conversation to have, but I fear if I don’t speak up now, there will be far larger difficulties in the future. I will get right to it. My wife and I no longer feel an engagement between you and Ismay is in the best interests of our families or yourself. I no longer feel you are an eligible suitor for Ismay. I will write to your father and explain my position as I am explaining my position to you now. I think it’s only fair.’

‘On what grounds? I care for your daughter. What more could you ask?’ Alistair summoned a tone of righteous indignation, although he knew very well the accusation, had deliberately sought it in fact. But now that the accusation was made, it stung despite being expected.

‘You were reckless today.’ Sir Thomas splayed his hands on the desk’s polished surface, his gaze holding Alistair’s steadily.