Page 22 of Seduction of a Widow

They rounded the far end of the pond, headed back toward the road. Apollo took the lead another inch. Leslie caught sight of an apple-sized rock protruding from the ground ahead. If one of Ares hooves hit the rock, they could go down. The stallion could be lamed. Apollo kept pace to her right. She couldn’t veer out of the rock’s way.

Leslie pulled back on the reins. Ares bellowed. Apollo shot past them. Leslie jerked the reins right and they missed the rocked by a bear inch. Her heart thundered. The earl already had a thirty-foot lead.

“Let us see what you are made of, Ares.” She dug her heels into his ribs and his stride quickened so fast that she had to grip the pommel to keep from falling.

The thunder of his hooves nearly drowned out the pounding of her heart. They drew closer to Apollo. Three onlookers cheered as they passed. The earl looked over his shoulder. Satisfaction tightened her belly at sight of his dark expression. She was gaining. She might win—and he knew it.

Ares’ nose came even with Apollo’s rump. The earl hunkered down and whipped the reins against Apollo’s flank. They pulled farther ahead. Apollo’s legs moved in a blur.

“Come, Ares,” Leslie whispered. “You aren’t going to be beat by another stallion, are you?” She kicked his ribs.

She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the beast galloped faster. Once again, Ares’ nose came even with Apollo’s rump. Then his stomach… Chest. Her heart pounded. The earl looked at her. Fear darkened his eyes. Oh, he clearly hated losing. So did she.

Leslie hunkered low in the saddle. “Come on, lad. That’s it.”

Ares reached nose to nose with Apollo. They had a mile and a half to go.

Ares pulled ahead by half a nose. Apollo neighed. Leslie threw her head back and laughed. He didn’t like losing either.

Reins snapped. Ares screamed. Another crack of reins. Ares flinched and veered right. Leslie felt herself falling. She clamped her thighs around the saddle and grabbed the pommel in time to keep from going down.

Apollo stumbled. She drew a sharp breath as Ares shot past him. She pulled back on the reins. Ares bellowed and tossed his head. The earl cried out. Ares slowed, and Leslie pulled the reins to the left. Ares started to turn, then she halted when Apollo raced past dragging the earl. He’d fallen, and his boot had caught in the stirrup.

Leslie cracked the reins across Ares’ rear. The beast lunged forward. Apollo wasn’t slowing. The earl tried to reach for his boot, but bounced off the ground and couldn’t reach the stirrup. Ares neared. They were a mile from the finish line. There were onlookers up ahead. Maybe someone would see them coming and try to wave Apollo down.

Ares pulled closer. The earl swiped for his legs in an effort to pull himself up. He cried out and went limp. Leslie’s heart pounded. They neared Apollo and she urged Ares to Apollo’s left. The reins whipped at his sides. She would have to get close to Apollo’s head in order to grab the reins without possibly losing an eye. They would reach the finish line in minutes. She could see the stables in the distance. Still, they were too far away for anyone there to know what had happened.

A cry went up. Mr. Drucker and Lord Robert stood near the fence on the right side of the road and had caught sight of them. They raced into the road. Apollo neighed loudly. Fear tightened her stomach. Leslie hunkered closer to Ares’ neck.

The two men waved their hands and shouted for Apollo to stop. Apollo abruptly veered left. Leslie yanked the reins left in order to avoid colliding with the animal’s flank. He left the road and raced across the field. Her blood chilled. She couldn’t see the earl, but she didn’t like his silence.

“Now, Ares.” She snapped the reins across his flanks.

He gained on Apollo. She kept clear of the whipping reins, but when they neared the bay’s neck, Leslie handed Ares’ reins off to her left hand and grabbed for Apollo’s reins. Her fingers closed around the thin leather. She pulled back on Ares, and Apollo’s reins. Apollo screamed and tossed his head. Her shoulders ached with the strain of slowing both horses. Slowly, too slowly for her liking, both horses finally stopped.

She gripped the pommel, swung her leg over his hindquarters and dropped to the ground. An instant later, Leslie reached the motionless earl. She disengaged his boot from the stirrup, then dropped to her knees beside him. She pressed two fingers to the side of his neck and released a breath when his heartbeat thrummed against her fingers.

Leslie caught sight of the blood oozing from a gash just above his right temple—and his left side where his coat had torn, she realized with horror. Blood leaked too quickly from the wound. She pushed to her feet and yanked off her inner petticoat. She knelt again, folded and pressed the petticoat against the wound. The wound needed to be bound. How could she bind it without him bleeding to death?

At the pounding of boots, she looked up. Mr. Drucker and Lord Robert raced toward her. A need to cry rushed to the surface. Thank God. Lord Henry galloped toward them down the road. The men would be able to help bind the wound and get him to the mansion.

The men reached her side and Mr. Drucker dropped to one knee beside her.

“We must bind the wound,” Leslie said. Blood had seeped through the petticoat to her hand.

The pounding of hooves yanked her gaze in the direction of the approaching horse. Lord Henry neared them. She caught sight of another horse racing toward them from the direction of the mansion.

“The damned petticoat is nigh well soaked with blood,” Mr. Drucker muttered. “Robert, give me your coat.”

The younger man whipped off his coat and handed it to Mr. Drucker. “Have you another petticoat, my lady?” he asked as Lord Henry arrived.

“Aye.” Leslie stood.

Lord Henry leapt from the saddle. “How is he?”

“Alive,” Mr. Drucker said, and pressed Lord Robert’s coat against the wound.

Leslie stepped around Ares and slipped off her second petticoat. She hurried around Ares, the petticoat in hand.

“Lord Henry, tear the petticoat so I can bind the wound, if you will,” Mr. Drucker said.

Lord Henry took the petticoat and tore it into one long strip, then handed it to Mr. Drucker. The rider came into better view and Leslie recognized Sir Stirling.

Lord Henry went down on one knee. “I’ll lift him while you wrap the petticoat around him.”

Sir Stirling reached them and jumped from his horse. “What happened?”

“He fell from his horse and his foot caught in the stirrup.” She refrained from saying that the idiot had cracked his reins across her horse’s rump and, in the process, had fallen from his horse.

She’d known he hated losing, but she hadn’t guessed that he would go so far as to put his life in danger to keep from losing.