Page 8 of Seduction of a Widow

“Ah, yes, I forgot,” she said. “You didn’t actually lose. Your horse injured its leg.” She tilted her head to the side and looked at him through her lashes. “Shall I challenge you to another race? What are the odds your horse would injure itself a second time?”

A race—a horserace—and she beat the Earl of Barnton. How he wished he’d seen that.

Barnton looked down at her. “A gentleman does not challenge a lady to a horserace.”

“Indeed not,” she agreed. “But you didn’t challenge me. I challenged you.”

“A horserace,” the baroness cried. “What a wonderful idea. Lady Carr, I have a spirited Arabian I believe would suit you perfectly. He is a god among horses. We call him Ares.”

Lady Carr laughed. “After the god of war?” Her gaze remained on the earl. “If his lordship rides the same bay he raced with last month, I fear Ares would give me an unfair advantage.”

The earl stiffened.

“Never fear,” the baroness said before he could reply, “I have a dozen horses from which to choose. I feel certain Lord Barnton will have no trouble choosing a worthy animal.”

Barnton’s mouth thinned. “As I said, a gentleman doesn’t—”

“I wager she will beat you,” Evan said.

The earl’s head snapped in his direction. “You would lose,” he said through gritted teeth.

Evan shrugged. “I not only bet she will beat you, but that she will beat any other participants. Five hundred pounds, shall we say?”

Lady Carr’s mouth parted in surprise. “Mr. MacLaren, there is no need to risk your money.”

Barnton gave him a nasty smile. “You would be wise to listen to the lady, MacLaren.”

“I have often been told I am not that wise.” Evan held his gaze. “Surely, you aren’t afraid?”

The earl stared for a long moment, then faced Lady Carr and bowed. “Tomorrow afternoon, if it pleases you, madam.”

She angled her head in agreement, then he whirled and strode away.

She turned her gaze to Evan. “I imagine it was your mother who said you aren’t that wise?”

He grinned.

She shook her head. “She would be right.”

Evan caught something in her eyes. “You are not afraid, are you, my lady?”

***

Leslie fought the urge to take her leave. She hadn’t realized how easily she’d allowed her feelings to show. It made her feel vulnerable. Naked.

Despite the twelve years that had passed since her brother died while racing their father’s prize Friesian, she still trembled inside every time she raced. She didn’t race as often as she used to. Perhaps she was getting old. Perhaps the need to face the same danger John had was finally dissipating. Yes, no doubt, that was the case, at least a little. But not enough.

Mr. MacLaren shifted, and Leslie realized she hadn’t answered him—and he was studying her with those too-keen eyes.

She laughed, softly. “I am never afraid.”

“No?” he asked. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Perhaps you were.”

Was there a touch of amusement in his eyes?

Oh, that would not do. Had he reminded her of Carr? Nae, he was a mere boy compared to her. She had been the wife of a dynamic, powerful nobleman, a paragon of military discipline. Now she was an experienced widow, well accustomed to handling her lovers as suited her fancy. She would not be reduced to a trembling, over-eager chit by this young man’s fine face and form. He wanted to seduce her, that she could easily see. But his seduction of her would be no easy conquest and she would enjoy every moment of that greater, most delicious dance between them.