Page 39 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Chapter Nine

Sybil did not care for carriage races. There were too many ways for the horses to sustain injuries. If a drunken lord broke his own leg or even his neck, that was his problem. The human idiots could live with the consequences. The horses should not have to.

But a simple horse race?

That was so much better than cards or dancing or climbing trellises. The bite of the wind on her cheeks, the slap of the horse’s hooves and the bellows of his breath as they worked together to the same purpose.

Beating the Earl of Chiswick and buying Miss Maddox more time.

And for once, it wasn’t raining.

Mostly because it was snowing instead. A beautiful, soft snow, just starting to fall. The ground was hard and packed, not yet wet or icy. It would not turn slick and dangerous for some time. It clung to the bare branches of lilac trees and linden trees and giant, shaggy oaks, to streetlamps and shop windows. It gleamed and glittered under a sky glowing pink and clementine.

There were worse ways to spend a too-early morning.

Half of the gaming hell poured out of the doors and rushed to jump into carriages, all heading toward Hyde Park. A horse race, a pot of coffee, and a wedding.

Well, not the wedding part.

Sybil would have smirked if she wasn’t currently trying to figure out how to race a horse without an actual horse.

Plan B needed some work, apparently.

She’d forgotten that not only had she taken a hackney to keep her identity secret, but even if she had not, neither her father’s horses nor Priya’s could offer Chiswick enough of a challenge. He’d win the race before she’d even convinced her horse to consider a trot.

Bollocks.

She didn’t have much time. There was a big, strong-looking horse just at the corner, but a groom held his reins and he did not look friendly. Or short enough that she could cosh him on the head and steal the beast.

“You’re thinking of stealing my horse.”

Keir.

His voice was soft and knowing, and right behind her. The warmth of him blocked the wind for a moment. Of course the horse belonged to him. He needed something sturdy enough to handle a giant. She should have guessed.

Why was he still here? Surely horse races were beneath him.

She angled her face away just in case, even though he would never recognize her.

“Sybil,” he said, patiently. Pointedly.

Her mouth dropped open and she whirled on him. “What?”

“I know it’s you.”

“Shh!” She tugged the brim of her hat a little lower in case anyone had overheard him, even though he was very soft spoken for a man who looked like he could shout the trees down.

He continued to look down at her, inscrutable as always. Maybe not quite as inscrutable. She was fairly certain there was a tiny muscle twitching by his left eyebrow. “You cannot have my horse,” he said.

She frowned. “I need him more than you do.”

“Like you needed the betting book?”

“Precisely. And will you hush? You are not very good at subterfuge, are you, my lord?”

“I’ve never had the occasion to take on another name and character, no.”

“Pity.”