Page 22 of An Arranged Betrothal with a Rogue

“He certainly is,” he said. “But that’s just the advantage. You see, the odds on Thunder are too high to make a bet worthwhile; plus, though he’s a past winner, he’s also older. So, although he’s the favorite, chances are that Nutmeg will outrun him this time.”

Andrew thought over his brother-in-law’s words for a moment. It made sense, after all. Thunder had been a winner two years running. Nutmeg was young, but he came out of Lord Passmore’s stables and had been trained by Billy Betts, the best in the business, many claimed. The odds were good too, and if Edmund was right and Nutmeg outran Thunder, it would mean a small fortune in winnings for them both.

“Very well,” he said. “Nutmeg it is.”

Andrew and Edmund finally reached the front of the queue and placed their bets. Then, they headed back to the stands to join the ladies. It was a beautiful day with a clear blue sky, and Andrew felt in high spirits. That changed, however, as he and Edmund reached their reserved seats. There, beside his mother and Gemma, sat Lady Viola and her parents.

Andrew immediately bristled. He was angry with Lady Elsbrook for what was clearly an underhand attempt to throw him at Lady Viola. But he was also angry with himself. He should have known she would have something like this planned. When his mother had her mind set on something, she wouldn’t let it go until she got what she wanted. No matter who objected.

Worse still, the party was seated in such a way that the only two remaining spaces were beside Gemma and next to Lady Viola. Social propriety dictated that Edmund could not sit beside an unwed woman, especially not if his wife was present. And everyone there knew it. Andrew was left with no choice but to take the seat beside Lady Viola.

She instantly began doing what he was sure she considered to be flirting the moment he sat down. She batted her eyelashes at him and waved her fan coquettishly in front of her face.

“There couldn’t be a lovelier day for the racing, don’t you agree, my lord?” she simpered.

Andrew nodded a stiffly look, not bothering to answer. He at once turned his attention from her, pretending to focus on reading the paper in his hand, which was really a betting slip.

He looked closely at the paddock searching for Nutmeg. Immediately, he saw why Edmund had suggested betting on the beast. He was a young and well-muscled chestnut, lively looking and glossy with his powerful shoulders and haunches shining in the sun.

Andrew then spotted Thunder, the crowd’s favorite, and at once doubted what his brother-in-law had said. The black stallion was huge and muscular and looked quite capable of seeing off all the competition once again. All Andrew could hope for was that Nutmeg’s youthful vigor and expert training would see him take that year’s trophy.

He vaguely heard Lady Viola continue to prattle on, now about the crush, but he stoically ignored her and let his gaze wander over the view before him, desperate for any reprieve from her mindless chatter.

As he did so, he suddenly spotted Miss Whitworth sitting with Lord Axenshire. He let his gaze linger on her for a moment. Her morose expression told him she was as unhappy as he was, and he thought she was probably longing to escape her current company too. He thought about the conversation he had overheard earlier that day between her father and the vulgar old man now sitting beside her. He pitied her. No one deserved to be treated as she was being treated.

As though hearing his thoughts, Miss Whitworth looked in his direction. When she saw him staring at her, she locked eyes with him. He was surprised when his heart skipped a beat. He was even more surprised when the woman didn’t look away. In fact, she held his gaze for so long that it would have been deemed scandalous if anyone had seen. Andrew wondered if her current company would notice it and how he would react if he did. He also realized that he didn’t care.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the call blared through the stadium, startling both Andrew and Miss Whitworth. “The first race is about to begin.”

Andrew, suddenly feeling so hot under the collar that he attempted to loosen his cravat with a finger, looked away first. It was clear that she was miserable, and he could identify with that. He couldn’t help wondering if she knew exactly what her father was up to. He thought that if she did, then things were a whole lot worse for her.

The race started, and Lady Viola fell blissfully silent. Andrew watched with anticipation as the horses thundered around the track. Beside him, Edmund was up and shouting “Nutmeg! Come on, boy!” Andrew supposed he should be doing the same but found his enthusiasm hindered by the presence of Lady Viola.

Even though she had stopped speaking, Andrew could feel her staring at him. He blatantly ignored her, not only to avoid being accused of looking at her in an improper way, but also because he found her scrutiny uncomfortable and distasteful. It was clear she felt entitled to his affections and that she was determined to have them. Just as determined as he was to not give them to her.

Toward the end of the race, though, Andrew became invested in Nutmeg’s fate and was soon cheering the horse along with his brother-in-law. Thunder had dominated for much of the race, but Nutmeg, whose jockey had clearly been holding his mount in reserve by keeping him alongside the tight bunch of the other contenders trailing Thunder, suddenly began to move up the outside. Now, the jockey was laying almost flat in the saddle, kicking the chestnut’s flank and goading it on with his crop, and the horse put on an incredible spurt of speed that carried him past his competitors and horse and jockey steadily gained ground on Thunder, who seemed to almost imperceptibly slow down as the finish line drew ever closer.

As the powerful young chestnut flew over the turf, drawing ever closer to the black stallion, then flanking him, drawing an alarmed sideways glance from his jockey, who whipped his steed harder, the horses drew neck and neck. The crowd was roaring now, and Andrew and Edmund were out of their seats, positively screaming with excitement, sure they had a win on their hands. With a furlong to go before the finish line, Nutmeg gained more ground and soon led Thunder by a head. With the crowd in uproar, the chestnut flew across the finish line—with no doubt that he was the winner of that year’s Derby.

Once the cheers and boos had subsided somewhat, Andrew noticed a mixture of reactions flitting through the crowd. Some people were shouting with anger, clearly having bet on either Thunder or another of the losing horses. A few people seemed surprised that Nutmeg had won and broken Thunder’s record. Only a few, including Edmund and Andrew, were still cheering. His brother-in-law had been right and now, they both had a substantial amount of winnings to collect from their doubtless unhappy bookie.

“We did it! Well, Nutmeg did it,” Edmund said, laughing and clapping Andrew on the back.

Andrew grinned.

“Well done, Edmund,” he said. “I am so glad I listened to you.”

Edmund laughed heartily.

“I can hardly wait to collect the winnings,” he said. “Though where I shall put it all, I don’t know.”

Andrew laughed again and was about to reply when his mother interrupted their celebrations.

“Andrew,” she said in her most authoritative voice. “Take Lady Viola for a walk around the racecourse, would you?”

The request was not a request, of course. In front of her family, Lady Elsbrook was cornering him and forcing him to do as she commanded. He glared at her in a way that told her what he thought of her machinations. With everyone’s eyes now on him, he was left with no choice. He turned stiffly to Lady Viola and limply extended his hand.

“Would you join me for a walk, my lady?” he asked blandly.

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