The count was made, the gun was fired, and the horses took off.
Just as he always did once the riders were safely away, Aaron mounted Shadow and cut across the Heath to the finish post. The racers would follow the curve of the course, covering twice the distance he had to.
Instead of dismounting and joining the onlookers, he stayed in the saddle, ready to run interference if it became necessary to remove Miss Fitzroy from the premises quickly.
Would winning or losing require them to depart faster? Maybe they should make a run for it either way.
He couldn’t see who was in the lead, though the roar of the crowd told him they’d rounded the corner. It was so loud the noise covered the pounding of hooves until the horses were in the final stretch of the track.
They were close—far closer than most people had likely expected—but neither had a clear advantage.
He avoided blinking until his eyes grew dry and his vision unfocused. Every muscle in his body drew tight, and Shadow leapt forward at the squeeze of Aaron’s legs. He settled the horse and forced his legs to relax, though the rest of him remained tight and stiff. They were nearly to the finish.
As Aaron had feared, the other jockey was riding his horse close to Equinox, pressing in on Miss Fitzroy’s legs. She had shifted her weight and leaned low over the horse’s neck, practically turning herself into an equine neck scarf. It wasn’t pretty, but she was hanging on.
More importantly, she wasn’t losing.
In that instant, Aaron knew he didn’t want her to. She was good. She deserved to win.
Though her whip was free, Davers’s horse was far too close for her to get in a good kick to urge Equinox faster. As they got close enough to see the details of their faces, he noticed that while she’d been silent for the preparation, she was anything but in the race, vocally urging her horse to run faster.
Aaron winced. Dirt, grass, and who knew what else would be flying into her face right now. She’d be tasting grit for days.
Whatever she was shouting meant something to Equinox, because he gave a final surge of speed and finished the race with nearly his full body in front of the other horse.
Proving she was not a fool, Miss Fitzroy kept right on going, encouraging the horse to continue at a run as the encroaching crowd tried to block her in. People had to jump backward to avoid being trampled by the horse they’d hoped to intercept.
Aaron moved Shadow into her line of vision, keeping away from the edge of the crowd so she would have room to maneuver. Once free of the people, she slowed the horse and trotted to Aaron’s side. Her triumphant smile revealed that she did, indeed, have dirt in her teeth.
But she also had the win.
Aaron hadn’t been sure how he’d feel in this moment, but the unmistakable pride welling in his chest was unexpected.
Perhaps he had a soft spot for the dark horse after all.
Nineteen
She’d won. She’d actually won.
And she’d done it without resorting to the underhanded methods of the other jockey. Anyone looking for true horsemanship would have been impressed with her skills.
Even she’d been impressed. Despite the practice runs of the past week, she hadn’t known she could ride like that, could urge a horse to pull out a little more speed, could think about the next few feet of a course that was flying by much too quickly.
She should be happy. This was what she’d needed to secure her future for a few more weeks, wasn’t it? At least it assured her employment. A place to live might be in question.
The debacle of that morning put a pall over any sense of security her win had provided. She assumed the man who’d found her was Lady Rebecca’s father, and he had definitely not been happy to see her. If he wanted to, he could cause a heap of trouble for her.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t a clue how to keep it from happening. Just hoping the man wouldn’t raise a ruckus and her win would make him more amenable to her presence didn’t seem a proactive solution.
At least her most precious belongings were safe at the cottage. Losing her clothing and the knapsack would be a hardship, but those things were replaceable. It would mean less money to start over, though.
She gripped the reins until her hands shook. It wasn’t fair. She should be happy right now, celebrating the fact that she’d done what no one—including herself, if she was honest—had thought she could do. Instead she was terrified that an angry lord was going to show up at the training yard and insist Mr. Whitworth get rid of her. Firing her wouldn’t be a matter of misplaced honor then, but of self-preservation, and she wouldn’t fault him for it.
She snuck a glance at Mr. Whitworth riding beside her as they returned to the training yard. He wasn’t smiling. Nor was he frowning. In fact, his face appeared devoid of any emotion whatsoever. She swallowed hard and faced forward again.
“You did well.” Mr. Whitworth’s voice was deep, steady, and as emotionless as his face. “It was a good race.”
“Thank you.” Her breath came a little easier as they guided the horses into the paddock beside the small stable. Just knowing she’d impressed him helped her embrace the accomplishment. It was a simple statement, but in their brief acquaintanceship he’d shown himself to be a man who didn’t lie.
Jonas never lied either, but he did tend to phrase things so as not to hurt her feelings. Mr. Whitworth’s blunt honesty gave the compliment that much more significance.
She could not allow herself to become accustomed to receiving his commendations.
The noise of the crowd they’d left behind lessened as the people dispersed from the course. Some would be returning to town. Others would be coming toward the training yards, either to see to their own horses or say what they hadn’t been able to when she ran away from the finish post.
This was the moment of truth. If they were impressed, her dream of opening a training school might work. If they were still disgusted with the idea of a female jockey, all was for naught. No matter how many times she won, it wouldn’t change the minds of those who’d already set themselves against her.
She kicked her foot free of the stirrup and shifted in the saddle, preparing to jump down to the ground. It was only as she pushed herself away from the horse that she realized Mr. Whitworth had dismounted and come around to assist her down.
A squeal left her mouth as she slammed into his chest, and his arms wrapped around her as he stumbled back several steps.
He regained stable footing but didn’t immediately put her down. They stayed that way—her nose pressed into his shoulder, arms awkwardly pinned to her side by the strong press of his—until one of the horses nudged its nose into the space beside hers.
Mr. Whitworth lowered her to the ground with one arm while the other pushed the horse away. Once she was back on her feet, his grip loosened, though his hand remained on her back. She looked up at him. He’d assisted her on and off horses several times in the past week, but never had he been this close.
Sophia, who frequently had to use some form of physical impairment to stop herself from talking, couldn’t find a single word.
She heard the growing rumble of a potentially discontent crowd that certainly wouldn’t take her seriously if they discovered her in Mr. Whitworth’s embrace, staring up into his dark eyes and wondering how long they would have to stand like this before he either pushed her away or kissed her.