A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(32)

Reggie's eyes bulged as he squinted at the field, and Diana thought his color resembled something close to puce.

Diana recalled DeVere's dead calm in learning of Reggie's scheme to fix the race and almost laughed aloud. So that's what he was up to when he said he had matters in hand. Devious devil, indeed! He had managed to relieve the very jockeys Reggie had attempted to bribe. Although his action did nothing to guarantee the outcome in anyone's favor, it certainly evened up the playing field. Reggie had been a fool to challenge a man like DeVere and an even greater one if he thought to threaten him.

"The mare? What the devil is she doing on the field?" Reggie demanded, his bugged-eyed gaze tracking the horses and jockeys.

"I have entered her," Diana answered him with a defiant thrust of her chin.

"The hell you say!"

"Don't worry, you need not fear for your interests," said Ned, misinterpreting Reggie's rage. "Hew is one of the best riders out there."

"But if they each win their trial, Hew and DeVere would challenge one another," Diana remarked.

"It would, indeed, make for an interesting contest." Edward laughed. "Hew desires nothing more than to defeat his brother who has taunted him with a promise to buy his coveted colors in the Seventeenth Dragoons if Hew can rout him. Lord Reggie, did you not also have a horse in the running?" Ned asked. "It looks like they are about to commence."

Reggie rose to his feet with a strangled sound. "Johnson and Centurion should have been out there already! Tell them to hold the races, Edward. I must see what's amiss!" Reggie departed the stands at a panicked dash.

***

"There now, ye beastie," the gravelly voice crooned to the big bay stallion nervously pacing inside his box.

"You there! Who the devil are you?" Lord Reginald demanded of the stranger. "And what are you doing with my horse? Centurion should be out on the field already. Where's my man, Johnson?"

"Johnson?" The large man in black turned to face him, revealing a crooked nose and a scarred face. "Is he your chap then, guvn'r?"

"He's my jockey, not that it's any business of yours," Reggie snapped.

"Is that so?" The man released the horse and began picking his teeth with a silver toothpick. "Well it seems yer man Johnson has come by a little accident." He nodded to the corner of the box where the groom lay facedown in the straw. "These stallions be unruly, dangerous beasts, ye ken. 'Tis a lucky thing I come along when I did or 'e might well ha'e been trampled to death."

Reggie entered the horse's stall with a tortured cry. "Dear God! Jemmie! My poor lad!" Rolling the jockey onto his back, he discovered Johnson's face pulverized beyond recognition. Raising Johnson's head onto his lap, he screeched, "Don't just stand there like an imbecile! Get a physician!"

"Why I'll be 'appy to oblige you, guv—just as soon as I take care of me own unfinished business."

Reggie blanched, his body trembled. "You did this! Who are you? Who sent you?"

"Who am I?" The man gave him a black-toothed smile. "Let's just say I'm a special messenger."

Comprehension and stark terror simultaneously washed over Reggie. "How much did he pay you?" he asked. "I'll double it!"

"Will you now?" The stranger scratched his grizzled chin. "Show me your gold, and mayhap we can strike a bargain."

"I haven't any on my person," Reggie said in a voiced strangled by panic as the man advanced upon him. "But I can provide surety."

"Can ye, indeed?"

"The horse! Take the horse. He's a champion, worth at least five hundred guineas."

The stranger stepped back to appraise the animal. "Aye, sure enough. But trouble is govn'r, a horse like this 'un be none too easy to fence. Besides, our mutual acquaintance be a gent with a far reach." He doffed his hat and shook his greasy head with a mocking bow. "I fear I must decline yer generous offer."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"Ah, 'tis nothing personal-like, yer lardship. The question is what our friend wants. Yer a ruined man and far worse, a cheat. Our friend don't like to be crossed and can't abide a cheat. Now was you a gentl'man proper and like to conduct yerself as such, 'e might hae trusted ye to take the gentl'manly solution on yer own, but being that yer a craven piece of shite, I've been asked to lend me assistance." A pistol appeared from beneath the black coat. The stranger consulted his time piece. "They be starting the race any moment now. So, yer lardship, I ask what is your pleasure? Through the mouf or the ears?"

Lord Reggie answered with an incomprehensible whimper. As the muzzle entered his mouth, he suffered the final humiliation of the warm wet trickle of urine down the thighs of his breeches.

To those out on the down, the report of fire was a mere echo to the starter's pistol that commenced the first race.





Chapter Eleven


"I'm sorry I couldn't do anything with the officials," said Edward with an apologetic look to Diana. "I'm afraid Reggie's entry fee is also now forfeit."

Diana worried her lower lip."I cannot imagine what must have happened, unless perhaps, the horse went lame. But to be honest, it makes not the slightest difference to me, as his plans assuredly never included paying off his debts. I'm just glad to see Hew and Cartimandua out there with the mares."