A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(77)

Pratt retrieved his handkerchief. He raised his arm, and the nervous tension roiled within her. With bated breath she watched as the handkerchief descended. Plying whip and spur, horses and riders bolted from the starting post like a violent clash of thunder and lightning.

***

Refusing to cast a sidelong glance, Diana was still ever aware of DeVere's presence. She crouched low over her mare, that sleek and supple snorting mass of muscle and sinew. Boadicea was well matched against her foe, ironically the son of Centurion. Diana was confident in the mare's ability. Boadicea was bred of the finest racing blood; Diana knew the fiery, little horse would run until she burst.

The horse's ears flickered forward and back in response to her rider's cues. Diana crooned words of encouragement as her fingers played on the reins. It was no magnanimous gesture that DeVere had given her the lead, for she knew he intended to play a cat and mouse game with her. He was visible out of the corner of her eye now, gaining, but only by fractions. She held back, refusing to push the horse too soon. He would surely try to taunt her into burning her up early. She wouldn't make that mistake.

They had covered half a mile when he appeared at her side, flashing that dazzling smile meant to unnerve her. It wasn't completely without effect. The underhanded bastard. Yet, refusing to be daunted, Diana and the mare held their own against the larger, stronger pair...until the three-quarter mile marker came into view.

They were riding neck and neck now; she could see the red flare of Titan's nostrils, the breath of both mounts now coming hard and fast like a bellows as their ironshod hooves continued to tear up the verdant turf. She stole another glance at DeVere to discover with smug satisfaction that he was no longer smiling. His features were drawn taut with concentration.

With a low clucking noise, Diana gave her mare another inch of rein. The ears flickered, and the body beneath her surged forward with a renewed effort that DeVere and Titan didn't hesitate to match. Her mare's neck was damp with sweat, but the bay stallion was coated with white foam at the mouth and chest. The extent of his exertion under the heavier rider was now showing. He was tiring quickly with a furlong still remaining to the finish.

The stallion began slipping back, losing valuable ground. DeVere plied whip and spur to no avail. The post was within a hundred yards, and Diana could no longer glimpse them in the periphery of her vision. Her pulse sped up with rising confidence that the race had become theirs for the taking.

***

How the bloody hell can she be winning? Ludovic was nearly beside himself. A loss to a woman in a sidesaddle would surely be too much for his pride and reputation to bear! Hell, he'd have to leave the country for another ten years before this humiliation would die down! Let alone the fact that he had almost had her within his grasp. He was desperate to end the damnable itch once and for all, and a week in his bed f*cking her day and night in innumerable ways would surely have made the cure.

They were already ahead by a length, and he knew his horse was spent. Oh, he could whip and spur till the stallion's flanks bled, but he knew damned well the effort would be pointless destruction of a fine animal. Better to bow out with grace, or he thought drily, with his engorged "tail" firmly between his legs.

He was almost ready to concede when it happened. In the final yards to the finish, the mare's right leg collapsed beneath her. Ludovic's heart lodged in his airway when before his eyes, she pitched forward onto both knees. For an interminable, terrifying instant, he feared her momentum would send her into a somersault, but by some miracle, she recovered. Diana, however, was no longer seated in the saddle, but had slid onto the horse's neck where she now clung helplessly. He pulled up abruptly, flinging himself to the ground before his own horse had even come to a halt. "My God, Diana! What a close call! Are you all right?"

The mare's eyes were wide. Except for her trembling, she stood as a statue. Diana answered in an unsteady voice. "Yes. I am unharmed."

"You are certain?"

"Aye. But the horse?"

"Pratt will see to her." He inclined his head to the groom rushing toward them and then threw a leg up, vaulting effortlessly back into the saddle.

"Where are you going?" Diana asked.

He gave her a wicked grin. "To cross the finish line."

She gave him a murderous glare. "You wouldn't! A gentleman would never—"

He regarded her sitting on the horse's neck with an amused gleam. "My dear, you know it is a wicked quirk of my nature to take advantage of the disadvantaged." He added with a twisted smile. "Thus, I certainly would."

***

The next two days passed in a blur with both Diana and DeVere forfeiting their entries in the Derby. Diana withdrew due to her mare's injury, although Pratt was quick to relieve her mind that it was but a sprain that poultice wraps and stall rest would surely mend. DeVere, on the other hand, privately conceded that while he had, indeed, crossed the finish first, Titan had not proven himself worthy enough against the mare to try him among a whole field of top-notch contenders. Nevertheless, they all enjoyed the spectacle and the postrace celebrations.

Vesta and Hew exchanged their vows the next morning in a quiet ceremony in the private chapel at Woodcote, after which DeVere presented them a small, velvet box. Hew tented his brows in surprise when he retrieved a skeleton key wrought in silver from within its depths.

"The key to the castle, although it is merely symbolic." DeVere grinned.