Read Online What Price Love? by Stephanie Laurens - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephanie Laurens
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she intended to begone before too many gentlemen rode out to view the runners for the race meet tomorrow.
The string sheâd been observing from a safe distance wasnât Irish. Straining her ears, she could just pick up the orders and comments tossed back and forth. This group was English, definitely not Lord Cromartyâs string.
Suppressing her disappointment, doing her best to ignore her mounting anxiety, she set the mare cantering on to the next string.
It was the second morning sheâd ridden out. Yesterday, Adelaide had accompanied her, but Adelaide wasnât a confident rider; Pris had spent as much time watching over her as she had scanning the sward. This morning, sheâd risen earlier, donned her emerald velvet riding habit, and slipped out of the house in the dark, leaving Adelaide dreaming.
Of Rus, no doubt. In their unwavering devotion, Adelaide and she were alike, albeit for different reasons.
Two nights before, sheâd truthfully told Caxton her brothers were in Ireland. Rus wasnât her brotherâhe was her twin . He all but shared her soul. Not knowing where he was, simultaneously knowing he was facing some as-yet-nebulous danger, set fear like a net about her heart.
With every day that passed, the net drew tighter.
She had to find Rus, had to help him break free of what ever it was that threatened him. Nothing else mattered, not until that was done.
Catching sight of another string, she turned the mare in that direction. The horse was still fresh; Pris let her stretch out in an easy gallop, but given that she was riding sidesaddle over unfamiliar ground, she kept the reins taut.
The sting of cold air burned her cheeks. Exhilarated, she pulled up on a slight rise and looked down on the exercising string.
Settling the mare, she squinted at the distant horse men. She couldnât get too close; she might not recognize Harkness, but given heâd been working with Rus, he would almost certainly recognize her.
She needed to locate Lord Cromartyâs string, but until she knew more, she didnât want anyone from his lordshipâs stables other than Rus knowing she was in Newmarket.
Straining her ears, she listened, but was too far away. Twitchingthe mareâs reins, she trotted around to a knoll closer to the string but more directly downwind.
Again she sat and listened. This time, she heard. Closing her eyes, she concentrated.
Familiar lilting accents, a gently burred brogue, rolled across her senses.
Breath catching, she opened her eyes and eagerly scanned the men before her. She fixed on the large man directing the exercises. Harkness. Big, dark, and fearsome. Her mind wasnât playing tricks on herâsheâd found Lord Cromartyâs string!
Her heart lifting, she studied the two men beside Harkness; neither was Rus. She was about to shift her focus to the circling ridersâso much harder to study as they rose and fell with their horsesâ gaitsâwhen a shifting shadow in the clump of trees to her right drew her eye.
A horse man sat on a powerful black standing in the lee of the trees. He wasnât watching the exercising horses; his attention was fixed on her.
Pris cursed. Even before she took in the lean build and broad shoulders, and the dramatically dark, wind-ruffled hair, she knew who he was.
Abruptly, she wheeled the mare, tapped her heel to the glossy flank and took off. She raced down the knoll, gave the mare her head, and flew, hooves pounding, away across the Heath.
He would follow, she felt sure. The damn man had doubtless been following her all morning, perhaps even all yesterday morning. By now he would know she was searching for one particular string. Thank the saints sheâd noticed him before sheâd done anything to distinguish Cromartyâs string from all the others sheâd observed.
A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed the big black was thundering in her wake.
The mare was fleet of foot, and
The string sheâd been observing from a safe distance wasnât Irish. Straining her ears, she could just pick up the orders and comments tossed back and forth. This group was English, definitely not Lord Cromartyâs string.
Suppressing her disappointment, doing her best to ignore her mounting anxiety, she set the mare cantering on to the next string.
It was the second morning sheâd ridden out. Yesterday, Adelaide had accompanied her, but Adelaide wasnât a confident rider; Pris had spent as much time watching over her as she had scanning the sward. This morning, sheâd risen earlier, donned her emerald velvet riding habit, and slipped out of the house in the dark, leaving Adelaide dreaming.
Of Rus, no doubt. In their unwavering devotion, Adelaide and she were alike, albeit for different reasons.
Two nights before, sheâd truthfully told Caxton her brothers were in Ireland. Rus wasnât her brotherâhe was her twin . He all but shared her soul. Not knowing where he was, simultaneously knowing he was facing some as-yet-nebulous danger, set fear like a net about her heart.
With every day that passed, the net drew tighter.
She had to find Rus, had to help him break free of what ever it was that threatened him. Nothing else mattered, not until that was done.
Catching sight of another string, she turned the mare in that direction. The horse was still fresh; Pris let her stretch out in an easy gallop, but given that she was riding sidesaddle over unfamiliar ground, she kept the reins taut.
The sting of cold air burned her cheeks. Exhilarated, she pulled up on a slight rise and looked down on the exercising string.
Settling the mare, she squinted at the distant horse men. She couldnât get too close; she might not recognize Harkness, but given heâd been working with Rus, he would almost certainly recognize her.
She needed to locate Lord Cromartyâs string, but until she knew more, she didnât want anyone from his lordshipâs stables other than Rus knowing she was in Newmarket.
Straining her ears, she listened, but was too far away. Twitchingthe mareâs reins, she trotted around to a knoll closer to the string but more directly downwind.
Again she sat and listened. This time, she heard. Closing her eyes, she concentrated.
Familiar lilting accents, a gently burred brogue, rolled across her senses.
Breath catching, she opened her eyes and eagerly scanned the men before her. She fixed on the large man directing the exercises. Harkness. Big, dark, and fearsome. Her mind wasnât playing tricks on herâsheâd found Lord Cromartyâs string!
Her heart lifting, she studied the two men beside Harkness; neither was Rus. She was about to shift her focus to the circling ridersâso much harder to study as they rose and fell with their horsesâ gaitsâwhen a shifting shadow in the clump of trees to her right drew her eye.
A horse man sat on a powerful black standing in the lee of the trees. He wasnât watching the exercising horses; his attention was fixed on her.
Pris cursed. Even before she took in the lean build and broad shoulders, and the dramatically dark, wind-ruffled hair, she knew who he was.
Abruptly, she wheeled the mare, tapped her heel to the glossy flank and took off. She raced down the knoll, gave the mare her head, and flew, hooves pounding, away across the Heath.
He would follow, she felt sure. The damn man had doubtless been following her all morning, perhaps even all yesterday morning. By now he would know she was searching for one particular string. Thank the saints sheâd noticed him before sheâd done anything to distinguish Cromartyâs string from all the others sheâd observed.
A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed the big black was thundering in her wake.
The mare was fleet of foot, and
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