Winning the Gentleman (Hearts on the Heath #2) - Kristi Ann Hunter Page 0,16
been to the circus the day before. Sophia’s gut tightened. She’d been so focused on riding the horse and keeping the job that she’d forgotten about facing the man.
His glance flicked often toward the road and then to the distant spectators. Twice he passed over her. She could tell herself it was because he didn’t recognize her without a wig, but how many redheaded women were wandering about the Heath?
It was too late to back out now.
She strode forward, trying to pretend it was just like the circus show. Confidence wasn’t necessary, but the appearance of it was.
“Mr. Whitworth?” The words came out slightly raspy but strong, lightly touched with the Irish lilt of her childhood.
He frowned down at her. “Yes?”
“I am your new jockey.”
Five
My new . . .” Aaron’s voice trailed off as he took in the woman before him.
Bold red hair caught and reflected the sun as the wind pulled at the strands that had come loose from the bun at the nape of her neck. Clothing that had seen better days and certainly hadn’t been designed with an eye for fashion covered a body that was the perfect size for a jockey. He frowned as he took in her pale face and confident expression.
In another time and another place, he’d have taken a few moments to analyze the way her green eyes seemed to punch him in the gut, but here on the Heath, with Davers standing a few feet away, such an indulgence wasn’t an option. He had to get this woman—whoever she was—out of the way and decide what to do about the non-arrival of his new—
He blinked down at the woman. How had she known he had hired a new jockey? “You’re the faerie.”
Her chin lifted another notch. Much farther and she’d be forced to look at the sky instead of him. “Yes.”
“I didn’t hire you.” Had she been a man, he might have. Her riding was impressive. “I hired an Irish horse trainer with red hair.”
She pointed to her head. “Red. And I can thicken my accent if that makes me more palatable.”
By the end of that statement, the light brogue she’d started with had thickened until it was barely understandable. Despite the way everything was unraveling right before his eyes, he wanted to laugh. “No one is doubting your heritage.”
“I am also the horse trainer.” She inclined her head and pulled a paper from her pocket. “Sophia Fitzroy. For one month I will ride your horses in exchange for food, lodging, and a weekly salary.”
Aaron wrapped his fingers tighter around the reins, afraid Equinox might be the only thing keeping him standing. “There was a man. . . .”
She shrugged. “He just sees to the horses. Does a few things here and there to keep them sharp. I do the training.”
The sense of foreboding he’d had coming home from Cambridge churned through him until dread ran through his veins. “I can’t put you on this horse,” he choked out.
She glanced around. “Without a mounting block available, I’m afraid you’ll have to.”
The entirely inappropriate desire to laugh speared through him again, quickly doused by the dismay that grew as his mind settled on the facts of the situation.
Davers approached, his strut recognizable even at the corner of Aaron’s vision. “You don’t mean to ride the beast yourself, do you, Whitworth? Seems a foolish way to attain your first loss.” He looked Miss Fitzroy over. “And in front of your lady too. It seems you’ve finally realized your own worth.”
The insult rolled over him and stabbed the woman. Her eyes widened, and fire flushed across her pale cheeks. He had learned long ago to ignore the men who thought their birth made them better. A woman working with the circus should have as well, but perhaps the avoidance of people’s scorn was why she’d stayed tucked away behind that wagon.
He swallowed. Working as a traveling performer might not be a respectable job, but it was a living. One she’d left because he’d offered a better option.
What would she do if he sent her away? He could find her work. His friends owned estates all over the country. There’d be a space for a maid somewhere in one of them.
That didn’t solve the immediate problems of Davers looking at her like she was a bug on his shoe and him standing beside a riderless horse.
Aaron growled and jerked his chin in Miss Fitzroy’s direction. “She’s my new jockey.”
Davers’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”