Winning the Gentleman (Hearts on the Heath #2) - Kristi Ann Hunter Page 0,17

how he wished he wasn’t. “Completely.”

The woman’s entire body seemed to vibrate, and the tiniest of smiles touched the side of her lips and the corners of her eyes.

At least one of them was happy. Aaron was soon going to have to help this woman onto one of the fastest horses in the world with a saddle that was most definitely not designed to be ridden aside and allow her to run across four miles of Heath. That was a far larger expanse than the performance area of the circus.

It was enough to make his stomach threaten to return his breakfast.

“Unacceptable,” Davers snapped.

Aaron pulled upon years of experience to adopt a position that appeared bored. “You surrender, then?”

“I do no such thing. I’ll not allow you to make a mockery of this sport,” Davers sneered. “One week. I’ll give Farnsworth one week to make this right—preferably by firing you and ridding us all of the embarrassment of your presence. Mark my words, Whitworth, you will regret this.”

He already did.

At least now he had a week to find another jockey. And a job for Miss Fitzroy. And an explanation for Oliver.

Actually, he had only moments to determine what to say to Oliver. The men who’d been lingering near the start post had rushed to share the news with the crowd waiting to see the finish, and that crowd was now on the move. Riders, walkers, and carriages took a very slow, circuitous route away from the course, and onlookers craned their necks to watch Davers walk away from Aaron and Miss Fitzroy.

Aaron kept his narrowed gaze on the woman before him, as if he could somehow extract her confidence that way.

He wanted her as uncomfortable as he was.

As the noise lessened to the point that a few birds could be heard among the mingled conversations, his ploy seemed to work. The stiffness seeped from her shoulders, and she caught her lip in her teeth. Small, white, the left front one just a little crooked.

Once more he felt kicked in the gut. Significant words were going to be sent God’s way when Aaron got to his cottage tonight. His simple, straightforward life was gone, crushed beneath the delicate heel of a faerie who was apparently a Delilah in disguise.

He pointed a finger at her. “Explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Everything.”

She pressed her lips together and swallowed, the jerk of her throat visible in her pale neck. “You hired me to ride your horses. I accepted the offer.” She swallowed again. “Left my job to do so.”

Forget having words with God—that always proved a futile effort anyway. Aaron was going to blister Oliver’s ears. This was his fault. He’d been the one to put Aaron in such a desperate position that he’d done something rash. When had he ever made such a significant action without a great deal of forethought?

He groaned and moved one hand to the neck of the racehorse pawing the ground beside him. Equinox was getting restless, not understanding why they were standing at the beginning of the course instead of barreling down it.

With a slip of a woman on his back.

A woman who would be jobless and homeless if he sent her away now.

That seemed a rather more significant problem than the maintaining of his professional reputation, though the fact that he’d just introduced her to Davers as his jockey might do more damage than a loss or even a forfeiture would have.

The dark cloud of anger was nearly tangible in his body. The sensation had been a common one growing up, and he knew it was best to stay still and let it work its way through before he spoke or acted.

He wasn’t certain whom the sharp emotion was even aimed at. Himself, certainly, for doing something so utterly irresponsible. Oliver. Davers. The foreign woman who had tricked him. The tiny woman who had accepted. Maybe he could just be angry at all women. His life had run smoothly until his friends had brought females into it.

Clearly, women were going to plague his life until he lost his mind.

He’d thought the anger had been coursing beneath his skin, but it must have shown on his face, because the defiant demeanor of the redhead in front of him faded. She licked her lips and crossed her arms across her middle, the strap of a half-empty threadbare sack falling to hook on her elbow. One leg started shaking, making her skirt ripple as her eyes flitted back and forth from his face to his