Winning the Gentleman (Hearts on the Heath #2) - Kristi Ann Hunter Page 0,56

you.”

The fight seemed to drain out of her as she stepped back and lowered her chin. The space should have allowed him to breathe better, but it didn’t. It only made him nervous about why she’d suddenly backed down.

“I appreciate your intentions.” She lifted her head and straightened her shoulders. “I believe you are sincere in your offer.”

She delivered the line as if she expected him to take the observation as a compliment of high order. What sort of life had she led before now to find sincerity anything other than her due? He wasn’t insulted by her disbelief, knowing it came from being forced to develop a healthy mistrust of others, but he didn’t want her to turn down his offer of help.

Aaron didn’t rescue people. He’d never had a passion for the dark horse. For most of his life he’d been the dark horse. He funded other people’s projects and dallied upon the fringes of them, but he’d never offered personal help before.

Maybe it was because his life was changing and all the comfort and security he’d carefully built was in danger, but he wanted to know he’d done something that mattered. He needed to do more, needed to pass along the gift of acceptance his friends had given him. They would never know, but he would, and he needed to know he was worthy of a place in their lives.

If Miss Fitzroy knew he was considering her something of a charity, she’d likely kick him as hard as he was considering kicking himself.

“You can’t be my jockey forever,” he said calmly, needing to rid himself of this unsettled feeling that kept him from remembering where he belonged in the world.

“We agreed to one month of employment as long as I’m winning,” she said softly. “In one month, I’ll take my wages and will no longer be your problem.”

“You’re not my problem.” Not anymore. She’d just become his concern.

“Your inconvenience, then.”

Aaron couldn’t deny that. She was certainly still an inconvenience. “Even if you make a name as a jockey, it won’t make people hire you on for anything else.”

“These men have daughters. Wives. They may want to obtain skills like mine. Or perhaps they want horses they can show off. I am a good trainer, Mr. Whitworth.”

“How will they know what you can do after seeing you run in a straight line?”

She glanced at the ground for a moment. When her head rose, her eyes were overly bright, and her smile fake and brittle. “You have a meeting to get to with your brother. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Before he could say another word, she was gone, nearly running down the lane to escape him. In a single morning the woman had gone from an inconvenience to a project to a mystery he was determined to get to the bottom of.

Eighteen

Knowing the next day would decide her fate, Sophia couldn’t sleep. She lay staring at the ceiling as the house grew quiet around her. She did everything she could to keep her thoughts on the verses Jonas had read after dinner. He’d prayed over her and then told her to go get some rest.

He forgot to tell sleep to come to bed as well.

Her mind was already racing with all the possibilities. What could go wrong, what could go right. It left her dizzy. What she needed was to clear her head and start the process over. Maybe she could confuse her body into going to sleep.

She rose and put on the better of her riding gowns. She’d finally washed the practice gown, and it lay draped over the chair, drying. Sneaking out of a sleeping house was easy, and soon she was roaming the grounds, drawn to the stable and the comforting familiarity of the smells and sounds of horses.

Her intention had been to just walk by, maybe pet a horse or two if they were awake, but she wasn’t met by the quiet hum of a stable at night. Instead, there was a bang, followed by a shuffle, and the snuffles and grunts of a discontent horse.

Sophia crept into the stable, keeping an eye out for any grooms coming to investigate. In a large box stall was a very tall, very unhappy horse. He circled the box, then pawed at the ground before shoving his side against the wall.

Poor thing. She’d seen a colicky horse before. It was too dark to see if the straw along the bottom of the box was clean, but it