“Come to the racecourse as soon as you can. They are sure to ask where you are.”
“I hate the way you dictate terms to me. You are as bad as Papa.” She let out her breath in a huff and then stopped, as though just then struck by something. She shook her head and began to the walk back to the house.
Jess watched her. She turned back once, waiting for him to move from the tree.
Finally she made a dismissive gesture with her hands. “Stop watching me!” she called back and he obeyed her, heading to join the others, where he hoped to find sanity. What did it say about the state of his mind that he was looking to Destry’s exploits as the sane moment in his day?
Chapter Thirty-three
THIS IS DECIDEDLY odd, Destry thought as he turned to see exactly where Cecilia was. Right behind him, but definitely moving at a pace that kept her there when he was moving at the perfect pace for her to pass him.
If she was in front of him he could admire her seat, how beautiful she looked in the dark blue habit, and daydream about spending every morning riding the land with her after spending every night together in bed. Instead he was trying to devise a way to lose without falling off his horse.
They had truly raced for the first half, neck and neck the whole way. He could have gone faster but did not want to endanger her. Or himself, to be honest. Destry knew every time she glanced his way, as she knew when he looked at her. Occasionally they looked at the same time, which made them both grin and push their mounts a little more.
At the ford, which she reached first, she let loose a triumphant laugh even as they both slowed to cross safely. Back on land they moved on barely at a canter, her golden hair no longer streaming behind her, now barely stirred by the afternoon breeze, which looked to be bringing rain their way.
Cecilia was acting as though she did not want to win.
Which was impossible.
Winning was as important to her as it was to him.
Destry slowed his horse a little more and Cecilia did the same. Totally confused by her behavior, he slowed even more, settling into a walk. She came up beside him but did not pass him.
“What are you doing?” Because of the sidesaddle she had to look over her shoulder at him even though they were side by side.
“What are you doing?”
“Move a little ahead of me, my lord, so I do not have to twist so far to see you,” she ordered.
“No, you come around to the other side and move a little ahead.” Two could play this game.
“Do you want me to win this race?”
“No more than you want me to win.” Genius, he thought. That was the perfect non-answer.
“That makes no sense. What do you mean?”
“The same thing you mean.” That sounded more evasive than clever.
“Oh, stop, Destry. This is not some verbal puzzle. Answer my question.”
“Only if you will answer mine.”
“All right,” she said with such vehemence that he thought she was barely hanging on to her patience. “Are you letting me win? That is, are you trying to let me win?”
“Yes,” he said, amazed at how hard it was to admit it.
“You are willing to lose deliberately to make me …” Her voice trailed off. “To make me do what?” she finished, confusion evident.
“That is two questions. I should be allowed one of mine first. Are you trying to let me win?”
“Yes,” she bit out and then asked again, “Why do you want me to win?”
“So you can see that you have everything it takes to be a duchess.” He wanted to ask his next question but waited to see how she would react to that declaration.
“I do not see how winning a horse race is proof of that. It’s hardly one of the more practical aspects of what a duchess does.”
“But it does represent who a duchess is. That is, someone who is capable and excels.”
She had nothing to say to that but considered his words. Their horses were barely moving now.
“Cecilia,” he began, grabbing what he hoped was the advantage. “There is nothing that separates you from me other than the obvious man-versus-woman difference, and thanks be to God for that.
“You are as equal to the task of being a duchess as I am equal