Winner Takes All - Anna Harrington Page 0,16

father’s face as he sat perched on the seat next to Jonas, the viscount wasn’t at all pleased at their arrival.

Neither was Frankie. The flush that Shaw’s kisses had put into her cheeks paled as the cart rolled up the drive.

When the horse finally stopped in front of the farmhouse, the man riding in the rear impatiently jumped to the ground without waiting for Jonas to set the brake. Shaw didn’t recognize him, but he held that same arrogant, aristocratic bearing of every Mayfair dandy he’d ever seen. The man scowled at the hounds that swarmed around his legs and kicked at one who got too close but missed. With aggravation, he tugged at the sleeves of his fine cashmere jacket to bring them back into place from the ride, then slapped at his boots to knock the dust off them. The dogs thought he wanted to play and bounded at him, marking paw prints all over his biscuit-colored trousers despite his angry shouts at them to go away. The more he yelled and waved at the dogs, the more certain they were that he was simply playing and jumped at him with increased eagerness.

Jonas whistled to the dogs. They wheeled around and jumped onto the back of the cart, all tails wagging and mouths slobbering in anticipation of a ride.

The viscount wisely stepped to the ground and away from the dog-packed cart.

“Papa.” Frankie forced a smile. When she shifted her gaze to the other man, her smile faded. “And Lord Charles.”

A stab of jealousy shot through Shaw. Lord Charles…the intended son-in-law.

Frankie pointedly arched a brow at her uncle, knowing he understood her meaning completely when she said, “What a surprise you’ve sprung on me, Uncle Jonas.”

“They both wanted to come here to greet you.” Jonas meaningfully nodded at Mrs. Whitaker, who had finally collapsed onto the bench. “Of course, I agreed, since there were no refreshments or food at home because Mrs. Whitaker was here with you. For the entire day.”

Shaw’s mouth twisted. So that’s why the plump housekeeper had nearly killed herself running here—to protect Frankie’s reputation. Just in time, too. If Mrs. Whitaker had been a few seconds slower, if Jonas hadn’t dawdled so long on the ride here, and if the viscount had caught Frankie with Shaw in the kitchen, there would be no more Derby for her. Her father would have sent her packing all the way back to Willow Wood.

And straight to the parish vicar to marry that dandy who was still fussing with his clothes. That son of a duke.

“I’m terribly sorry.” Frankie feigned contriteness and held out both hands as her father came forward to greet her. “I had no idea I’d caused such inconvenience.”

“None at all.” Her father squeezed her hands and placed a kiss to her cheek. “Besides, this gives me the chance to check in on Midnight’s Promise.”

“He’s doing very well, my lord,” Shaw assured him as he came forward to greet the viscount.

“Mr. Shaw.” The man nodded in greeting. “Jonas told me that Francesca secured your services to train her colt for the race. My gratitude to you.”

The devil made him answer, “It’s been my pleasure.”

Frankie emitted a startled noise, her hand flying to her throat. Thank God she had the sense to look away and force a cough before her cheeks could flush scarlet at that private entendre.

“Cavendish!” Papa called out to Lord Charles to join them, while Jonas remained perched on the cart with his dogs, safely—and perhaps cowardly—well out of the unfolding fray. “Come pay your respects to my daughter and meet her colt’s trainer.”

She stiffened, yet gave a casual and dismissing wave of her hand. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Of course, it is! I invited Cavendish to join us for the race,” Papa explained. “Neither of us wanted to miss your racing debut.”

“That isn’t necessary,” she repeated, more firmly this time and with an embarrassed sideways glance at Shaw.

Her father ignored her. “Cavendish! I want you to meet the best stable manager I’ve ever hired.” Her father turned toward Shaw and slapped him on the back, not noticing the grimace on Shaw’s face at that dubious compliment. “This is Jackson Shaw, a fine trainer who’s taken on Midnight for the Derby. Shaw, this is Lord Charles Cavendish, the Duke of Norwich’s son and the man I’m hoping will spend more time with my daughter once the race is over.”

Charles grinned arrogantly.

Shaw clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to plow his fist into the man’s smug