Winner Takes All - Anna Harrington Page 0,17

face.

“Only if Midnight loses,” Frankie interjected. “Remember our agreement, Papa.”

“Well then,” Charles piped up, “I hope Mr. Shaw isn’t nearly as good a trainer as you claim, Darlington.”

“Oh, but he is,” Frankie defended, unable to stop the challenging flare of her eyes. “I think your suit is premature, Lord Charles.”

“A woman winning the Derby?” He condescendingly shook his head and chuckled as if he were humoring a child. “The same odds of one becoming prime minister, I should think.”

At that, Shaw was certain Frankie wanted to punch him herself.

“Those odds are better than you think.” Her father gave Frankie an affectionate wink. “Francesca, why don’t you introduce Cavendish to Midnight? Let him have a good look at the colt for himself.”

“I’d be happy to.” Her stiff smile expressed anything but happiness, yet she politely gestured toward the paddock beside the barn where Midnight had been stabled since Shaw had taken over his training. “This way.”

As she turned to follow, she darted an apologetic glance at Shaw.

But he knew better than to allow any visible reaction to appear on his face. Not with her father standing beside him. Even a half blind donkey would have been able to spot the attraction between them.

“It’s good to see you again, Shaw.” The viscount didn’t hold out his hand. But then, Shaw didn’t expect him to. As far as peers went, he was a good man, but that goodness didn’t extend to shaking hands with the man who used to muck out his stables. “Jonas told me you’ve made a good life for yourself since you left Willow Wood.” He took an appreciative look around at the farm. “Glad to see it.”

“Thank you, sir.” At least the viscount couldn’t see how far in debt Shaw had gone trying to pay for it all.

“Thank you for helping Francesca with her colt.” He tugged at his gloves and frowned in frustration at his daughter. “When she told me she was entering Midnight in the Derby, I feared she might be planning something outrageous, like deciding to train the horse herself.” He laughed. “Or be its jockey!”

Shaw smiled tightly at that, unable to laugh past the pinch of his gut at her father’s unwitting irony. “I would never let her do anything so dangerous, sir.”

“And I appreciate that. But don’t think for one moment that she wouldn’t want to do exactly that if given the chance,” Darlington warned in a low voice, the amusement of moments before vanishing. “Once this race is over, I’m hoping she’ll finally settle down and find a husband to care for her.” He nodded in the direction of the paddock. “My preference is Lord Charles.”

Shaw watched Frankie as she stood at the railing and spoke politely to Cavendish—rather, as he spoke to her, the dandy doing most of the talking and undoubtedly explaining to her in detail how to handle horses. Condescendingly. Must be, given how she kept her hands folded in front of her, most likely to keep from punching him.

Darlington smiled at the idea of welcoming Cavendish as his son-in-law. “Good family, solid reputation, enough prospects and fortune to provide an excellent life for her and their children.”

“Yes, sir,” Shaw answered because it was expected. Darlington only wanted the best for his daughter. He couldn’t fault the man for that. Even if he very much wanted to.

“He’ll make a perfect husband for her.”

Shaw fought to keep from grinning when Midnight trotted up to the rail, lowered back his ears, and attempted to snatch a bite from Lord Charles’s arm. Apparently Frankie brought out feelings of protective jealousy in all sorts of men.

“But I’m no fool,” Darlington continued, although Shaw couldn’t tell if in aggravation or pride. “Even a husband, a house of her own, and a dozen children won’t stop her from building an entire stable of horses. Good thing Lord Charles’s family has the money for that.” The viscount didn’t realize that he was leveling an insult rather than a compliment when he added, “Perhaps they’ll hire you to train their horses, eh?”

“Perhaps.” And perhaps hell would freeze over.

“I want my daughter to be happy, no matter whom she marries.”

“Or doesn’t,” Shaw inserted, overstepping his place by leaps and bounds. “When I became Midnight’s trainer, she told me about your agreement, that she can remain unmarried if she wants to.”

The viscount chuckled. “If she wins.” Then he slid a hard look at Shaw, its meaning as sharp as glass. “But she won’t win, will she, Shaw?”

Thinking they had an