understanding, the viscount slapped him on the back and strode forward to join Frankie and Lord Charles.
Shaw watched him place a kiss to the top of Frankie’s head, then turn to engage Charles in conversation about the black colt. The man understood nothing.
Chapter Five
“Here.” A tankard of ale appeared in front of Frankie in the dim light from the bonfire that blazed away in the track’s infield. “For you.”
Biting back an irritated sigh, she accepted the drink from Lord Charles. Then she forced a smile in hopes that it hid her annoyance at how he’d interrupted her conversation with two of the jockeys riding in tomorrow’s race, and just as she was learning their race strategies, too.
But from the way he hovered close to her shoulder and leaned over to whisper into her ear, “Watery ale but good flavor, so it won’t go to your head,” he knew exactly what he was doing—possessively staking out his territory.
The two jockeys recognized it, too, given how they promptly said their goodbyes and slipped away.
Frankie raised the tankard to her lips before she said something she would regret. Giving Charles the cold shoulder, she swept her gaze over the party.
Separate from the Epsom fair, which had been thriving for the past sennight in the fields east of the village, tonight’s celebration was exclusively for the men connected to the race. All of them wanted to celebrate the hard work they’d put into the event, together with their wives and sweethearts, or even women they’d just met at the tavern and invited along for the evening. Grooms and exercise boys drank tankard after tankard—probably filled with drink far stronger than ale—and danced around the bonfire, all having a grand time celebrating the end of their work after today’s final training sessions. All of them would be at the rail tomorrow for the race, if worse for wear from tonight’s festivities.
Most of the jockeys had already left; the two she’d been chatting with were the last to depart. They needed to be at top form in the morning and required a good night’s sleep and a complete lack of drink. But judging by the raucous behavior that still filled the infield, the others would go long into the night, if not all the way to post time.
The trainers were far more subdued. Gathered together in small groups at a bit of a distance from the main revelry, they were discussing anything but the race. They knew better than to tempt fate. Yet she was certain that the Derby never strayed far from their thoughts.
Her gaze fell onto Uncle Jonas who stood close to the fire and debated the proper way to breed and run a prize-winning kennel with Mr. Potts, owner of the local mercantile and the last man who would find the discussion interesting, although he was too polite and too respectful of Jonas to walk away. She smiled. Although Uncle Jonas was her chaperone for the evening, if he kept refilling his tankard with ale at the rate he was going, he would soon need a nurse himself.
“You’re the only respectable woman here, you realize that.”
Her smile faded at Charles’s intolerant comment. “There are many women here who are respectable and hardworking.” Not deigning to look at him, she let her attention roam in the other direction. “Just because they’re not society ladies doesn’t mean they’re—”
She stilled. Jack.
He stood on the other side of the gathering with a handful of trainers, joking with them and laughing at something one of the men had said. In the dim and flickering light of the bonfire, his handsome face took her breath away.
Dear God, how much she loved him! Always had. Always would. The outcome of tomorrow’s race could never change that.
She frowned. But what of their future?
As if reading her mind, he looked up and caught her watching him. The only indication that he saw her was a deepening curve at the corners of his smile, yet lightning crackled between them across the infield. So fierce was the sizzle of desire that shot down her spine that she shuddered.
She wished with every ounce of her being that they could be alone, that they weren’t surrounded by the crowd and noise. Tonight was their last chance to talk before the race, and there was so much left to be said, so much she needed to know. If she lost the race—if she won it—what would it mean for them? For him?
Please, God, let him want it