Winner Takes All - Anna Harrington Page 0,33
the overflowing trays of food and bottles of champagne and port. The awards ceremony would start soon, and they wanted to be fully satiated before the speeches began.
Shaw stalked toward her. “You didn’t have to do that,” he gently chastised when he’d closed the distance between them.
“Yes, I did.” She gestured after Midnight as Sam slid to the ground and accepted congratulations from the other jockeys, including Benny. The race officials swarmed around the pair like bees as they waited for Shaw and Frankie to join them for the awarding of the prizes. “That horse is my dowry, and all the potential he holds for us to have a grand start together in the life we’ve always wanted.” She swallowed, hard, as nervousness ballooned inside her chest. If he refused her a second time— “Marry me, Jack.”
He scowled. “The man’s supposed to ask.”
“Then ask,” she dared him and held her breath…
He shook his head. “I can’t offer you the life you deserve, of grand houses and fine dresses.” He paused, and for a moment, her heart stopped, afraid that even now he wouldn’t let himself choose her and seize a future together. But then he took her hands and raised them to his lips, not caring that they were surrounded by the crowd that was still calling out shouts of congratulations to both of them. “I can’t offer you anything but love.”
“And horses,” she interjected in a whisper, wholly earnest and filled with emotion.
He gave a low chuckle that rumbled warmly into her. “And horses. Lots and lots of horses.” He stepped forward and slipped his arms around her. His amusement faded into a look of such seriousness and love that her heart somersaulted. “Will you marry me, Francesca?”
“Yes, I will,” she breathed out, engulfed by such a happiness that she’d never before known. She beamed at him through her tears. “After all, winner takes all.”
He twisted a grin at her. “And which one of us just won?”
“Both.” She rose up and kissed him.
Dear Reader
Thank you for purchasing and reading this book! I hope you enjoyed it.
I’ve been around horses all my life, and when I was young, my family raised and raced quarter horses. (I wanted to be a jockey when I was a kid, only to outgrow that fantasy—literally.) It was so much fun to be able to write about the world of horses and racing, even with its early 1800 differences, which were surprisingly similar to how races are still run today. And of course, the romance! Those of you who have read my other books know that Jackson Shaw’s name has popped up occasionally in them since my second book as the man who trains and owns the best horses in England, and it was wonderful to finally be able to give him his own story.
“Stay tuned” below for a special glimpse at one of my favorite books, HOW THE EARL ENTICES, from my award-winning Capturing the Carlisles series and a #1 Amazon Historical Romance best seller! Or discover all of my books, fun extras, and more at my website: www.AnnaHarringtonBooks.com
And to be the first to receive news about new releases, special offers, contests, and more, sign up for my newsletter at https://bit.ly/2m7zWF0 and follow me on all my social media at https://www.annaharringtonbooks.com/follow
* * *
Happy reading!
Anna
SPECIAL BONUS!
Enjoy this glimpse into the first chapter of HOW THE EARL ENTICES by Anna Harrington — Ross Carlisle, Earl of Spalding, is forced to commit treason and race to London to catch a murderer. But when seeking refuge during a storm, he meets Grace Alden, a widow who is keeping her own deadly secrets. Soon, he is fleeing for his life, and the only person who can save him is a dead woman.
* * *
Grace Alden lay in her bed, staring at the dark ceiling and listening to the storm raging around her. The wind and rain roared so loudly that she couldn’t hear her own heartbeat. But she knew it was racing because it jumped into her throat each time she heard something bang against the cottage. The wind howled like a banshee over the cliff tops, screaming through the eaves and bringing with it a torrent of black rain that fell with the force of a hurricane.
“Please God, let the roof hold.”
Around her, the old limestone and timber cottage groaned beneath the fierce battering of the storm.
“And the walls, too,” she whispered in afterthought, “if not too much trouble.”
After ten more minutes of staring at the ceiling, she