Page 27 of Dare to Tempt an Earl This Spring (Wedding Fever #1)

A thousand breaths couldn’t fill Ashley’s lungs with air. She swallowed, trying to calm her heart once they’d arrived in Thomas’s box. It was splendid, adorned with flowers, positioned with a perfect view—and none of it mattered right now.

“What on earth just happened? I thought that man had fled England.” Sera’s voice cut through the fog of Ashley’s panic.

So had Ashley. She was certain Jordan had left, but his contemptuous glare at Thomas… No, something didn’t sit right. Thomas hadn’t been alarmed, hadn’t even appeared wary, just coldly resolved. He hadn’t demanded why Jordan was still in London. Not how one would react if faced with a nemesis—or a threat.

Focus, Ashley. There’s more at stake than Jordan’s return.

“Maddie, potion, the horse,” she muttered under her breath, pushing herself to think past the knot in her stomach. This was all her fault, and if Thomas figured out the truth from anyone other than her, if she lost his trust…

She couldn’t let his horse not run in his race.

Sera nodded, then stopped short. “First, are you all right? You look pale as death.”

Ashley forced a steadying breath. “I’m fine. Let’s focus on what we can control.”

Sera pointed to a line of stables in the distance. “They’re just there.”

Ashley nodded and strode purposefully in that direction. Fortunately, they didn’t meet anyone along the way except for that tall blond man who seemed to watch her. All she wanted to do was stop the mad plan, go to their box, and reassure herself that she hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life with this plot she had set into motion.

With each step, her determination grew, battling the wave of dread coursing through her. The choices that had brought her here—could she truly regret them? They’d brought her closer to him, and yet…regret didn’t understand the latter.

“Oh my!” Sera’s gasp brought her back.

“What?” Ashley’s eyes swept over the crowd.

“Is that your mother? In the ostrich-feathered hat?”

“ What ?” Her head whipped in the direction that Sera pointed. Sure enough! Her mother laughed at something another woman said, her gaze darting over the grounds, searching. Ashley froze, heart pounding, then grabbed Sera’s arm. “Run! If she finds me, I’ll never escape!”

They dashed toward the stables, weaving between bystanders. What a close call! Ashley forced her focus back, but as they approached the stalls, a fresh wave of uncertainty swept over her. Which one was Thomas’s horse?

Sera voiced her exact thoughts. “How will we know which stable?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s the name of his horse? Or are there several?” Sera asked again.

“I…I don’t know.”

“What do you know about him?”

That he loves me. And I love him . “Let’s make haste. Over there.”

Ashley glanced around. A new predicament presented itself. Still, how were they going to find Linsey’s stall among all the others?

“I didn’t see Maddie on the way. She must be here somewhere or still on her way.”

“So, we wait?” Sera’s expression was uncertain.

Ashley shook her head, scanning for any sign of their friend. Not ideal. Once Thomas had finished with Jordan and the duke—another shiver trickled down her spine—he would come in search of her to finish business with her . His joy that morning as he prepared the horses filled her thoughts, and a pang of dread gnawed at her. The race, Thomas’s trust, her own future—this couldn’t be the moment it all unraveled.

Just then, a jockey exited one of the stables with a horse in tow. Ashley waved him down. “Excuse me, can you tell us where to find the Earl of Linsey’s stall?”

The man frowned, pointing down the line. “Eight stalls down, miss. Though, I doubt he’ll race today.”

Ashley’s heart sank. “Why not?”

“Sick rider. Some lady went to fetch a doctor.”

A chill spread through her.

They were too late.

“Thank you,” she managed, pulling Sera toward Linsey’s stall. Her heart hammered louder with each step, fear entwining with guilt.

They reached the stable, and sure enough, a man lay on a bed of hay, clutching his belly in pain. A heavy sense of failure weighed down on her, pressing the breath from her lungs. Thomas, her own heart—they were all on the line here.

Ashley’s thoughts were racing when a familiar voice interrupted. “Ashley? Sera?”

She turned to find Maddie, the doctor at her side.

“Dr. Andre Fernando, here for the sick jockey.” The man with wavy black hair and a large leather bag inclined his head and stepped into the stall, heading directly to the patient.

Ashley’s pulse quickened. Too many eyes were on her. Thomas’s steely composure, Jordan’s cryptic contempt—it all threatened to pull the ground from under her. Could the jockey recover in time? Or would everything she’d hoped to salvage now shatter before her eyes?

“What are you doing here?” Maddie asked, her voice low with concern.

“We came to stop you,” Sera replied, gesturing to Ashley. “She had a change of heart.”

“A change of heart?” Maddie’s gaze darted to the injured jockey. “There’s no changing any heart now.”

“Can he race?” Ashley asked the doctor but all she received was a faint shaking of his head.

“Not today. Perhaps tomorrow.” The doctor helped the jockey out of his coat with the number 2 on it and the embroidered crest of the House of Linsey. Ashley recognized it from the elegantly adorned carriage they’d taken to the Ascot.

And also from the carriage house.

Her breath hitched.

Breeches. She needed breeches.

Ashley pulled the pins from her hair that secured the hat and set it aside as soon as the doctor and the jockey were out of sight. She pinned her hair up. “There! White breeches!”

“He won’t come back from the outhouse for a while.” Maddie flattened her lips. “I gave him senna. It’s a mild laxative.”

“Mild?” Ashley asked as she grabbed the breeches and the jockey’s coat.

“In a single dose, yes. I tripled it,” Maddie said. “That’s what you wanted, right? I just poisoned a stranger to save your life, didn’t I?”

This was a mess, and she’d dragged everyone into it. Thomas, and now Sera, Maddie, and the poor jockey. She was a plague to all who knew her. Perhaps Mother had been right all this time.

“This is what you wanted, right, Ashley?”

Wrong.

The finality in Maddie’s tone tightened the noose of worry around Ashley’s neck. This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. Jordan’s return was a complication, but she could only hope that Thomas would understand the lengths she’d gone to, to protect them both.

Her jaw set in determination, and she pulled them to an empty stall, shutting the bottom part of the door, then pushing the top closed and holding it shut with both hands. Sera and Maddie gave her a bewildered look.

“It’s a Dutch door. They lock from the outside only,” Ashley explained.

Now bewilderment was an understatement. Sera and Maddie eyed her as if she’d sprouted horns or neighed. “What do you expect? Horses can’t lock their own stables.”

Ashley turned her back to her friends. “Untie my dress.”

Sera gaped at her. “How is getting undressed going to solve anything? What is running through your head right now?”

“Not something smart, I imagine,” Maddie said.

Smart? Many would say nothing she’d done had been smart up until now. But…

She had made mistakes.

She had to correct them. “I’ll race in his place.”

Maddie’s brow furrowed. “You’re terrible at riding.”

“Linsey’s jockey can’t ride,” Ashley shot back. “So, there’s only one thing left to do. I shall race in his stead. Help me dress in his uniform.”

“Why don’t you tell Linsey to ride?” Sera asked. “He doesn’t need to know about,” she cleared her throat, “what happened here today.”

“Have you seen him? He’s not built like a jockey. More like a stallion.”

“This is preposterous!” Maddie exclaimed. “You will die on that track.”

“I won’t die,” Ashley denied. She was ready. Yes, it was preposterous, and yes, she was a terrible rider, but she would hold onto that horse for dear life and prove to Thomas that she was sorry. For everything. And sure, she’d almost fallen off a horse a few days ago, but she’d do better this time around.

A grand gesture as evidence of her repentance? Making up for her misguided vendetta?

She just needed to do something .

“We won’t be able to change your mind, will we?” Sera asked.

“No.”

“You’ll never win,” Sera went on. “You can’t compete with all these other jockeys.”

Winning the race wasn’t the point here. She would probably come in last. Thomas didn’t wager on his horses anyway. But she, however, was gambling everything.

“I don’t need to win,” Ashley said grimly. “I just need to win him back, not the race.”

*

After he undusted himself and washed his hands from his scuffle with Mr. Critton, Thomas entered the box, scanning the crowd. Sebastian trailed in his wake. His gaze swept over each face, but Ashley was nowhere to be seen. Lady Charlene, reclining on a velvet-cushioned seat and fanning herself idly, raised her chin in mild amusement when she caught his eye, but a furrow appeared between her brows when she took in his disheveled state.

“Where is Lady Ashley?” Thomas asked, fighting to keep his voice steady, though tension coiled within him.

Lady Charlene raised a brow. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Lord Sebastian escorted me to the box after we placed our bet.” She shrugged, her fan snapping shut. “Perhaps they lost track of time—Ascot can be a bit overwhelming to those unaccustomed.”

A bead of unease dripped into his thoughts.

Hadn’t they come straight to the box? Then they had been gone longer than expected, and the knot tightening in his chest warned him this wasn’t a simple delay. The likelihood of Ashley missing his race was low. However, they’d encountered a variable no one could have foreseen. Had Paisley perhaps found her since he’d gone off with Jordan in shame?

A cold whisper of doubt took root.

Had he, or had Jordan, frightened her off? His chest tightened. It was maddening to think she might be avoiding him, retreating from him when he’d barely begun to understand how deep his own feelings had gone.

Hell and damnation.

Another voice cut through his spiraling thoughts as a steward’s call rang out across the racetrack. The horses were assembling at the starting line, and the growing murmur of the crowd rippled around him, infectious and electric. Thomas glanced back at the track, his gaze homing in on his own horse, Lord Midnight—a dark, gleaming thoroughbred, the pride of his stables. The other horses, equally grand, shifted and pawed the ground, each rider adjusting reins, readying for the thunderous start. Thomas’s pulse quickened.

Sebastian cast him a concerned look, then leaned in with a low voice, “Thomas, you look as though you’re waiting for the gallows.”

Thomas barely registered him, eyes moving to sweep the scene for any hint of Ashley. “Where could she be?”

“She’s bound to make an appearance soon,” Sebastian reminded him, following his gaze. “She won’t stray too far away. This is the Ascot after all. Where would a lady be?”

He wasn’t so sure, but forced himself to turn his gaze back to the racetrack, tightening his jaw as he adjusted his gloves. The sound of the horn blasted, and the crowd stilled in anticipation. A gunshot cracked through the air, signaling the start of the race. The horses surged forward, an explosive burst of raw power and speed, their hooves pounding against the earth in a rhythmic thunder that vibrated through the stands.

His gaze locked onto Lord Midnight. But as the horses stormed around the first bend, he noticed something strange. His horse was struggling, falling behind, jostling with a lack of finesse and balance that clashed against his usual grace.

“What on earth?” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. It was almost as if the jockey had forgotten the technique they’d drilled into him. Was he clutching the horse’s neck? But this jockey was seasoned, hand-picked and trusted for his expertise with Lord Midnight. That posture…

It looked troublingly familiar.

And with a sinking dread, Thomas noticed something odd: beneath the riding helmet and silks, stray curls—golden-blonde, distinctly feminine.

Shock sent his pulse skittering.

No.

Impossible.

“Ashley?” He spoke the name aloud in disbelief, his voice barely more than a whisper. But no. It couldn’t be. She wasn’t reckless enough to attempt something so foolish, so dangerous. Fear swelled within him, becoming something sharper, slicing through the thin guise of control he’d been holding onto since they arrived. Why?

Beside him, Lady Charlene’s fan clattered to the floor, her attention fixed on a new commotion at the entrance to their box. Thomas’s attention whipped to the doorway as a flustered man stumbled in clutching his belly, disheveled, in pain, and unmistakably garbed in Thomas’s team colors.

The real jockey.

The jockey’s frantic gaze scanned the box until he spotted Thomas. “My lord,” he gasped, panting as though he’d run a marathon. “A woman…a woman took my place! She…she took my coat when the doctor…”

Thomas didn’t hear the rest.

The world shifted on its axis.

Beside him, Sebastian cursed, and Lady Charlene slowly rose to her feet, eyes wide in shock.

His eyes found his horse again, lagging, but still racing.

She was on the track. She was out there, racing against seasoned riders, pushing Lord Midnight without any of the experience needed to keep control. All he could see was disaster—a misstep, a jostling rider, a single mistake that could send her flying from the saddle and trampled to death. At breakneck speed. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice rough with disbelief and rising terror. “What was she thinking?”

Thomas was on the verge of barreling out of his box track when another figure appeared in the doorway—a gaudy woman with a monstrous feathered hat, swathed in layers of lace and color, and the ugliest dog he’d ever seen in her arms. Her bright rouge seemed to glow against her skin as she scanned the box with a haughty scowl, her voice shrill and imperious. “Where is Lady Ashley? Where is my daughter? I demand to see her this instant!”

Trailing behind her was a familiar face: Jordan. Dusty and battered, with eyes filled with equal parts rage and bitterness, he glared at Thomas.

Did the man bloody wish to die today?

Thomas ignored the urge to react, his mind singularly focused on Ashley and the peril she now faced. “I haven’t the time for this—” he snapped at the woman, his voice harsher than intended.

“Steady,” Sebastian murmured. “There is nothing you can do while she’s atop the horse.”

Lady Charlene stepped up to Ashley’s mother, blocking the woman’s view from the track. “Let us get you a glass of punch while we wait for Ashley to come.”

Thomas sent Lady Charlene a grateful nod and stalked from the box, breaking into a run the moment he cleared the exit. The horses were halfway through the first circuit, the earth kicking up in thick clouds around them as Lord Midnight fought his way forward, a dark streak among the others. Ashley clung to the reins, her posture rigid with inexperience, her blonde curls flying out from beneath the helmet. She appeared barely in control, swaying with each powerful stride of the thoroughbred beneath her.

The woman was a riding scandal.

He pushed through the thickening mass of spectators, each step more agonizingly slow than the last. His shoulder slammed into bystanders, elbows jarring into his ribs; but he barely noticed the discomfort. “Move, please!” he shouted, his voice cracking with urgency. Ashley was fumbling with the reins, her movements erratic and unsteady. He could see her lips moving, perhaps whispering words of comfort to the horse, but the stallion was skittish, sensing his rider’s lack of rhythm.

Every nerve in Thomas’s body screamed at him to do something, to get her off that track and to safety. But all he could do was watch, helpless, as the crowd erupted around him, enraptured by the intensity of the race while he was consumed by dread. Ashley’s movements were erratic, and she was struggling to hold Lord Midnight in check, her grip on the reins visibly faltering.

“She’s going to bloody fall,” he muttered, his fists clenched tight enough to turn his knuckles white as he waded through the crowd.

“Look on the bright side,” Sebastian offered, keeping up with him. “She won’t be trampled if she’s last.”

“In this round,” Thomas mumbled.

His friend’s words were swallowed by the crowd’s collective gasps and cheers as the horses thundered past the stands. Ashley was clinging to Lord Midnight, but the horse’s instincts were kicking in, pushing him forward even as her inexperience held him back.

He was bred to win. With or without a jockey, Lord Midnight would gain speed toward the end. Nobody knew his horses as well as Thomas.

“Damn it,” he cursed, voice raw, lost in the cacophony. “Just hold on.” The seconds stretched into eternities as he waded through the human sea, with one thought burning in his mind: Get to her. Save her.

In that instant, everything blurred—the racetrack, the roaring crowd. He was no longer at the Ascot, no longer surrounded by society’s finest; his world had narrowed to one singular point of focus: Ashley. He cared for the horses, yes, but she was everything . He had to reach her. There’d be other races but never another woman for him.

Ignoring the bewildered stares around him and whispered gossip, Thomas surged forward, his only thought to rescue the woman he couldn’t bear to lose.

They reached the final stretch. Lord Midnight, as predicted, began surging forward, sensing the nearing finish line, and for a moment, Thomas dared to hope. But his breath hitched as he watched her struggle to maintain balance, the strain evident on her face even from his distant vantage point.

The horses flew past the finish line, a blur of motion and color.

Thomas barely registered the outcome. All he cared about was his love—where she was, if she was safe.

His heart pounded, drowning out the roar of the crowd as he watched her struggle to slow the spirited horse, her movements growing weaker, less controlled. Then, to his horror, she slipped, her body sliding from the saddle as her grip gave way.

“Ashley!” he roared. Pushing past startled onlookers and breaking through the barricade, he raced to where she’d fallen, his heart a relentless drumbeat of panic.

She lay still.

He called her name again as he dashed over to her, falling on his knees beside her.

But she still didn’t move.