Page 7

In fact, if we revert to history, we shall find that the women who have distinguished themselves have neither been the most beautiful nor the most gentle of their sex.

—Mary Wollstonecraft

“Is that…a girl ?” someone roared.

“She can’t be here!”

“Disqualify her!”

My stomach dipped in dismay at that, and by the time Blythe crossed the finish line a hair behind Blake, the crowd was in a full-on furor, calling for her disqualification on account of her sex. A horrified Blythe dismounted, face apologetic, but losing her hat wasn’t her fault, and she’d taken second place fair and square.

“Nice work,” I told her. “You almost had Blake.”

The redhead in question dismounted and joined us to congratulate Blythe. Unlike the other gentlemen, who were behaving like we’d infiltrated their secret club—which, to be fair, we had—Blake was all smiles. He didn’t care that Blythe was female, only that she’d been an excellent contender. “Well done! You nearly bested me.”

Blake grinned at Nori and then his eyes landed on me. Drat, I should have ducked my head, but it was much too late. His smile stuttered as his mouth fell open, gaze darting to Rafi, who only gave a small warning shake of his head. Not that Blake ever listened to anyone. “Z, does Kes know you’re here?”

I glared at him, prepared to defend my choices, but was saved when the organizers of the race closed ranks on us as the chants for ineligibility continued. “We had an invitation,” Nori said before they could get a word in, and yanked off her own hat and face scarf. More shouts ensued. “One’s sex shouldn’t undermine one’s skill.”

“This is a gentleman’s sport,” said a tall boy with a tight scowl. “And clearly you were aware of that, or you would not have hidden your identities.”

Not wanting everyone to discover that a marquess’s sister dared to race, I lowered my head and kept my brim low. Rafi must have seen because he nudged closer, his big frame helping to keep me hidden. Nori had an excuse in her brother. But I was a lady…with a duke for a father, who was feared for good reason.

Nori’s scowl rivaled the boy’s. “It’s easier to ride in breeches, you jackanapes.” She pointed at her bosom, the telltale rise and fall of her chest obvious beneath her coat. “I’m not at fault if you don’t have a pair of working eyes to deduce that these are indeed breasts.”

Smothered laughter rippled through the group. The boy’s lip curled into an ugly sneer. “Now, see here—”

Blake clapped him on the back. “Calm down, mate. It’s only a race. Don’t allow the bruised egos of the losers get your undergarments in a twist. Let’s see how they do in the final race.” There was some agreement in the gathering, though still mostly murmurs of dissent.

“The rules are the rules,” the unpleasant one insisted. “No women.”

Nori stepped forward, fist raised. “My brother—”

“Is not in charge,” the boy cut in coldly.

An incredulous laugh ripped from her. “Rin invented this race, you clod-head. Half the people here know I’m his sister. Or are you just completely oblivious and blinded by your own conceit? Rin, where are you?” she shouted.

Blake cleared his throat. “He’s, er, being congratulated for winning the first leg.” I bit back a snort; that could mean any number of scandalous things because Rin had an even worse reputation with the ladies than Rafi did.

Brows drawing down, our spoilsport folded his arms and clenched his jaw. With some alarm, I could see that this was going to go nowhere fast, but to my utter surprise, Rafi lifted a gloved hand, stopping the sputtering boy in his tracks. “There are no rules to say that females may not participate in Midnight Row. It is rare, true, but not prohibited. Mr. Kaneko would say the same, but clearly, he is otherwise occupied at the moment.”

“Mr. Nasser,” one of the other gentlemen said, his tone nearly reverent. My eyes rounded, recalling that he had called himself a legacy. Nori had said that Rin was one of the original founders. Was Rafi one, too?

The argumentative boy jutted his chin. “They should be ruled out.”

“No,” Rafi said curtly, his stare cutting the disputer down like the honed edge of a blade. “They ride. Or do you wish to be barred from future events?”

The boy’s mouth snapped shut as he glowered with sullen hostility. A slew of muttering rose up in the wake of Rafi’s threat.

“Will women be able to race now?”

“Are these the new rules?”

“Is it the beginning of the end? This is a man’s world.”

I almost rolled my eyes at the last statement. Blythe had just proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was better than most of the male riders here.

A solemn Rafi eyed me when the group dispersed after a pointed glare on his part. He leaned in. “What’s the real reason you’re doing this?”

I hesitated. Should I tell him the truth? It wasn’t like I had anything to lose or be ashamed of. “We need the funds.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “ You need funds? Doesn’t your father give you ample pin money?” He held my gaze as my expression fell, lips pressing thin. “What do you need it for anyway? A new gown? Trinkets?”

For some reason those sarcastic words felt like knives stabbing through me. Of course, he would assume that. He was no different from any other gentleman in London who imagined fashion and frippery were all women dreamed about. Not that there was anything wrong with fashion—I adored a beautiful gown myself—but there was a huge difference between wants and needs. A dress was a want; saving Beth and Little Hands was a need.

I lifted my chin. “No. And even if it was, that would be none of your concern, would it?”

“Tell me what it is for, then.”

Gritting my teeth, I swallowed, wanting to defend myself and my principles but unwilling to risk exposure of the Lady Knights, considering our actions involved robbing him. “I can’t tell you, but it’s for a good cause, I promise you.”

His face serious, he stared at me long and hard, his gaze probing as if he could see right into my head. After a handful of fraught moments, I wasn’t sure if he’d gotten what he wanted, but he nodded once and left to get his horse. I was equally relieved and perturbed at the cool dismissal, but then again, I’d never pretended to know how that boy’s mind worked.

Once he had mounted his gray stallion, Rafi gave a signal to a man holding the whistle.

“Riders, take your places,” the starter called out.

I turned to retrieve Ares and mounted. I shot Rafi a quiet glance, but he was focused on getting into place at the starting line. For an instant, I wondered what was going through his head. Why did he stand up for me? He could have easily agreed with the others and ended our hopes—and my participation in the last race—then and there.

A mix of curiosity and gratitude shot through me, though I pressed it down.

Rafi didn’t do anything for anyone else. He pleased himself. This had to be his underhanded way of showing me that I was out of my element. That I should be in a salon somewhere, playing a pianoforte and singing like a well-behaved girl. Was that what he intended? To prove the Lady Knights didn’t belong here? I tossed my head. Well, too bad.

Any knight worth her salt would never concede without a fight.

Guiding Ares forward, I took my place at the end of the row with the other four riders and assessed my competition. Two of the remaining teams were from Eton, one from Harrow. Rafi and I were the last two of the five, a legacy team and an alternate team. I caught sight of Nori, Blythe, and Greer, and they were all screaming. The noise filtered to a dull roar, and all I could hear was the blood rushing between my ears.

Then the whistle blew, and the race was off. Ares’s muscular body launched forward, and I crouched into position, the night air billowing against my body. My competition and I were neck and neck, and though I knew what to expect, I was completely unprepared when the rider to my left veered into my flank, forcing me to divert. A cruel grin split his face.

“Go back to the bedchamber where you belong,” he shouted.

Fury filled me along with the urge to sink to his level and retaliate, but I’d win by beating him soundly. And fairly. The line of riders grew more staggered as Ares pulled forward, his powerful body gaining precious inches with each breath. As we crossed the halfway marker, I could see the finish line in the distance, my peripherals on Rafi only a length or two ahead and the two Eton boys on either side of me. It seemed like Rafi was directing the pace, but why would he? Unless he was waiting to see what the other riders might do….

It didn’t occur to me that I was in trouble until the two Eton boys started crowding me, right before I caught sight of the pole three feet off the ground, stretching across the track. Lanterns had been lit, thankfully, so the barrier was very visible, but I would need enough speed to jump it.

“Back off, you cads!” I screamed, but they just leered and pressed closer. At this pace, I wouldn’t be able to jump safely without injury to me or the horse, and though I desperately wanted to win, I couldn’t put Ares in harm’s way.

Making my decision, I slowed more, but the monsters slowed with me, and ice filled my veins. They wanted to hurt me…likely as some perverse form of punishment for daring to enter their bigoted little race. If I could not slow down, I would have to go faster. I nudged my heels into Ares’s ribs and loosened the length of the reins. “Go, boy!”

The slack was enough for Ares to burst past the two horses containing him, and then we were flying. Rafi was still ahead, and I watched him vault with effortless ease. I sensed the other three trying desperately to catch up as our lead broadened. My lungs squeezed in my chest as I fought to keep breathing. My thighs burned and my muscles screamed with the effort of staying in the saddle, but I could see the finish line.

“Just a little more, Ares.” I grunted as we reached the hurdle. “We can do it. Jump, boy!”

Going against the customary habit for riders to lean back mid-leap and lead the horse to land on four legs or the back legs, I shoved out of my saddle and put my weight forward on the stirrups, moving with the stallion’s natural gait. Ares and I soared over the pole like poetry in motion, landing on his forelegs and eating up the yards.

In the next few breathless heartbeats, Rafi and I were abreast of one another, our horses nearly in sync, and I met that piercing stare that held a kind of wondrous admiration. Everything around us disappeared but those few seconds of connection. I let out an exhilarated laugh as a genuine grin full of fondness curved his lips, completely transforming his face to something I’d never seen before. Something directed in its entirety at me.

Suddenly, I felt like Icarus, only this boy was the sun.

Rafi’s smirk made my knees wobble; Rafi like this made every bone in my body feel like sun-warmed honey. Even if I lost—which wasn’t going to happen—I would remember this moment and that unguarded, tender expression for the rest of my life.

On the heels of that smile, his eyes glowed with awe and approval, and he offered me the slightest cant of his head as if I had proved my mettle. Perhaps it was my imagination, but in that same breath, I sensed rather than saw his mount marginally slow. But it was much too quick for me to put any stock in it. Rafi wasn’t the sort to willfully lose.

Focusing on the rest of the race, I crouched low and gave the last stretch everything I had. I wasn’t entirely certain that we were going to win, despite my earlier affirmation, but by God, I could only give it my best. With a burst of fortitude, I sucked in a breath and pressed my knees down, the small impetus just enough for Ares and I to soar over the finish line…by a nose.

Dear heavens, we had won!

My pulse had yet to calm as I slowed Ares to a trotting pace, making sure to cool him down properly and let his heated blood circulate. “Good boy,” I told him, patting his sweaty neck. “You did it. Thank you, thank you, thank you. ”

“Are you thanking your horse?”

Rafi trotted up next to me, his brown face glistening with sweat and his dark hair blown back over his brow, the shoulder-length strands tangled from the wind. At some point, like Blythe, he’d lost his hat. He looked deliciously windblown. I ignored the sudden heat in my own blood and put it down to me needing to cool off just like Ares.

“He was as much a part of the win as I was,” I said.

His mouth twitched. “Well done, both of you, then. That jump was something!”

“Thank you.” Suddenly suspicious of what I’d felt in the last seconds of the race, I studied him with narrowed eyes as we cantered easily down the path. “I’m certain you had the lead, but you let me pull ahead there at the end. Why?”

His face was unreadable. “I didn’t let you do anything. The faster equestrian won.”

“Rafi.”

His lip curled, something like satisfaction lighting those mercurial eyes. “I like it when you say my name.”

“I beg your pardon,” I replied, flustered considering that the small liberty was typically used only in my head. He had never actually given me leave to address him so informally by his first name. That was reserved for family, close friends, and…intimate persons. My cheeks warmed. “I mean, Mr. Nasser.”

“No, I much prefer the former,” he said, lip curling at the corner. I had to keep my jaw from gaping at the low, smoky tone of his voice. Rafi Nasser had never turned that voice or those eyes on me in such a way. I’d seen him do it many a time at many a ball to many other young ladies, however. No wonder they all tumbled like bowling pins.

When had he stopped seeing me as anything but Keston’s troublesome younger sister?

No good could come from the answer to that question.

I steeled my spine and stopped myself from dissolving into an ignominious swoon. That would not do at all. When I stared at him, calm as the breeze, he sighed and patted his horse. “Again, I didn’t let you win, my lady. You triumphed on your own merit. I’d ridden Thunder earlier this morning, and he was on his last legs.” He ducked his chin with a sidelong glance at me. “Besides, you are in dire need of the funds, are you not…for your charitable good cause?”

“Yes,” I said softly. I could see the curiosity in his gaze, but he didn’t press further, which I appreciated.

He reached over and gripped Ares’s reins, his gloved fingers so close to mine that I could feel the heat radiating off him. My breath fizzled as he leaned closer. “Don’t put yourself in danger like this again. I mean it.”

And that was how a tender moment got crushed like an ant encountering a giant bootheel. He was back to being Rafi the rotter, all arrogance and high-handedness. I reared away, jerking his hand from its hold. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I will if it’s for your own good,” he said mildly.

“How would you know what’s good for me?” I spluttered with indignation, though my traitorous heart quivered.

His brows rose as he sat back on his horse and folded his arms. “Because I know you. If there’s trouble, you will undoubtedly find it. Or it will find you. Someone has to save you from yourself.”

“And you volunteered for the position?” I demanded. “The hero on the white horse galloping in to rescue the damsel in distress?”

“Make no bones about it, you’re as much a damsel as I am a hero, Firefly.”

“My name is Zia.” Scowling at the unwelcome warmth the nickname elicited, considering it was the second time he’d used it, I cleared my throat and stared straight ahead. “Will you tell my brother?”

He pondered the question, those silver eyes glinting. I didn’t like the suddenly calculating look in them. “No, but you owe me.”

Relief was instantly followed by outrage. How dare he make this transactional? “Owe you for what?”

His dark chuckle made my insides catapult as he picked up his pace and glanced back at me over his shoulder. “For keeping your secrets, of course. And you will tell me what that money is for, my lady. Maybe not today, but you will.”

He reached toward me, a reply frozen on my lips as he went to tuck a tiny curl that had escaped my hat back into hiding and pull the brim down. He was much too close for comfort…the sandalwood-and-rain scent of his heated skin dizzying my confused senses.

“I won’t,” I said, but my voice was much too breathy for my liking. Tugging on the reins, I turned away and directed Ares to the right of Rotten Row, where Nori, Greer, and Blythe were shouting and waving in complete delight.

“You did it, Zia!”

I grinned back, tired but exhilarated, and shoved Rafi Nasser to the back of my head. “We did it. Team effort. Let’s get our winnings to Sister Mary.”

In hindsight, it had been a miracle that my identity hadn’t been discovered by the public. That would have been a debacle that I might not have been able to come back from. I could imagine the headlines now: Lady Z caught in scandalous race with unmarried gentlemen at midnight! My full name would not be printed, but everyone would know. Gossip in the ton was literally food for survival…and anything involving my family was especially juicy. During Keston and Ela’s rocky courtship, the newspapers once accused poor Ela of going on a scourge of terror across all London!

The hounds would have had a field day with me.

But no matter, it was already done, and we had amassed enough money for the rent to save Bellevue and Little Hands, at least for now. We had bribed my young coachman Brennan for his silence with enough coin, considering he was the one who usually ferried us to the pawnbroker’s in St. Giles, a seedy area of town, when we needed to pawn jewelry from our heists, but it helped that he was also completely smitten with Lalita.

Greer shot her a teasing look after we’d all climbed in and she’d finished giving him instructions. “He’s categorically besotted with you.”

To my surprise, a violent blush seeped into Lalita’s cheekbones. If I didn’t know better, I would say that Brennan’s unrequited infatuation might not be so one-sided, but a coachman would never do for a girl of her station, and certainly not with her aunt and uncle’s lofty ambitions for an aristocratic, rich match. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” Greer quipped, then made kissing noises.

The glare on Lalita’s face could have scorched the inside of the carriage. “I think you should concern yourself with your own affairs,” she snapped. “Not everyone has been betrothed from birth, free from the obligation to put themselves on display every season for the sake of everyone else but themselves.”

The outburst startled us. She’d never given any indication that she was opposed to finding a husband. Greer had Lars, her epistolary fiancé whom she’d been engaged to since birth, Nori was not being pressured to marry, and I had the power to pick my future spouse. Or would, at least, until my father put his foot down, and then I’d be in the same boat as Lalita.

“I’m sorry,” Lalita said, and burst into tears. “My uncle has decided to choose a husband for me. I feel so powerless. And Brennan, well, I do like him, but he’s just a coachman.”

I bit my lip. Instead of saying anything, we hugged our friend close. Sometimes no words were better than meaningless ones.

The rest of the ride from my home to Bellevue was quick, and by the time we arrived, Lalita had stopped crying. We tightened our plain cloaks and entered through the church at the front before proceeding down the narrow hallways to the attached orphanage.

Sister Mary greeted us, her lined face drawn, though she pushed a dim smile to her face as she led us to her small office. “Friends, it is wonderful to see you. Have you come for a visit? The children have missed you.” She gave a fond sniff. “Beth, especially, now that she is well again.”

“Where is our girl?” Nori asked.

“Last I checked, she was outsmarting everyone at chess.”

I chuckled. Beth was by far our favorite. We usually spent quite a bit of time at Little Hands, though of late we had stayed away while the croup had run its course. One of the many rules of Welton was each young lady’s contribution to charity, so we helped distribute food to the needy every week, but we enjoyed taking turns reading to the children the most.

Once we were in the privacy of the room, I pushed the money into Sister Mary’s fingers. “We collected this for you. It should be enough to tide you over for a good while, including the rent and care for Beth and the other children.”

Her eyes watered, a slew of emotions taking over her face as she studied the contents of the pouch in dazed shock. “How did you do this?”

“Will it be enough, or are we too late?” Nori asked nervously.

So far, Sister Mary and the other sisters had been able to scrape by each quarter, but this time had been difficult since the property owner who wished to sell to Viscount Hollis kept illegally increasing the amount of the lease.

“You’re just in time,” she said, tears brimming. “And it’s more than enough. Bless you, children, bless you.”

This right here, this was what our efforts were about. Seeing the joy on Sister Mary’s face was worth every second of pressure and the risk of getting caught. Our ways might have been unorthodox and illegal, especially the thievery bit, but every human being deserved to be fed, healthy, and housed.

“Can we read to the children today, Sister?” I asked. “We have some time to spare and would love to help.”

Her smile was everything. “They would love that.”

As we filed down a narrow corridor and entered the spartan nursery, Beth’s small face lit up from where she was now playing with a well-worn puzzle. “Zia! Greer, Lalita, Nori! I missed you!”

I knelt and opened my arms. “Missed you, too, Honey B.”

She giggled as she snuggled in. “That’s not my name, Zia.”

“But your name does start with B, doesn’t it?” I said, despairing at the feel of her ribs beneath my fingers. “And you’re as sweet as honey, so Honey B it is.”

“Then you’re Honey Z,” she said brightly.

Nori dropped to my side. “More like Salty Z,” she said, and hoisted the little girl from my lap and proceeded to tickle her. “My turn!”

After that, it was a swarm as the other little children rushed toward us for their cuddles and tickles. The room was filled with childish laughter that lifted my soul. God, the hope and delight on their faces, even in their misfortune, poor health, and poverty, wrenched at my heartstrings. Where would they go if Viscount Hollis took over this place? Other orphanages in London were already overflowing. This was their home.

The school was our home away from home. And the church was a safe haven for many others. We couldn’t let this place get demolished.

We simply couldn’t !