Page 27 of Win Me, My Lord (All’s Fair in Love and Racing #5)

First, they were gorgeous. Tall and fair of hair—one more blonde, the other more red—the sisters were possessed of the sort of beauty that would attract every eligible lord within the shores of the British Isles.

But it was the specific glint in their eyes that hinted at the trouble they were—intelligent, observant, and fearless. A combination of qualities within two ladies of privilege that would have to be carefully managed.

Lady Saskia was the first to speak. “Society is a different way of life than we have been accustomed to.” Her voice kept within the bounds of careful neutrality. “It’s somewhat interesting.”

“What Saskia means,” said Lady Viveca, as if her sister’s words needed clarifying, “is that, actually, society isn’t interesting in the least, which is ironically the most interesting thing about it.

” She shook her head in wonder. “I mean, how can anyone possibly be interested in changing one’s clothing five times a day? ”

Lady Saskia nodded, warming to the subject. “Not to mention all the fittings one must endure to have that many dresses in one’s wardrobe.”

“Not interesting,” reiterated Lady Viveca.

Well.

How was that for honesty?

Mrs. Fairfax smiled like a proud, indulgent mama bird watching her chicks fly.

Beatrix snorted.

“What does interest you?” Artemis wasn’t asking out of mere politeness. What did interest these beautiful, unusual young ladies?

“Books,” they replied in unison. “And plays,” added Lady Saskia.

Artemis felt her brow lift. “Oh?”

“We’re in the process of establishing a circulating library,” said Lady Saskia.

“Sirens Circulating Library,” Lady Viveca cut in. “It will be open before the end of the year.”

Lady Saskia pulled a small pencil and journal from her reticule. “You shall each receive an invitation to the opening night party.” Presumably, she was adding their names to the guest list.

“I look forward to it,” said Beatrix.

“Are you a reader, Lady Beatrix?” asked Lady Viveca.

“I am.”

“Novels?” asked Lady Saskia.

“Mostly.”

“Then you shall be pleased to know that our Sirens Publishing imprint will commence next year with original novels.”

“How wonderful,” said Artemis.

And it was.

These young ladies certainly had sturdy heads on their shoulders, which came as no surprise given their older siblings, the Duke of Acaster and Lady Ormonde, had established London’s most exclusive gaming hell, The Archangel, when they’d merely been Gabriel and Tessa Siren.

One had to have both brains and daring to make a success of any venture, and the two young ladies before her hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

“Who is that man?” asked Lady Viveca, pointing at a figure on the opposite side of the stand—a tall young man ostentatiously dressed in an emerald-green velvet jacket and trousers. Even his top hat was emerald-green velvet.

“ That ,” said Mrs. Fairfax, “is Mr. Blaze Jagger.”

“The same Blaze Jagger that Gabriel and Tessa sold a controlling share of The Archangel to?” asked Lady Saskia.

“The very same,” said Mrs. Fairfax.

A few seconds passed while they all gave him an up-and-down appraisal.

“Rather sure of himself,” observed Lady Saskia.

“I would think so,” said Mrs. Fairfax. “Considering his reputation.”

Lady Viveca canted her head. “What’s that sparkling in his ear?”

“A diamond, presumably,” said Artemis. If it wasn’t paste, the gemstone was the largest diamond she’d ever seen that wasn’t part of a royal crown.

“Oh, I rather like that.” Lady Viveca looked as if she had more to say. “It’s … interesting .”

Two ticks of the clock passed before Mrs. Fairfax said, “Saskia? Viveca? Shall we fetch ourselves a glass of refreshing punch?” The question was asked so smoothly that one might not suspect she was attempting to distract her young charges’ attention away from the too-interesting Mr. Blaze Jagger.

With the departure of the ladies, Artemis turned to find Beatrix’s gaze fixed steadily upon her. “There is something I need to tell you,” said her friend.

It was only now that Artemis noticed Beatrix had been quiet during the entire exchange about Blaze Jagger. “Of course.”

Beatrix inhaled deeply and exhaled. “There is no way to say this, except to say it.”

Artemis found her muscles bunching as if bracing for impact. “Is everything all right between you and Deverill?”

Beatrix took a step closer and glanced around, furtively. “Blaze Jagger is my brother,” she said in a whispered rush.

Artemis’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “Your brother ?”

Beatrix nodded. “From the other side of the blanket, yes.”

As one, they turned to take him in with this new information between them.

A young, handsome, cocky upstart was what this room would see.

But also a man in business with the Duke of Acaster and the Marchioness of Ormonde.

A man who not only managed the vices of others, but who also had access to power.

A man who couldn’t be ignored.

“He’s carved out quite a place for himself, hasn’t he?”

A dry laugh escaped Beatrix. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it. He’s a handful.” She added, thoughtfully, “I’m enjoying getting to know him.”

A sudden surge of emotion had Artemis pulling Beatrix in for another hug. “I’m happy for you, my friend.”

Beatrix was, at last, getting the life she deserved.

The sudden ting-ting-ting of metal striking crystal cut through the din of the room. “The race is set to begin, if everyone would like to take their places at the balcony,” came the rich baritone of a footman Richmond must have chosen expressly for the occasion.

Artemis and Beatrix moved to the first balcony that overlooked the starting line. As the Epsom Downs race course was in the shape of a horseshoe, Prinny’s Stand was designed with balconies to all three sides, so one would miss no part of the race.

“Do you like Little Wicked’s odds today?” asked Artemis. Beatrix’s husband had infamously won the filly in a card game.

“Oh, she’s a sweet little goer,” said Beatrix, her gaze fixed on the starting line. “She will take it to Hannibal, that’s for certain.”

A chord of loss echoed through Artemis. Dido. She, too, had been a sweet little goer. Too suddenly, her time had ended.

What you suffered from the loss of Dido wasn’t insignificant.

Bran’s words.

You didn’t take it as a lesson to close yourself off … I admire that about you.

More of his words.

Words that tumbled through her ears and into her mind and rippled through veins and arteries, directly into that which beat inside her chest.

She lifted her field glass. But not to get a better look at the five horses and their jockeys jostling for advantageous positioning at the starting line. She was scanning the grounds for …

There he was— Bran —standing behind the white railing, apart from everyone to watch the race on his own.

She experienced a jolt of lightning at the sight of him, a now-familiar fluttering of the stomach and trill of the heart. A hush descended over the crowd, and she snapped to. The starter had lifted the gun into the air.

“There won’t be any false starts today,” said Beatrix. “Richmond and Acaster would have made certain.”

The next second, the gun exploded—and so did the crowd.

The horses lurched into motion and were off, their hooves thundering down the turf.

Beatrix began a running commentary of the race.

As she’d spent her entire childhood accompanying her wastrel father, the Marquess of Lydon, to every racecourse up and down England, no one knew horse racing better than her.

But Artemis couldn’t hear a single word.

It wasn’t due to the deafening roar of the crowd, either.

Rather, she felt overcome with a feeling of distance from the events surrounding her as she kept her gaze fixed on Bran.

Strangely, though separated by hundreds of yards, it felt like she and he were alone.

Through him, she was able to watch the drama on the turf unfold.

Somehow, it took her anxieties away to use him as a filter, for the days were over that she could wholly enjoy a horse race.

So, since she knew Epsom Downs like the back of her hand—truly, she could ride it blindfolded—by the tightening of Bran’s fist, she knew when the field took the first turn.

And by the hard clench of his jaw when the treacherous Tattenham Corner was approached and gotten through.

Then inevitably, the roar of the crowd increased to earsplitting levels as fleet hooves thundered down the final stretch and Bran’s entire body was pressed against the fence railing.

Artemis knew two things: The race was nearing the end—and Radish must be in the thick of it.

Her palms grew damp and her heart raced, and still she watched Bran.

She knew the instant the race was over, for, predictably, the crowd exploded.

And as for the result … She knew that, too.

Bran banged his fist on the railing a few times and gave a curt shake of the head.

Radish hadn’t won.

“What a race!” exclaimed Beatrix and threw her arms around Artemis’s neck, carried away by the thrill of the moment.

“Who won?” asked Artemis.

Beatrix angled back and speared her with a quizzical glance. “Hannibal, of course. But what a run the field gave him.” She shook her head with wonder. “Liam Cassidy must be the best jockey of his generation.”

That pulled a good laugh from Artemis. “Don’t let Rake hear you say that. He’s already proclaimed Gemma the best of all time, and you know how immovable his opinion is once formed. Whatever time Liam hit, Gemma would’ve bested it by ten seconds.”

Beatrix shook her head with a knowing smile. “Husbands.”

Though Artemis couldn’t share in the sentiment, she smiled along with her friend.

“Speaking of which,” said Beatrix, leadingly.

“Oh, yes,” said Artemis. “You must go find yours.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

Outside, Artemis gave Beatrix a final parting hug and found herself a lone being within the raucous throng that surrounded her.

There were any number of places she could go—the ladies’ retiring room …

the gaming tent—or people she could congratulate—Rake and Gemma …

Julian and Tessa … the Duke and Duchess of Acaster.

But that was all self-deception.

She knew exactly where she was going.

Though she shouldn’t.

She should point her feet in a different direction.

But she couldn’t.

She wanted to congratulate Bran. Sure, Radish hadn’t won this race, but that mattered little. What mattered was all Bran had achieved in getting him here.

That was worth congratulations.

At least, that was the why she told herself.