out to take The Flynn around for an extended warm-up”—her eyes narrowed—“so he wouldn’t still be restless at the end. And then you bundled me out of the stable as soon as I rode back in.”
“I assumed you would need to get back here.” He hadn’t, but it was a good excuse. He slanted her a mildly questioning glance. “How are you covering your absences early morning and afternoon?”
“I often go riding first thing in the morning, so that’s nothing unusual. If Jessamy’s missing from the stable, everyone assumes I’m somewhere about, enjoying the morning. Just as long as I’m back by lunchtime, no one would think to worry.”
Slowing as they passed into the shade of the old trees edging the lawn, Flick grimaced. “The afternoons are more difficult, but no one’s asked where I ride off to. I suspect Foggy and Jacobs know Dillon’s not off with friends, but somewhere close—but if they don’t ask, then they can’t say if questioned.”
“I see.” He hesitated, inwardly debating whether to take her hand and place it on his sleeve, forcing her to stroll with him rather than lead the way. But she’d tensed when he’d taken her hand before, and she’d nearly dropped the vinegar. Suppressing a grin, he opted for caution. “There’s no reason you can’t loiter around the stables after the morning gallops. Not having any chores should give you a freer rein.” He had no intention of rescinding the orders he’d given Carruthers. “However, there’s no sense in dallying after afternoon stables. At that time, most of the jockeys and hangers-on retire to the taverns.”
“There’s no reason I can’t slouch about the stables until they leave.”
Demon inwardly frowned. There was a mulishness in her tone, a sense of rigid purpose in her stance; both had been absent earlier. Earlier in the dining room, when she’d been Felicity, not Flick. Flick was the righteous crusader, Felicity the Botticelli angel.
Slowing, he considered a swath of daffodils nodding their trumpets in the breeze. The odd bluebell and harebell were interspersed, creating a spring carpet stretching under the trees and into the sunshine beyond. He nodded toward the show. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
An angel should respond to natural beauty.
Flick barely glanced at nature’s bounty. “Hmm. Have you learned, or heard, anything yet?” She looked into his face. “You did go into town this morning, didn’t you?”
He suppressed a frown. “Yes, yes and yes.”
She stopped and looked at him expectantly. “Well?”
Frustrated, Demon halted and faced her. “The Committee is waiting for Dillon to return to have a quiet word with him over a number of races last season where the suspiciously priced crowd-favorite didn’t win.”
Her face blanked. “Oh.”
“Indeed. The slumgudgeon didn’t even realize that, as he hadn’t made a habit of hobnobbing with the riders before, people would notice when he suddenly did.”
“But . . .” Flick frowned. “The stewards haven’t come asking after him.”
“Not the stewards, no. In this instance, they weren’t required—any number of the Committee have probably called on the General in the last weeks. Easy enough to learn whether Dillon is here or not.”
“That’s true.” Then her eyes flew wide. “They haven’t said anything to the General, have they?”
Demon glanced away. “No, the Committee sees no reason to unnecessarily upset the General, and as yet, they have no proof—just suspicions.”
He looked back as Flick sighed with relief. “If they hold off until Dillon can return—”
“They’ll hold off as long as they can,” he cut in. “But they won’t—can’t—wait forever. Dillon will have to return as soon as possible—the instant we get enough information to prove the existence of the syndicate.”
“So we need to make headway in identifying Dillon’s contact. Are the rumors of race-fixing widespread?”
“No. Among the owners and
“I assumed you would need to get back here.” He hadn’t, but it was a good excuse. He slanted her a mildly questioning glance. “How are you covering your absences early morning and afternoon?”
“I often go riding first thing in the morning, so that’s nothing unusual. If Jessamy’s missing from the stable, everyone assumes I’m somewhere about, enjoying the morning. Just as long as I’m back by lunchtime, no one would think to worry.”
Slowing as they passed into the shade of the old trees edging the lawn, Flick grimaced. “The afternoons are more difficult, but no one’s asked where I ride off to. I suspect Foggy and Jacobs know Dillon’s not off with friends, but somewhere close—but if they don’t ask, then they can’t say if questioned.”
“I see.” He hesitated, inwardly debating whether to take her hand and place it on his sleeve, forcing her to stroll with him rather than lead the way. But she’d tensed when he’d taken her hand before, and she’d nearly dropped the vinegar. Suppressing a grin, he opted for caution. “There’s no reason you can’t loiter around the stables after the morning gallops. Not having any chores should give you a freer rein.” He had no intention of rescinding the orders he’d given Carruthers. “However, there’s no sense in dallying after afternoon stables. At that time, most of the jockeys and hangers-on retire to the taverns.”
“There’s no reason I can’t slouch about the stables until they leave.”
Demon inwardly frowned. There was a mulishness in her tone, a sense of rigid purpose in her stance; both had been absent earlier. Earlier in the dining room, when she’d been Felicity, not Flick. Flick was the righteous crusader, Felicity the Botticelli angel.
Slowing, he considered a swath of daffodils nodding their trumpets in the breeze. The odd bluebell and harebell were interspersed, creating a spring carpet stretching under the trees and into the sunshine beyond. He nodded toward the show. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
An angel should respond to natural beauty.
Flick barely glanced at nature’s bounty. “Hmm. Have you learned, or heard, anything yet?” She looked into his face. “You did go into town this morning, didn’t you?”
He suppressed a frown. “Yes, yes and yes.”
She stopped and looked at him expectantly. “Well?”
Frustrated, Demon halted and faced her. “The Committee is waiting for Dillon to return to have a quiet word with him over a number of races last season where the suspiciously priced crowd-favorite didn’t win.”
Her face blanked. “Oh.”
“Indeed. The slumgudgeon didn’t even realize that, as he hadn’t made a habit of hobnobbing with the riders before, people would notice when he suddenly did.”
“But . . .” Flick frowned. “The stewards haven’t come asking after him.”
“Not the stewards, no. In this instance, they weren’t required—any number of the Committee have probably called on the General in the last weeks. Easy enough to learn whether Dillon is here or not.”
“That’s true.” Then her eyes flew wide. “They haven’t said anything to the General, have they?”
Demon glanced away. “No, the Committee sees no reason to unnecessarily upset the General, and as yet, they have no proof—just suspicions.”
He looked back as Flick sighed with relief. “If they hold off until Dillon can return—”
“They’ll hold off as long as they can,” he cut in. “But they won’t—can’t—wait forever. Dillon will have to return as soon as possible—the instant we get enough information to prove the existence of the syndicate.”
“So we need to make headway in identifying Dillon’s contact. Are the rumors of race-fixing widespread?”
“No. Among the owners and
Similar Books
