and so brilliant all at once that it set his heart to pounding and his feet to travelling even faster. What if he could get
around
Ryeton? He could well imagine the state the man was in today. By all reports he was frantically following up every lead, trying to get Pratchett back in time to race the Guineas. But what if
Stephen
was the one to find the horse? He could return the thoroughbred to Ryeton with all due pomp and circumstance. It would create a sensation—one that he could use to benefit Fincote Park.
He’d thought himself past the need for the spotlight—but this time he could use it to accomplish all of his goals in one fell swoop. The racing crowd would go wild—and claim him as their hero. It would create the perfect opportunity to convince Ryeton to run Pratchett at Fincote. The earl would look like a fool were he to continue to hold a grudge in such circumstances. He would have to agree—and the racing world, so eager for a spectacle, would stumble over itself to witness it.
Stephen could barely contain his excitement. It was perfect. It would work—if only he could locate the missing racehorse first.
The thought stopped him dead in his tracks. That was the complicated bit, wasn’t it? Though Ryeton had put on a convincing show of shock and bewilderment, he had to have an idea of what motivated such a bizarre incident. And knowledge would give him an advantage that would make him hard to beat.
Stephen started moving again. Society being what it was, someone else might have a hint at what lay behind it, too. Surely someone, a trainer, groom, the earl’s friends—or enemies—knew something. It would be a race to ferret out information and connect the pieces before Ryeton did.
He nodded. It could be done. He could search out the truth. But the job was too big for one man. He would stand a better chance if he had help.
Silently, he considered his prospects.
Toswick, perhaps? Quickly, he discarded the notion. His host was an upstanding gentleman, too honourable to chose between his acquaintances in such a manner. Landry, then? With a stab of disappointment, Stephen recalled the viscount’s tirade against Ryeton. Landry was unlikely to help with any scheme that helped the earl get Pratchett back, even if it aided Stephen at the same time.
No, he needed someone uninvolved. Someone with a quick mind and a sense of discretion. His mind raced. Owner, trainer, black leg and groom—every man-jack involved in racing was knee deep in speculation right now. Yet gossip was likely thickening the air in Newmarket’s social circles as well as in her barns and training courses. Ryeton’s name would be whispered over every teacup, the man’s history and his every social gaffe dug up, dissected and served up alongside the cucumber sandwiches. The information he needed could come from anywhere.
Stephen needed a partner—someone who could help him cover ground, explore every avenue and then come together to sort, sift and piece answers together. Surely he knew someone not averse to a bit of adventure and ready to embrace a good scheme …
He stopped short once more. The answer was at once obvious and frightening. It floated, a red-gold beacon in his mind.
What he needed was Mae Halford.
No! He exploded into motion again, moving faster than ever and setting the old mare to prancing nervously as well. It was an absurd notion—too foolishto be contemplated. And yet he could think of no one better suited for the job. Mae had been an ally once. Hell, they’d cut their milk teeth on more outrageous schemes. But that was before he’d turned her into an opponent—and she made a formidable foe, indeed. He’d far rather confront Ryeton than her.
Last night she’d insisted that she no longer carried a torch for him. It was not difficult to believe—he doubted her tender feelings could have survived their last encounter. But Mae was nothing if not tenacious. If she did still harbour yearnings for him, he’d be
around
Ryeton? He could well imagine the state the man was in today. By all reports he was frantically following up every lead, trying to get Pratchett back in time to race the Guineas. But what if
Stephen
was the one to find the horse? He could return the thoroughbred to Ryeton with all due pomp and circumstance. It would create a sensation—one that he could use to benefit Fincote Park.
He’d thought himself past the need for the spotlight—but this time he could use it to accomplish all of his goals in one fell swoop. The racing crowd would go wild—and claim him as their hero. It would create the perfect opportunity to convince Ryeton to run Pratchett at Fincote. The earl would look like a fool were he to continue to hold a grudge in such circumstances. He would have to agree—and the racing world, so eager for a spectacle, would stumble over itself to witness it.
Stephen could barely contain his excitement. It was perfect. It would work—if only he could locate the missing racehorse first.
The thought stopped him dead in his tracks. That was the complicated bit, wasn’t it? Though Ryeton had put on a convincing show of shock and bewilderment, he had to have an idea of what motivated such a bizarre incident. And knowledge would give him an advantage that would make him hard to beat.
Stephen started moving again. Society being what it was, someone else might have a hint at what lay behind it, too. Surely someone, a trainer, groom, the earl’s friends—or enemies—knew something. It would be a race to ferret out information and connect the pieces before Ryeton did.
He nodded. It could be done. He could search out the truth. But the job was too big for one man. He would stand a better chance if he had help.
Silently, he considered his prospects.
Toswick, perhaps? Quickly, he discarded the notion. His host was an upstanding gentleman, too honourable to chose between his acquaintances in such a manner. Landry, then? With a stab of disappointment, Stephen recalled the viscount’s tirade against Ryeton. Landry was unlikely to help with any scheme that helped the earl get Pratchett back, even if it aided Stephen at the same time.
No, he needed someone uninvolved. Someone with a quick mind and a sense of discretion. His mind raced. Owner, trainer, black leg and groom—every man-jack involved in racing was knee deep in speculation right now. Yet gossip was likely thickening the air in Newmarket’s social circles as well as in her barns and training courses. Ryeton’s name would be whispered over every teacup, the man’s history and his every social gaffe dug up, dissected and served up alongside the cucumber sandwiches. The information he needed could come from anywhere.
Stephen needed a partner—someone who could help him cover ground, explore every avenue and then come together to sort, sift and piece answers together. Surely he knew someone not averse to a bit of adventure and ready to embrace a good scheme …
He stopped short once more. The answer was at once obvious and frightening. It floated, a red-gold beacon in his mind.
What he needed was Mae Halford.
No! He exploded into motion again, moving faster than ever and setting the old mare to prancing nervously as well. It was an absurd notion—too foolishto be contemplated. And yet he could think of no one better suited for the job. Mae had been an ally once. Hell, they’d cut their milk teeth on more outrageous schemes. But that was before he’d turned her into an opponent—and she made a formidable foe, indeed. He’d far rather confront Ryeton than her.
Last night she’d insisted that she no longer carried a torch for him. It was not difficult to believe—he doubted her tender feelings could have survived their last encounter. But Mae was nothing if not tenacious. If she did still harbour yearnings for him, he’d be
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