Winner Takes All Page 8

  Shaw met her gaze. He stilled for a moment, and the dispirited expression on his face pierced her. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones.

  He turned away to join the other trainers and grooms at the railing, not glancing back at her.

  “What did you tell him, Jack?” she whispered, her eyes never leaving his back despite the unease that snaked up her spine.

  “Oh, probably the same thing you told your man,” Jonas answered her unintended question. “To win.”

  No, it wasn’t that simple. Benny wouldn’t have darted a surprised gaze at Midnight like that, wouldn’t have questioned his riding orders—

  “He has to, you know,” Uncle Jonas continued as they reached the owner’s box at the front of the grandstand. The attendant promptly swung open the little door to let them enter.

  She turned her distracted attention to the other owners and their families and waved politely to them. “And why is that?”

  “Because he’s going to lose his farm if he doesn’t.”

  She wheeled on him. Her heart stopped, only to start up again a second later in an unnatural rhythm that left her breathless. “Pardon?”

  “Over there, my dear.” He nodded toward the far front of the boxed area. “I see two seats that would give us—”

  “Uncle Jonas.” She squeezed his arm to snatch back his attention. “What do you mean that Shaw is going to lose the farm?” She stood firm, refusing to move and not caring if the other owners noticed that she was upset.

  “Oh, it’s fairly common knowledge in Epsom, I suspect.” Over his shoulder she saw the horses line up at the start. “Or at least I know about it because I just sold two hounds to his banker, and the man let it slip. Both very fine dogs with noses that could track a fox from Chester to—”

  “Uncle Jonas, please!” She clasped his hand, desperation ringing in her voice. But a dark thought stirred in the recesses of her mind, a terrible idea of what orders Shaw might have given his jockey. “Why is he going to lose his farm?”

  “Shaw’s behind in payments, of course, and has more loans out to his creditors than he has income coming in. So far they’ve all trusted in his skills and given him credit, but he can’t sustain it much longer. He needs to win on the nose and claim the prize purse. Otherwise, he’ll have to sell his horses and let the farm go to his creditors.”

  She stared at Jonas, trying to comprehend through a wash of cold dread what he was telling her. “But how—how can that—”

  The start signal came. On a high platform beside the track, the official dropped his flag, and the dozen horses leapt forward with great, powerful thrusts of their hind legs. A deafening cheer roared from the crowd.

  Alarm flashed through her. Holding her breath, she rushed to the front of the box and gripped the wooden railing so hard that her fingertips turned white. Shaw couldn’t have done what she suspected— It was may the best horse win, they’d agreed! But as the seconds ticked off and the horses’ long strides ate up the turf beneath their thundering hooves, their two horses pulled away from the rest of the field with Ghost always half a length behind Midnight, and she knew…God help her, she knew—

  Shaw had told his jockey to lose.

  Chapter Eight

  Shaw stood shoulder to shoulder with Paddy at the rail. Neither man said anything as they watched the field of horses sweep into the first turn. A spry chestnut filly owned by the Duke of Portland made a move on the inside, only for Ghost to box her in behind Midnight. By the time they reached the back stretch, the chestnut had faded and joined the rest of the field to battle for third place.

  This was a two-horse race, and he knew which colt would win.

  Today couldn’t end any other way. He’d never be so selfish as to destroy Frankie’s chance to choose the life she wanted. He loved her. He would sacrifice everything for her happiness, including his own dream.

  As the horses turned into the second corner, the crowd jumped to its feet to watch the two horses battle it out. Benny was a good jockey, and as they rounded into the backstretch, he let the gray move ahead by less than a length, just to keep pressing the black colt into giving its best effort. Just to prove to both himself and Shaw that Ghost was capable of winning.

  “What did you do?” An angry voice seethed from beside him. Even angrier fingers clenched into his arm so hard that he wondered if she meant to draw blood beneath her nails.

  “Go back to the owner’s box,” he ordered emotionlessly, as if he were still in charge, as if it were any other morning and they were simply putting the horses through their paces.

  “The devil I will! Signal to him—tell Benny to let Ghost have his head.”

  He didn’t pretend that he didn’t know what she meant. Or why. He would never insult her intelligence. Instead, he remained still as the horses thundered out of the backstretch and into the far turn.

  “I know, Jack—I know about the farm and why you need the prize money.” Her voice strangled in her throat on the desperate plea. “Let Ghost win.”

  “No.”

  From the corner of his eye, he watched the horses pass the mile marker and enter the last half mile of the race. But he also saw her stricken expression, her blue eyes and pink lips in stark contrast to the pallor gripping her beautiful face. Around them, thousands of people in the crowd cheered at the tops of their lungs, the men waving their hats in the air and the women jumping up and down with excitement.

  “For God’s sake,” she cried out, “why not?”

  Finally, he looked down at her, and for a breathless moment, time froze. There was no race, no farm to worry over, no viscount father to appease—there was only Francesca, with the light breeze stirring the dark tendrils of her hair against her neck and cheeks, only the brightness of her eyes that shone with as much energy as the horses flying toward them on the track. Wild. Untamed. Free.

  He would give his life to keep her that way.

  “Because I love you,” he said quietly beneath the thunder of hooves and the roar of the crowd. “Enough to set you free.”

  Her eyes widened, and she met his gaze with tears shining like diamonds in their sapphire depths.

  “I don’t want to be free.” Her hand slid down his arm to clasp his hand, her fingers entwining with his. “I want you.”

  “You can’t have me,” he rasped out hoarsely.

  Yet he surrendered with a sag of his shoulders as the horses turned the last corner and started into the front stretch. He leaned over the railing and waved his arm in the air to signal to Benny to give Ghost his head and run full out, to make an honest race of it.

  The horses rushed past with a cloud of turf flying from their hooves as they pounded toward the finish line. Both jockeys rode low in their saddles and urged on their mounts with shouts and slaps of their crops. They raced neck and neck, a gray and black blur of speed and power that surged past the grandstand and sprinted past the finishing post. Shaw held his breath, waiting for the race official to signal—

  A cheer went up from the crowd as a tear slipped down Frankie’s cheek. The sight broke Shaw’s heart.

  Midnight had won by less than half a length.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Your farm, the horses…I’m so—” She abruptly cut herself off, and hope lit her face. “No, I’m not.” She clutched his hand tightly, as if never wanting to let go. “I’m not sorry, do you understand? Because I want to marry you. That’s who I’m picking with this win. I’m picking you.” She pulled in a deep breath. “Marry me, Jack.”

  The hope on her face burned into him like a firebrand, and he flinched, the pain unbearable. Needing to cauterize the wound she’d unwittingly sliced into his heart, he choked out, “No, I won’t.”

  Her eyes flashed, and her mouth fell open, stunned. The joy that had pulsed from her only heartbeats before extinguished in a flash, and he recognized the disbelieving and anguished look that gripped her beautiful face. Because he felt the same pain in his own gut.

  It
was the agony of a dream vanishing like smoke.

  Frankie stared at him, her body numb and her heart bleeding. He’d shattered it like glass, and the shards had cut through her with breathtaking pain. She turned her back to him to hide her tears. Through the blurriness, she watched as Sam slowed Midnight to a canter and rode the colt in victory up and down the front stretch to the wild cheering of the crowd. Midnight pranced proudly, tossing his head and snorting at the turf—the conquering hero who knew he’d won. He knew he was the best horse to run that day. The crowd knew it, too, all of them on their feet and cheering, including the other owners.

  They all surely thought her tears came from happiness.

  “Francesca.” Pain filled his voice as he stepped up behind her. Even though she didn’t look at him, she could feel the desolation in him and the loss they shared. “We were never meant to be together.”

  She didn’t believe that—refused to believe it! She’d wanted a life with him for so long…How could she let go of that dream now, when it was almost within her grasp? Or let go of him, now that she knew how wonderful it was to be loved by him, how amazing to be a true part of his life?

  “Papa said I’d be free to marry whomever I wanted, and I want to marry you,” she whispered. “He’s a man of his word.”

  “He didn’t mean a penniless groom.”

  “No!” She wheeled on him. “We’ll have the prize money and my dowry. It will be enough to pay off your debts, save the farm, keep the horses…”

  The words died on her lips as she finally realized what he’d already understood. The prize money was only a temporary solution to free him from the most pressing of his debts, but there would be no dowry to provide for them long term, nothing to sustain them once the prize money was gone. Yes, her father was a man of his word, and he would let her marry whomever she wanted, including a horse trainer, whether he liked it or not. But he would never give her a dowry if she married anyone but the man he picked for her, and he wouldn’t pick Jackson Shaw.

  “This is why I love you,” he said quietly, lowering his head to speak into her ear. He took her upper arms in his hands. Anyone watching would simply assume he was congratulating her on Midnight’s victory. They never would have spotted that her world had just been ripped apart. Dear God, how would she ever put it back together? How would she ever go on without him? “Because you never lose hope, because you always want to make the best happen. For everyone.” His voice cracked. “But this time, you can’t.”

  “No,” she whispered, blinking rapidly as a second tear followed the first down her cheek. The agony was excruciating! “I won’t lose you.”

  “You were meant for a better life than I’ll ever be able to give you.” He dropped his hands away from her and stepped back. “Make me happy by living the best life you can, free to live as you—”

  The rest of his goodbye was lost beneath the sounds of hooves and fresh cheers as Midnight cantered back to her. The crowd surged forward and engulfed them. The gentlemen shouted offers to buy Midnight; the women cheered in admiration. They pressed in around her and pushed between her and Jack, whose eyes never left her even as he stepped back and disappeared into the crowd.

  With a desperate cry from the back of her throat, she reached for him, only to grasp empty air. He was gone.

  No—she couldn’t do it. She simply wouldn’t live without him again!

  “He’s not mine,” she announced hoarsely, but her voice was lost beneath the noise of the swarming crowd who continued to press in, to shout at her to gain her attention, to smother her—“The horse isn’t mine,” she tried again, more boldly. Then, clinging to one last hope, she cried out at the top of her lungs, “Midnight is not my horse!”

  Those people around her went immediately still, their stares turning curious. Whispers began to replace the cheers and shouts as the crowd fell quiet.

  “Midnight isn’t my horse,” she repeated the lie, desperate to make everyone believe her. “He’s owned by Jackson Shaw. Trained by him, too. The prize money belongs to him.”

  The whispers turned into full-fledged exclamations of surprise, accusations of cheating, and calls for the officials. The crowd all turned toward Shaw for answers, and they parted just enough for Frankie to see him. A grim expression darkened his face. Like the others, he waited for her to continue, wondering what she would say next in explanation.

  But then, so did she. Yet the only way was forward, into the lie that might just save them.

  “Mr. Shaw bought Midnight from me as a foal. He purchased Midnight based only on the records of his dam and sire because he knows not just the best techniques for training a horse but also the importance of bloodlines.”

  The crowed exchanged uncertain glances while Shaw coolly raised a brow at that whopper of a lie. She was the one who had bred and raised the colt, who had spent weeks researching the bloodlines and finding the right matches, all the way back to the Byerley Turk, the first of the great three stallions. But none of that mattered compared to finding a way to be with Shaw. And this was the only plan she had…wild, outrageous, desperate.

  “He’s been training Midnight for the race, too, right alongside his colt Ghost, a fabulous horse in his own right. You all saw how the two battled it out today.”

  The men in the crowd grudgingly nodded. Yet they weren’t quite won over.

  “Mr. Shaw had a hand in the colt’s rearing, too, by giving specific instructions to my father’s grooms for how to raise and handle him until he was ready to race. And I’m sure,” she said, her mind whirling to find a way to interest the crowd in Shaw’s training services, “he could do the same for all of your stables, too, whether horses for racing or for giving your wives and daughters slow trots through Hyde Park.”

  Both of his brows nearly shot off his head at that. But the crowd around him chuckled as they warmed up to the idea of hiring England’s best horseman to direct their own stables and train their horses. More whispers and quiet conversations rose among the crowd, but all of them now saw Shaw in a new light. Before, England had seen him as little more than a glorified groom. Now, they looked at him with the admiration and respect he deserved as the winner of the Derby.

  But the man himself said nothing and patiently waited to see where in the world she was leading him.

  “I pretended to own Midnight,” she explained, “so that the black colt could run a strong race against Mr. Shaw’s gray and show the world that he’d trained not just one champion but two—and today’s champion is one that he trained under a whole new system. A system that could work for your horses as well as it did for my father’s, and you all know how seriously my father takes his horses.” A deep breath burned in her lungs as she added, “So if you want to buy Midnight, then please direct your offers to Mr. Shaw, not to me.”

  The fickle crowd ignored her now to surge around Shaw, pressing in and calling to get his attention. New offers for both colts were shouted out, each offer higher than the last in an attempt to outbid each other in the impromptu auction that had sprung up.

  Shaw kept darting his gaze in disbelief at Frankie. She couldn’t tell if he was happy with her for doing this, or if he wanted to throttle her. Either way, she didn’t care.

  She’d done it because of love.

  “That was very ingenious of you,” Uncle Jonas commented quietly as he sidled up to her. “And very generous. He’ll be able to keep the farm now.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes never left him, despite a new stinging in them. One born of utter happiness.

  “But no one will ever know that it was you who bred and raised that colt.”

  “True.” But the loss of that recognition was tempered by the hope of a future with Shaw.

  “What will your father say once he hears about this?”

  “I don’t know. And I don’t care.” She’d just sacrificed everything for love. Not even fate could be cruel enough to snatch it away from her now. “Midnight won. Papa will hold to his word, even if he doesn’t li
ke it.”

  Uncle Jonas didn’t argue. He simply placed a kiss to her cheek and walked forward to congratulate Shaw by shaking his hand. Then, in true Jonas style, he drew the crowd away from Shaw by inviting everyone to beset the refreshment table in the rear of the owners’ box, much to the delight of the crowd and to the dismay of the owners and their wives who were all promptly pushed aside in the rush for the overflowing trays of food and bottles of champagne and port. The awards ceremony would start soon, and they wanted to be fully satiated before the speeches began.

  Shaw stalked toward her. “You didn’t have to do that,” he gently chastised when he’d closed the distance between them.

  “Yes, I did.” She gestured after Midnight as Sam slid to the ground and accepted congratulations from the other jockeys, including Benny. The race officials swarmed around the pair like bees as they waited for Shaw and Frankie to join them for the awarding of the prizes. “That horse is my dowry, and all the potential he holds for us to have a grand start together in the life we’ve always wanted.” She swallowed, hard, as nervousness ballooned inside her chest. If he refused her a second time— “Marry me, Jack.”

  He scowled. “The man’s supposed to ask.”

  “Then ask,” she dared him and held her breath…

  He shook his head. “I can’t offer you the life you deserve, of grand houses and fine dresses.” He paused, and for a moment, her heart stopped, afraid that even now he wouldn’t let himself choose her and seize a future together. But then he took her hands and raised them to his lips, not caring that they were surrounded by the crowd that was still calling out shouts of congratulations to both of them. “I can’t offer you anything but love.”

  “And horses,” she interjected in a whisper, wholly earnest and filled with emotion.

  He gave a low chuckle that rumbled warmly into her. “And horses. Lots and lots of horses.” He stepped forward and slipped his arms around her. His amusement faded into a look of such seriousness and love that her heart somersaulted. “Will you marry me, Francesca?”