Susan felt compelled to interrupt. “Can we get closer to those horses?”
Rebecca wrinkled her nose as she sat. “I prefer to stay up here.”
“Me too,” Emma echoed.
Oscar, however, smiled knowingly. “If you’ll come with me, your ladyship.”
“Can I go, Daddy?” Patsy asked.
Gabriel hesitated, but then agreed. “Stay close to Oscar and Aunty Susan. A quid on whichever horse you think will win,” he told Oscar, handing over money retrieved from his waistcoat pocket.
Susan had a lifelong love of learning; discovering new things excited her. The excitement pumping through her veins as she followed Oscar wasn’t remotely cerebral. There was something primeval about the proud steeds; the toss of their noble heads made it clear they knew they weren’t ordinary horses. The flared nostrils seemed to declare, “We’re descended from a long line of purebreds, and don’t you forget it.”
Oscar’s voice penetrated her trance. “The jockeys perched on their backs might ride them, but only because the nags allow it. They won’t tolerate a jockey they don’t like.”
As they neared the railing, Susan inhaled the heady smells. Grass, leather, sweat, horse, even the steaming piles of manure—she loved it all.
An annoying thought impinged on her euphoria—a new appreciation for Pendlebury’s apparent fascination with racehorses.
However, she shoved aside the rakish earl’s intrusion when Oscar winked and whispered, “Would you like to place a bet, my lady?”
Careful to hide what she was doing from Patsy—not difficult since the horses had absorbed all the child’s attention—she fished in her reticule for a guinea. “Which one?”
As he took the coin, Oscar nodded to the horse he favored. “Galiano. Lots of heart. He likes this track.”
Her own heart did a little flip. He’d indicated the chestnut she would have picked. “Very well.”
When he’d gone, Susan and her niece stood by the railing watching the parade of stallions.
“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” Patsy said.
“Magnificent,” Susan replied dreamily.
“What’s that between their back legs?” her niece asked innocently, jolting Susan from her reverie.
“Er…well…you remember when Wellington and Princess…”
“Wait till you see them run,” Oscar exclaimed, rescuing her from having to explain protruding male body parts as he rejoined them. “You’ll get a better view from the grandstand.”
Susan gladly followed his advice as the thoroughbreds were led out to the starting gate.
Equipment
By the timeGaliano had been declared the clear winner of the first race, Susan was exhausted. Unabashed by the puzzled stares of people in the crowd below and determined to ignore the undisguised amusement on the faces of her family members, she closed her eyes and relived the excitement.
She’d cheered for her favorite like a fishwife until she was hoarse, the pounding hoofbeats echoing in her ears. Jockeys clad in vibrant colored silks clung to their mounts like demons on a mission to wreak havoc atop the hounds of hell. Clods of muck flew through the air as hooves churned the earth.
But it was the sheer power of the horses that would stay in her memory forever. She imagined their forebears streaking across desert sands, handsome sun-bronzed sheiks stripped to the waist, riding bareback.
Overheated and shocked by her wanton thoughts, she blinked rapidly, further dismayed when an unwelcome vision compounded the embarrassment—Griffith Halliwell rode with those devilish sheiks. She retrieved the fan from her reticule. The image was enough to make a lady swoon.
“You enjoyed that,” Gabriel remarked.
How did he know I’d imagined Pendlebury…oh!
The fan was proving useless.
She struggled to regain her composure. “Yes. I had no idea it would be so exciting. Especially since our…er…your horse won. I would love to own such an animal.”