As Rich as a Rogue by Jade Lee Page B

and headed to Rotten Row with a groom trotting behind her. She approached the Row slowly, her composure already starting to desert her. The avid riders were out in full force today, and the thunder of horses’ hooves pounded in her head. She saw perhaps a dozen gentlemen and nearly as many women. They rode like the wind and laughed with gleeful delight. Their horses were beautiful and their tack designed for show.
    What had she been thinking? There was no possible way she could show to advantage among these people. She hadn’t ridden in years and was already becoming sore.
    She was just turning around to tell her groom they were heading back, when she saw him: Lord Whitly flying toward them on a moderate-size horse. Pounding down the stretch toward her, his creature was fast.
    She stopped to stare, as did many others, especially the women. And when he finally drew up, his cheeks were red, his eyes dancing, and he turned to Lord Rimbury, who thundered in behind him.
    â€œGood Lord, she’s amazing,” Lord Rimbury said as he pulled his stallion to a trot. “Odd-looking to be sure, but damned fast.”
    The mare wasn’t odd-looking, at least not for a horse from India. It had a gorgeous reddish color coat, though not so even as to be fully prized. The inward-turning ear tips were no doubt what appeared odd-looking to Lord Rimbury, but Mari knew it was the whorls underneath the creature’s eyes that were the most damning of its features.
    Meanwhile, Lord Whitly grinned and smoothed down his horse’s mane. “She’s a beauty,” he said before leaning forward to speak to his mare. His words were in Hindi, but clear enough to Mari, who had spent several years in that foreign country while her father made his fortune. “You’re my best lady,” he said. “And you’ll get fine oats tonight.”
    â€œA beauty to be sure,” she said in that same language. “And I’ll wager you got her for a song with those whorls.”
    He turned to her, his eyes widening in surprise. “Miss Powel! I didn’t know you spoke Hindi.”
    â€œI don’t as a rule,” she said in English. “It’s been a very long time.” Then she looked about her and flushed. She hadn’t even realized she’d come close enough to converse with the man, and yet suddenly she was beside him. A moment later, he aligned his mare with hers and they began walking together.
    â€œYou obviously remember enough,” he said in English. “And you’re right, the eye whorls dropped the price significantly.”
    â€œWhat?” asked Lord Rimbury as he joined her on the other side. “What do you mean?”
    Mari gestured to the hair pattern along the horse’s nose. “A whorl on the nose is unlucky, but on the neck is very good. Better still would be a whorl on the fetlocks, which means victory.”
    â€œThe devil, you say,” Lord Rimbury exclaimed.
    â€œYou know your Marwari horses,” Lord Whitly commented.
    No, she didn’t. But since gentlemen enjoyed horses, she’d read up on the Indian breeds when she’d begun husband-hunting. It gave her a relevant topic of conversation and a way to cast her time in India in a beneficial light. Not every man thought a childhood spent outside of England a good thing in a woman.
    â€œI had a groom in India who liked to share tales,” she said.
    â€œTruly?” he asked. “I didn’t think grooms chattered to the young ladies of the house.”
    â€œI pestered him until he talked to me,” she said, a little unnerved that he listened so closely to what she said. It startled her enough to reveal the full truth. “And I read more about them when I learned that gentlemen often love anything to do with horses.”
    â€œOf course,” he said, his tone neutral.
    Meanwhile, on her other side, Lord Rimbury pulled out his pocket watch and muffled a curse.