Marrying the Marquis by Patricia Grasso

at the trainer. “Bender, any concerns?”
    “I have many concerns,” the trainer said, “but you’re the cause of all my worries.”
    “Bobby, ye need to enjoy the intrigue,” Ross said, smiling, and gestured them off. “Blaze, I want ye to ride with me to the Rowley Mile so I can explain the track strategy.”
    Blaze yawned. “Can we go this afternoon?”
    Ross shook his head. “No one will be millin’ aboot at this hour.”
    Blaze glanced over her shoulder. Bender was already leading his horse toward the path to the stables. Rooney and Pegasus followed the trainer.
    “Do you want me to walk?”
    “We’ll share my horse.” Ross mounted first. “Put yer foot in the stirrup and climb up behind me.”
    “I’ll topple off.”
    “Trust me, lass.” Ross held his hand out. “I willna let ye fall.”
    Blaze placed her left foot in the stirrup. Grabbing his hand, she hoisted herself up and swung her right leg over the saddle.
    “Wrap yer arms around me,” he told her.
    Blaze did as instructed, wrapping her arms around his chest, and blushed when she realized her breasts and belly were pressing against his back. Sitting this close was indecent and arousing.
    She caught his mountain heather scent, mingling with oiled leather and musky horse. The heat of his body warmed her, and she could not resist the urge to lean her cheek against his back.
    “Dinna fall asleep.”
    “I won’t.” Sleep had never been farther from her mind.
    Leaving the Inverary practice track, they rode down Snailwell Road to Fordham Road. A private lane off Fordham would bring them to Newmarket Heath and the Rowley Mile.
    The whole area was deserted, and Blaze suffered the uncanny feeling they were the only two people in the world. She knew, though, every stable and yard was a beehive of drowsy activity at that hour.
    Daily chores were well underway. Boys were mucking out stalls, riders were saddling the horses for morning exercise, and stablehands were preparing breakfast for the horses.
    Blaze decided this was an auspicious moment to begin spying. Engaging the marquis in casual conversation was the best way to discover information.
    Guilt spread through her at the idea of spying. She knew the marquis could not have murdered Charlie. The bone sucker did it.
    As agreed, she would ask questions. Reporting what she learned was an entirely different matter.
    “Constable Black and Alexander Blake conferred with my father about the murder,” Blaze said, hoping she sounded casual.
    “Is that so?”
    Blaze wished she could see his expression. On the other hand, she could feel his body respond. That arousing thought tinted her cheeks pink.
    “Did you know Charlie?”
    “Newmarket is a small town, lass.”
    No help there. Was he evading an answer or simply uninterested?
    Blaze felt no tension in his body. She would try another angle. “What did you think about your horse placing second to my father’s?”
    “I thought my horse placed second.”
    “I meant, what did you feel?”
    “Feel?” Ross echoed. “What d’ye mean?”
    “Were you disappointed? Angry? Bitter?”
    “I didna have any feelin’s.”
    His lack of response frustrated her. Was he hiding something? Or was lack of emotion typical of men?
    Blaze tried again. “Everyone feels something.”
    “If yer determined to play at thoroughbred racin’, ye must keep a cool head.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Sometimes ye win,” Ross told her. “Sometimes ye lose, and sometimes ye scratch yer horse.”
    “I don’t understand scratch ,” Blaze admitted.
    “It’s good to hear ye dinna know everythin‘,” Ross teased her. “Scratch means ye drop yer horse out of the race for one reason or another.”
    They reached the Rowley Mile. The track was deserted, but Blaze knew that the scene would be alive with excited activity in less than a week.
    “Pay attention,” Ross said. “The spectator stands are on yer right.”
    Blaze rolled her eyes. “I have attended the races