sporting."
"I ride bareback, Mrs. Chamberlain," Alex replied, this time returning her frank sexual perusal with a lascivious smile. If he angered her boorish husband, so much the better. "That always makes a difference—usually in my favor."
"And does fortune always favor you, Mr. Blackthorne?" she asked, moistening her pouty little mouth with the tip of her tongue.
Alex could see the arrogant British colonel watching the exchange but could not read his expression. What twisted sort of games do these bored blue bloods play? "They say luck is a lady, Mrs. Chamberlain."
"In that case, you shall certainly win," she replied.
"I have heard that luck is not a lady but rather a female of exceedingly uncertain constancy," Joss interjected. I am not jealous, she assured herself, unable to keep silent a moment longer during the licentious display.
Cybill's violet eyes turned almost black as they swept over Joss with contempt. "Only a missionary zealot would see constancy as a virtue," she said dismissively.
"It is, but then perhaps you are not so well acquainted with virtue as to judge it," Joss replied coolly.
Alex could see Cybill's claws coming out as she stepped toward her taller, thinner antagonist, clutching that ridiculous bit of barking fluff to her bosom. Before she could make her furious retort, he extended his hand to the dog, which snapped at him.
"Oh, Bonbon, do behave," she scolded, diverted from Joss. "Did she bite you? She's so high-strung, a result of her impeccable pedigree," Cybill added with a sniff toward Joss's terrier.
"Unlike her owner," Joss murmured sotto voce, knowing the words carried. She simply must stop behaving in such an un-Christian manner. Before she could analyze that problem further, Poc, who had been growing increasingly
restive since Cybill approached them, gave a yip of excitement and tried to break free. She tightened her grip on his leash, almost losing her footing in the slippery mud.
By the time she'd calmed the dog, Alex had bid adieu to the hateful colonel's lady and was leading his big roan over to where the other horses and their jockeys stood. Along the way, the American stopped to make additional wagers. Joss could not take her eyes off him. He stood out in the crowd of starched dandies like a powerful golden lion in a litter of mewling house cats.
"My, my, you poor thing, so smitten with that bold American. La, what a pity. With all London at his feet, he must scarcely know you're alive," Cybill purred with vicious sweetness, stroking Bonbon's long white fur.
"We are friends of long-standing, Mrs. Chamberlain," Joss replied coldly. "A chaste and honest relationship with which you are no doubt unfamiliar."
A loud hurrah went up at that moment, drowning out Cybill's retort. The race was on. And a rough, no-holds-barred contest it was, as the field of seven horses thundered off, churning through the mud. The jockeys were all significantly smaller than Alex, their whips flailing indiscriminately as each fought to break away from the pack. Alex alone seemed to meld with his horse, become one with the animal as his legs wrapped around its sides and his head lay beside the roan's neck.
Joss cheered unabashedly for Alex and Sumac, forgetting the contemptible Cybill Chamberlain, who shrank away from the splashing water and mud created by the horses as they raced past. The spectators were a rowdy lot. Bets continued to be exchanged as an elegant gray took the lead while the riders disappeared from sight.
The course was four miles long, covering wooded hilly terrain. The length and rugged lay of the land were precisely the reasons Alex had chosen to race Sumac here. Although the finely bred English horses were faster on the level flat courses, the big roan possessed
"I ride bareback, Mrs. Chamberlain," Alex replied, this time returning her frank sexual perusal with a lascivious smile. If he angered her boorish husband, so much the better. "That always makes a difference—usually in my favor."
"And does fortune always favor you, Mr. Blackthorne?" she asked, moistening her pouty little mouth with the tip of her tongue.
Alex could see the arrogant British colonel watching the exchange but could not read his expression. What twisted sort of games do these bored blue bloods play? "They say luck is a lady, Mrs. Chamberlain."
"In that case, you shall certainly win," she replied.
"I have heard that luck is not a lady but rather a female of exceedingly uncertain constancy," Joss interjected. I am not jealous, she assured herself, unable to keep silent a moment longer during the licentious display.
Cybill's violet eyes turned almost black as they swept over Joss with contempt. "Only a missionary zealot would see constancy as a virtue," she said dismissively.
"It is, but then perhaps you are not so well acquainted with virtue as to judge it," Joss replied coolly.
Alex could see Cybill's claws coming out as she stepped toward her taller, thinner antagonist, clutching that ridiculous bit of barking fluff to her bosom. Before she could make her furious retort, he extended his hand to the dog, which snapped at him.
"Oh, Bonbon, do behave," she scolded, diverted from Joss. "Did she bite you? She's so high-strung, a result of her impeccable pedigree," Cybill added with a sniff toward Joss's terrier.
"Unlike her owner," Joss murmured sotto voce, knowing the words carried. She simply must stop behaving in such an un-Christian manner. Before she could analyze that problem further, Poc, who had been growing increasingly
restive since Cybill approached them, gave a yip of excitement and tried to break free. She tightened her grip on his leash, almost losing her footing in the slippery mud.
By the time she'd calmed the dog, Alex had bid adieu to the hateful colonel's lady and was leading his big roan over to where the other horses and their jockeys stood. Along the way, the American stopped to make additional wagers. Joss could not take her eyes off him. He stood out in the crowd of starched dandies like a powerful golden lion in a litter of mewling house cats.
"My, my, you poor thing, so smitten with that bold American. La, what a pity. With all London at his feet, he must scarcely know you're alive," Cybill purred with vicious sweetness, stroking Bonbon's long white fur.
"We are friends of long-standing, Mrs. Chamberlain," Joss replied coldly. "A chaste and honest relationship with which you are no doubt unfamiliar."
A loud hurrah went up at that moment, drowning out Cybill's retort. The race was on. And a rough, no-holds-barred contest it was, as the field of seven horses thundered off, churning through the mud. The jockeys were all significantly smaller than Alex, their whips flailing indiscriminately as each fought to break away from the pack. Alex alone seemed to meld with his horse, become one with the animal as his legs wrapped around its sides and his head lay beside the roan's neck.
Joss cheered unabashedly for Alex and Sumac, forgetting the contemptible Cybill Chamberlain, who shrank away from the splashing water and mud created by the horses as they raced past. The spectators were a rowdy lot. Bets continued to be exchanged as an elegant gray took the lead while the riders disappeared from sight.
The course was four miles long, covering wooded hilly terrain. The length and rugged lay of the land were precisely the reasons Alex had chosen to race Sumac here. Although the finely bred English horses were faster on the level flat courses, the big roan possessed
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