Free To Wed a Wild Lord by Sabrina Jeffries Page A

St. Leger Stakes. You’re going to knock them back on their heels, my pretty girl. You’re going to run like the wind and leave all those silly colts far behind.”
    He planned to enter a Thoroughbred in the St. Leger Stakes? Sweet Lord, so did Poppy. And if Lord Gabriel caught her here . . .
    With her heart in her throat, she began to back away. Then a horse near her whinnied, and Lord Gabriel’s head swung round. He took her in with a narrowing gaze, set the bucket down, and came toward her.
    She turned tail to run, but he was beside her in two steps and grabbing her by the arms. “Whoa, there,” he growled as he turned her to face him. “What the blazes are you doing here?”
    “I . . . um . . . well . . . my grandfather wanted to pay a visit to you, but he is talking to your grandmother, and . . .” She thought quickly. “And I heard that you had a spectacular maze, so I went looking for it. Then I got lost and ended up here.”
    “Because you were looking for our maze,” he said skeptically.
    “I love mazes.”
    “So it has nothing to do with trying to observe your competition.” His eyes bored into her.
    “No, indeed! I had no idea you have a Thoroughbred that you intend to—I mean . . .”
    “You heard me talking to Flying Jane,” he accused. “Why, you sneaky little vixen.”
    Oh, dear, now she was really in trouble. The racing world was rife with subterfuge. Since odds were laid based on knowledge of a horse, touts often sneaked into stables or spied on secret trials to gain their information. So any Thoroughbred owner grew suspicious if a competitor came near his horses—especially before a big race like the St. Leger Stakes.
    “It was purely accidental, I swear!”
    “And now you’ll run off to tell your grandfather about his competitor.”
    “No!” At his arched eyebrow, she added, “I won’t tell a soul. I would never do that.”
    “Really.” His grip slid from her shoulders down to her arms. “You got lost and decided to enter a stables alone, knowing that several male grooms would be about.”
    “I live on a stud farm. I go into stables alone all the time.”
    “But your own grooms know better than to lay a hand on the owner’s granddaughter. These grooms don’t know you.”
    His hold on her unsettled her. He was keeping her far too close, and it made her nervous. Especially with him dressed so casually. His black shirt was open at the throat, exposing a little dusting of chest hair.
    “They would have treated me better than you, I dare say,” she retorted with a tilt of her chin. “Please let go of me.”
    “So you can spy on me some more?” he drawled.
    “I was not spying.”
    “Then you had some other reason for coming in here,” he said, his voice deepening. “Perhaps some reason more . . . personal.”
    “Personal?” she squeaked.
    His gaze played over her, growing more heated. “Perhaps you were looking for me. ”
    Oh, but he was a cocky one. “Certainly not. Why would I look for you here, of all places?”
    “Because the footmen undoubtedly told you that I often spend my mornings here.” His voice was husky now, and his hands moved up and down her arms, warming them, making her heart race unaccountably.
    “I didn’t ask the footmen . . . I mean, I asked them about the sta—The maze, but I . . .” She was babbling like some smitten schoolgirl, for pity’s sake. “I didn’t know you were here,” she finished lamely. “You’re being ridiculous.”
    “Judging from your blush, I’m not being ridiculous at all,” he murmured.
    Her hand went to her cheek. Was she blushing? Good gracious, she was. “I am not one of those tarts who swoons at your every word, you know.”
    “It’s not the words they swoon at.” He encircled her waist and pulled her even closer. “And though you’re not the least bit a tart, that doesn’t mean you’re not curious about me.”
    Her breath refused to obey her commands, quickening feverishly. She should be slapping