Free To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst) by Frances Fowlkes Page B

taut at the buttonholes, where the fullness of her breasts strained against the puckered fabric. Her cheeks flushed, but her hands remained wrapped in the ribbons.
    He had to get a handle on his thoughts—he had a race to win, not some bed sport to claim. She was an earl’s daughter and the current earl’s sister-in-law. It would behoove him to remember his place, even if he could not stop watching the seductive sway of her plaited hair.
    “Are you not to ride as well, Mr. White?”
    Edmund blinked. Rubbing a hand over his jaw, he shook his head. “No. Today I observe. I need to see how well the two of you work together.”
    Lady Albina nodded. “Fair enough. Shall I run her, then?”
    “In the west field at full gallop. I’ll be counting how long it takes you to get her to speed.”
    She let out a breath. “And what of her name? The mare. What shall I call her if I wish her to go faster?”
    Edmund shrugged. “It hardly matters, as it is not her name that will urge her faster, but your handling and guidance. Two things that are worth far more of my time than your concern over her name. Now go. Prove to me you wish to win the derby.”
    Lady Albina’s nostrils flared. “There is no need to be short with me, Mr. White.”
    “There is if I wish you to win.”
    “It is my name on the line should I fail. I am the one who seeks to lose everything.”
    Edmund let out a coarse chuckle. “You think it is you who will stand embarrassed and humiliated should you not claim victory at the derby, Lady Albina?” He stalked toward her and grabbed her ankle, forcing her to peer down at him. “You are here based on my recommendation. On my promise to the earl that I have sought out a jockey who I believe has excellent competence in their craft. My word, Lady Albina, is on the line, and so too, my position with the earl. Should you not place effort into your instruction, I shall lose my recommendation from the earl and, therefore, my ability to secure another employer.”
    “Oh,” she whispered.
    “Yes. Now. Prove to me I have not made a mistake. That you have the set of skills required to win Emberton.”
    “Yes. Of course.” A pink tongue darted between her lips, momentarily distracting him from the quick nod of her head. Squeezing her thighs, she urged the horse in the direction of the field.
    “Quickly, my lady. A race is not won with hesitation,” Edmund called over the beat of the horse’s hooves.
    With a glance back over her shoulder, she said, “Nor is it with petulant faultfinding, Mr. White.”
    The muscles of his lip twitched.
    While Edmund waited for her to set the mare into motion, she led the horse to the far end of the field. Were the lady not able to spur the beast from the gate, to set a pace that could be maintained for the length of the field… He had less than six weeks to produce a team worthy of an Emberton win against Lord Satterfield’s fastest mount. One that had, prior to Lord Amhurst’s recent purchases, been the talk of the racing world. Along with the marquess’s jockey, Mr. Garrington. The man was a genius on a horse, consistently guiding the marquess’s mounts to victory for the past five years.
    Five years of experience against Lady Albina’s six weeks.
    Edmund ran a hand over his face and sighed. The mare and its rider settled into position, Lady Albina turning her head toward him.
    “Begin on my count,” he shouted. He held up his hand with three fingers raised. “One, two—”
    The pair passed by him, a blur of reddish-brown and black, the rider on its back hovering low over the saddle, as though suspended in midair.
    He forgot to count, so transfixed was he by the powerful speed of the mare, or at least he was, until he caught sight of the wobbling form on top of it. Lady Albina hovered above the saddle, but her legs were not tight enough, her head not low enough, and her rear not nearly as high as was required for a solid victory. Or her safety. She could be hurled across