Free Sport of Baronets by Theresa Romain Page B

enclosure,” he confirmed.
    Hannah had rarely wandered into such secret sections of the course. But this didn’t seem like a building that belonged to the sport of kings at all. It looked more like a country cottage, down to the window boxes of spring flowers struggling to bloom.
    But it was more than it seemed. It was a place to get ready for a race, a place to return in triumph. When a person was here, anything could happen. She might win anything, anything at all.
    â€œIt’s perfect,” she decided. “Unless it is locked. Then it loses a large part of its perfection.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter if it’s locked.” Bart did something complicated and furtive with the handle of the door, then pushed it open. “There we have it. It’s all right to enter. I’m a member of the Jockey Club, and you’re my—ah, my guest.”
    â€œThis building is for jockeys, and you are not an actual jockey,” Hannah pointed out.
    â€œYou can’t be sure of that. You have never seen me ride.”
    The final word sounded salacious. Or maybe everything sounded salacious. “I can tell even so, because you’re far too…large.”
    His brows lifted. “You win.”
    â€œI think we’ll both win.”
    â€œI like the way you think.” Ushering her inside, he locked the door behind them.
    They found their way into the weighing room, a plain space that would bustle during the summer season. Right now it was quiet and empty, cool and still and smelling faintly of soap and wax. Dominating the center of the narrow space, a great balance hung from the ceiling. On one side hung a seat of metal mesh; on the other, a weighing pan on which brass counterweights could be placed to check the jockey’s weight.
    She stripped off her gloves and tossed them onto a bench, and he did the same. His hat followed.
    â€œThere are fewer comforts than I had hoped,” he said. “But the seat offers possibilities. May I help you into it?”
    When she agreed, he caught her about the waist and lifted her into the seat, quick as a hop.
    It sank until her feet rested on the floor. “I weigh more than a jockey.” She sighed.
    â€œYou shall have a far better ride.” He opened cupboard doors until he found the stash of brass counterweights. Hannah watched, anticipation drawing her nipples tight, as he added a gleaming weight to the pan, then another, and her feet rose from the floor. She floated, weightless and balanced between ground and air, between the memory of past kisses and the expectation of more to come.
    As she hung in the seat, Bart stepped back and raked her with a molten gaze. “I imagine you,” he said, “with your collar undone. With your habit shirt unbuttoned and your hair unpinned.”
    She swallowed. “That is a lot of undoing.”
    â€œIt is.” His mouth curved. “And then I would watch your hair fall over your collarbone and into the shadow between your—well…”
    He gestured vaguely, although his eyes were intense with desire. The contrast between passion and reserve was irresistible, sending heat through her every limb. Had she thought the room was cool? She wanted nothing more now than to be stripped.
    Sense lingered, though. “If we undo too much, we will not be able to correct it in time,” she said. “But—whatever we can do without undoing too much…”
    â€œYes,” he replied. “Beautifully reasoned. This will allow us to be much more creative. But I do think I can safely shrug out of my coat.” He did so, tossing aside the dull garment. The red satin of his waistcoat gleamed, sleek and liquid over the strong lines of his body. His shoulders, broad in their shirtsleeves, looked capable of carrying anything.
    She stroked him with her gaze, down, down, to the snug buckskin breeches that revealed the lines of his arousal. He must be vibrating with eagerness;