Black Diaries

54. Horseplay

Slowly, my eyes drifted lower. I swallowed. I also didn't remember his riding breeches being that tight. Have you ever seen a Mr Tall Dark and Handsome in tight jeans? Well, forget about him. You haven't seen anything until you've seen him in smooth, tight riding breeches.

"Whose sort?" he repeated, lifting a lazy eyebrow. "Who were you talking about, Miss McKinney?"

"I, um..."

I considered. Was this really the kind of man I wanted to cheerily admit to that I had just told his horse it was twenty-five times as good as him?

Probably not.

"Oh, just some annoying man," I murmured evasively.

His eyes glittered, and he pushed away from the fence. "I see. And why is this particular man so annoying?"

He took a step forwards, and I narrowed my eyes at him. "Because he won't leave me alone."

"How deeply distressing for you," he said without the slightest hint of earnestness in his voice. "You have my sympathy."

"Thank you very much."

One of his elegant eyebrows rose. "Thank you very much, what?"

I took a deep breath. Patience, I told myself. Patience is a conquering virtue—or at least the poet Geoffrey Chaucer says so.

"Thank you very much, My Lord," I told him, with as sweet a fake smile as I could manage.

Sometimes, I had the feeling that the poet Chaucer didn't have a clue what the heck he was talking about.

"That's better." With narrowed eyes, he scrutinized the carrots in my hands. "Why do you give the poor animal those disgusting orange things?" He suddenly demanded. "Why not some sugar lumps?"

I drew myself up to my full height—which, compared to his, admittedly wasn't very impressive. "There are much safer and healthier treats! Sugar is just as potentially dangerous to a horse's health as to a human's."

"Really?" He took a step forward, his gaze sliding up from my hand, over my body, onto my face. "Personally, I find a little danger quite refreshing, now and again."

His lips twitching up into an arrogant smile, he lifted his hand—and I saw the thing clutched in his long, powerful fingers, that I had completely overlooked before: a long, gleaming leather riding crop. He twirled it through the air with one hand, his fingers moving faster than they eye could see.

"And?" he asked. "How have you been getting along?"

"Getting along?" I was having difficulties concentrating. My eyes were trying to follow the movements of the crop.

"With Silver Star," he clarified. "Any problems?"

With a mighty effort, I forced my eyes to move from the twirling crop to his face. "No. No problems whatsoever."

"There will be a few races soon. Nothing big, just a little competition for training purposes." His hard eyes bored into mine. "In particular, an old... friend of mine will also be there, with his prize race horse, competing against me. I want Silver Star to flatten his opponents, understand?"

I raised my chin, defiantly. "Tell that to his trainer!"

"Oh, I already did. But if you really want to get what you desire, you can never threaten too many people."

Was he joking? He damn well didn't look like it!

Lord Farleigh took another step forward, his steely eyes like razorblades. "Well, Miss McKinney? This race will be a precursor for the Royal Ascot. Whoever wins that day will have a boost of confidence, both in the spectators and in his own racing team. I am going to let nothing stand in the way of Silver Star's winning the Royal Ascot, so I want him to win that day. Do you understand?

"Yes," I sighed. "Yes, I understand!"

"Yes what?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Good."

I rolled my eyes. "For goodness sake," I muttered. "It's only a stupid race!"

Lord Farleigh had just been about to turn away—but when he heard that, he stopped dead and speared me with his gaze.

"What did you say, Miss McKinney?"

Calm, I told myself. Stay calm! You're a grown woman. An experienced serial killer. You're not going to get weak knees just because some arrogant ass of a British aristocrat stares daggers at you!

"I said it's just a stupid race."

"Ah. So you think horse racing is nothing special."

"Horses are something special. Horse racing is just stupid two-legs sitting on their backs."

His eyes narrowed. "So you think there's nothing special to riding? Nothing exciting and sublimely dangerous? Not even with a stallion like Silver Star?"

"Silver Star? Dangerous?" I laughed.

"He trampled a man nearly to death last year," Lord Farleigh said. Reaching out, he stroked the stallion's flanks. Fiery black eyes shot to him and glared at him. He glared fondly back. "This beast has more fire in him than all the lions in the London Zoo put together."

"Beast? He's a sweetie pie!"

"A what?"

"A sweetie pie. A cute little thing."

"Well, Miss McKinney, this 'sweetie pie' as you choose to call him, won't let ride anyone ride on him except for me and the Jockey trained under my personal supervision. If anyone tries, do you know what happens?" Thrusting his arm forward, Lord Farleigh grabbed the stallion's reigns and pulled him forward. Whinnying in protest, Silver Star reared up on his hind legs and snapped his jaws shut, trying to add Lord Farleigh's hand to the carrot's in his stomach. Farleigh ducked just in time, and, grabbing hold of the horse's neck, forced him down.

"Ho, boy! Ho!" After a moment, the stallion stopped trying to writhe free of his master's hold, and gave him a cheeky horse-grin, as if to say: "Well, it was worth a try."

Lord Farleigh looked up, meeting my eyes. "That's what happens. If anybody but me tried that, they'd be one hand shorter now. Riding Silver Star is like riding a thunderbolt. You know you'll be burned and broken—but you still can't resist."

I glanced down at the sack of carrots in my hand, and then up at Silver Star, who stood innocently as an angel beside his Lordly Lordshipness—not showing an iota of the devious nature that, just a moment ago, had flashed so brightly and furiously.

"Oh, come on," I said, as airily as I could manage. "I think you're exaggerating."

Lord Farleigh cocked his head. "I am, am I?"

"Yes."

"You think anyone can do it?"

"Sure I do. I certainly can."

"You?" Now it was his turn to laugh. "You couldn't stay on his back for ten seconds! Ha, you couldn't even get on!"

"Oh, really?" Eyes flashing, I snatched the reins from his hand. "Let's just see about that, shall we?"

And without hesitation, I swung myself onto the stallion's back.

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Hello there, my dear Homicidal Maniacs,

I'm so excited! :) In case you haven't heard yet - the Wattys 2017 are approaching, and I'll be taking part again!

Cheers

Sir Rob