CHAPTER 2
Horse Sale at Oxley Commons
Midnight Star snorted and picked up his pace to outstrip the stride of the hired horse beside him.
Nicholas tightened the reins reflexively, as John Wesley resorted to his riding crop to keep the rented horse abreast.
"It would be simpler to say yes," he complained.
Nicholas laughed. "For you, perhaps . . . but take my word for it, because my horse isn't for sale."
"Blast it-leave it to you to come away with such an engaging animal."
"I wish I could take credit, but I'd never have found him without my stable master's acquaintance with Sterling."
"All you have to do is name your price."
Nicholas shook his head. "Midnight Star is worth his weight in gold; your bank account wouldn't cover it."
"Then I hope Sterling Wood Stable has another like him on the lists today. Fair warning that he's mine if it does."
"Quincy Hill was noncommittal about today's sale, but Midnight Star's a fine example of what the stable is producing. I'm just fortunate he's a close associate of Alex Sterling's."
John eyed his horse covetously. "My life would be easier if you'd agree to sell him."
Nicholas laughed. "I'm not interested." Nor would he ever be. Midnight Star was not merely a horse; he had a sentience above that of other animals. The idea of the stallion having an elevated awareness might mark Nicholas as an eccentric, but it did not stop his conviction. His initial admiration of the previous summer had deepened to such fondness over the winter that he would never part with the horse, even to his best friend.
It did not matter if he and John Wesley had a history dating to school at Eton or if they sailed on the same ship in the King's Navy; whenever they were back-to-back, fighting pirates, Nicholas was fortunate for John's presence, and as their lives had settled afterward, he had never hesitated to share anything. It ended with this horse, and his friend did not quite know what to feel about his change in fortune. Nicholas understood, but their bond recently had suffered a few bumps, including the giant hurdle of his wife. If Nicholas could rise above their brief affair, his friend could get over his desire for the stallion.
John laughed, shaking his head. "It's not fair you get all the looks and the horse, too."
Nicholas was accustomed to John's good-natured bedeviling, but his friend was the one with women chasing after him. Before marriage, Nicholas had been content to linger in John's excess. When John had insisted Nicholas take the lead with Lily Radcliffe, it had prompted the worst mistake of his life. Although it had not stopped John from having an affair with her soon after, it had been too late to keep Nicholas from ruining his life by marrying her.
That was old news from the previous summer, though.
Over the winter, Lily had moved on from his best friend to Phillip, and now Nicholas smelled fresh blood. He did not know why he should dwell on it, especially since John was newly married to Sarah Newton. The day was fine and held too much promise to revisit old offenses. Besides, with luck, the next time Lily tried to kill herself, Nicholas would have witnesses sufficient to vouch for him at the inquest.
"Only you could be so damned fortunate; I suppose the stars are making up for their shameful performance with Lily. Did you see her this morning?"
"No, thank God." The admission soured his mood, but Midnight Star struck up a parade-ground prance to cheer him. Nicolas checked his horse, shifting his weight comfortably in the saddle. "I presume she's alive, because no one's informed me of her death."
John threw back his head to laugh. "That's quite an admission for the detectives!"
"I'd nothing to do with it. Don't bleeding ask me how those damned ribbons tangled on my sleeve. I carried her upstairs; I don't know what more could've been done under the circumstances. She may've throttled herself silly, but the maid's my witness she was breathing when I left."
"I've never heard a more bizarre story, old chum; you'd better keep it to yourself in the future."
A distant cry of "Hi there" interrupted their ride. "Ho, Little John! Wait!"
"Sam," John noted needlessly of his new brother-in-law, looking around to see who hailed them. A black cabriolet rattled around the corner with Samuel Newton, the Fourth Earl of Stragglethorpe, waving his top hat from its window, revealing his carrot-red hair.
John shook his head regretfully. "Whatever you do, don't tell him Sterling Wood will be at the sale today." "Lists will be posted everywhere . . ."
"Just keep him busy," John suggested quietly. "Sam!" he called back as the taxi neared. "I didn't know you were joining us!" "You never asked, but Sarah said I'd catch you on the road! How can I resist a sale at Oxley Commons when I hear Sir Gordon from Sterling Wood is going to be there? Good morning, Griffon, old boy . . . I don't suppose we'll find your stallion on any of those lists."
"Not a chance, Sam," Nicholas replied, shaking hands through the open window. "In case you haven't heard, Midnight Star isn't owned by Sterling Wood any longer."
"His horse isn't for sale, but if he was, I'd have first chance to buy him."
Sam was quick to rise to John's challenge. "I'm afraid you'd have to fight me for him, chap."
"Just because I married your sister doesn't mean I have to hand over all my rights, blast you."
"Give it up, lads," Nicholas interceded cheerfully. "Midnight Star will never be for sale."
"That's not fair, when Quincy Hill works for you; he's thick with Alex Sterling and has his choice of horses."
"Except when he's racing for the Royal Stud on Sundays," Sam corrected. "Then it's a jolly 'tallyho' and every man for himself."
"He'd ride in races for Sterling if the man paid him enough. Frankly, I'm surprised he hasn't quit you, Nicholas. He makes good money as a jockey."
"He likes working for me," Nicholas assumed. He had never considered the possibility of Quincy Hill's quitting. The man managed every aspect of Nicholas's stable and was begin- ning to make his country estate notable for fine hunters.
"I'll pay you a hundred quid more than Little John's best offer if you change your mind."
"You might be my brother-in-law, but keep out of my business."
The watchman waved them through the gates with the river of others winding through the maze of fields. Their banter carried them past the hotel, with its single coach waiting by the doors.
"You can drop me anywhere on the Commons, Cabbie," Sam directed his driver. "I say, isn't that Sir Robert Gordon?"
John stood in his stirrups. "Where?"
"Don't you see that swashbuckling chap by the causeway? He wasn't just granted his golden spurs; he earned them the hard way at Waterloo."
"Let's hurry; we might be able to catch up with him," John proposed, directing his horse toward the assortment of stablemen loitering near the entrance.
"Hey-ho, milord," one of the residents called to Nicholas in a lilting Irish brogue. "Sterling