Sport of Baronets Read Online Free Page A

feel like acquainting this near-stranger with his struggles in London. There he found himself following the fashion to be sure he wouldn’t set a foot wrong, but taking little pleasure in it. Only when he held the reins of his curricle did he feel he was setting his own pace. Only as he threaded his horses through crowded, colorful streets was town the garden of delights others seemed to think it all the time.
    â€œWe have a search to conduct,” he replied. They had again reached the stable, and Bart led her to a door.
    As soon as he entered, he felt more at ease. The earthy smell of horses—their feed and sweat and manure—pervaded the space. Though few animals remained to the Crosbys, the stable was in impeccable repair, from sound roof to clean-swept floor, from sturdy walls to white-painted stall doors. Horses could not win races when fed on moldy hay or short rations of oats, or with hooves grown spongy from standing in foul straw.
    Most of the hay was stored in a room for that purpose, as were the oats that gave racehorses their vigor and speed, but a small loft was also tucked beneath the stable’s gabled roof. As the head groom, Northrup had claimed private quarters up there. Bart directed Hannah to the ladder leading to the loft, then followed her. For politeness and security, of course, to make sure she did not topple.
    Though it was no hardship to see the sway of her hips as she climbed. For a minute, it was a pleasant distraction: slender curves cloaked in costly green wool. A determined tread, as though she were forging a path with each step upward.
    When they reached the top of the ladder, Bart drew in a deep breath. He loved the scent of the hayloft, like clean grass and the warmth of late summer. Like foals untangling long legs for their first gallop, or colts sure and fleet of foot.
    Beneath the stable roof, the ceiling sloped, its rafters and beams and trusses all exposed. The short span of wall above the platform and below the roofline was dotted with squat windows, which made it necessary to stack and shape the hay carefully.
    Something that had been undone since Bart’s last visit to the hayloft the day before. Facing them was a fallen tousle of hay, haphazard as though it had been kicked about and shuffled.
    Hannah tapped at a tangle of straw with one boot. “This is—”
    â€œNot acceptable,” Bart finished. “I know.”
    Her mouth opened, then closed again, and she gave a little shrug. “Not quite what I was going to say, but I bow to your authority. Since this is your stable.”
    And the work of your wayward groom , she did not say, but Bart felt the awareness within himself, heavier than words. Whether Northrup had been careless or malicious, Bart should have checked more. Trusted less.
    That was what they were here to do, at last. “His chamber is over the tack room. There—that door. Do you see it?” The smaller rooms next to Northrup’s, portioned out for under-grooms and stable boys, were empty at the moment. Some had been empty for the past year.
    Hannah looked into the empty rooms with a sniff. “If you kept the number of grooms you ought, you would never have had any trouble with Northrup.”
    â€œIs that some sort of I told you so ? Because those cause freckles.”
    She clapped her hands over her nose and cheeks. “I would disagree, but in my case, you are right. Everything causes freckles.”
    â€œAnd I had as many grooms as I could. I had no hesitation about trusting Northrup, because I have known him longer than I’ve known…”
    â€œMe, for example?” she suggested. “And you see how correct you were about me. As you divined within an instant, I am an evil Gorgon who wishes only to cheat you and lie to you.”
    â€œThere’s one honest statement from you, at least.” He found a hay rake and began drawing the untidy scatter into neat piles. “As it turns out, I