Marrying the Marquis by Patricia Grasso Read Free Book Online Page A

paraded in front of her would not be any better. Nor would the following three.
    Her plan to keep the bachelors dangling was stepmother-proof. Once the racing season ended, she would inform all three that she could not develop a fondness for them. Then she would steel herself for the meddling woman’s next parade of bachelors.
    Chirping birds, aroused from their night’s sleep, awakened Blaze to her surroundings. The April morn was crisp, promising warmth once the sun rode high in the sky.
    Blaze reached the end of the path. Morning fog clung like a lover to the open track.
    Ross MacArthur, Bobby Bender, and Rooney huddled together and spoke in hushed conversation. Two chestnut horses and Pegasus stood nearby, the Arabian’s white coat creating the illusion of a mythical horse goddess.
    The three men watched her approach. Greeting them with a nod, Blaze headed straight for Pegasus.
    She stroked the filly’s face. Love Peg .
    Me love , the thought popped into her mind, making her smile.
    Walking back to the men, Blaze knew the marquis would not be easily controlled. She needed to assert her authority.
    “Good morning.” Blaze looked at Bobby Bender. “You won’t mention this to my father?”
    The trainer shook his head. “My lips are locked.”
    “Good mornin’.” Ross slid his gaze from her freshly scrubbed face to her body. “What are ye wearin’?”
    Blaze glanced at her stableboy garb. She wore black breeches and a shirt topped by a leather jerkin for warmth. She’d woven her hair into one thick braid and tucked it beneath a cap.
    “I am wearing appropriate clothing,” she answered.
    “Well, ye make a bonny jockey.”
    “Thank you for the praise,” she said, echoing his words from the previous evening.
    Then Blaze became all business. She knew the trainer and the jockey would follow her orders. The marquis was an entirely different matter.
    “Mount your horses,” she said, “and show me this balking.”
    Ross MacArthur cocked a dark brow at her. “Are ye orderin’ me?” His tone challenged, not questioned.
    “I must see the balking in order to solve the problem,” Blaze said, evading a direct answer.
    The marquis did not budge. “I told ye I would solve the problem.”
    “Demonstrate the balking.” Blaze gave him an ambiguous smile. “Please.”
    “That’s better.” The marquis turned to the others. “Let’s show her.”
    MacArthur gave Rooney a leg up on Pegasus. Then he and the trainer mounted their own horses.
    “Give Bender and me a four or five length lead down track,” Ross instructed the jockey. “We’ll keep a hole between us.”
    Rooney nodded.
    “Wait.” Blaze approached the jockey and held her hand out. “Nobody uses a whip on my horse.”
    Rooney rolled his eyes at the other two men but passed her the whip.
    Ross called to Bender, “One, two, three, go .”
    The marquis and the trainer spurred their horses into action. Swishing and thudding, their horses galloped down track. When they were fifty feet from the line, Rooney and Pegasus started after them. Within mere seconds, the Arabian caught them but slowed near the hole. The filly refused to pass between the galloping horses.
    Slowing their mounts, the three men halted farther down track. They turned their horses in unison and returned to the start line.
    “I can see the problem,” Blaze began. “Perhaps if we—”
    Rooney ignored her, turning to the marquis. “Do you think blinders would work?”
    “I suppose blinders could help,” Ross said, and then looked at the trainer. “What do you say, Bobby?”
    Bender shook his head. “We tried blinders in her second race last year. She balked all the same.”
    Blaze did not like the way this was unfolding. She owned the filly, but the men were ignoring her.
    Sounding more confident than she felt, Blaze lifted the reins out of the jockey’s hands, telling them, “I can solve this problem once I know the source.”
    Blaze led the filly away, feeling the men’s