Rake Most Likely to Thrill. Bronwyn Scott

an Englishman in town. There was word of it when I ran my errands this morning. He’s the nephew of Giacomo Ricci, the horse trainer who lives in Torre.’

      The information was better than a name and it was worse. She could find him, she knew who his people were and where. But it didn’t help her cause. Her eyes held Giuliano’s and a silent message passed between them. Both of them were serious now. Love stopped being a game once the contradas were involved.

      She could go to Archer. But did she dare? Beside her, Giuliano gave a short nod. ‘It’s probably best your answer is no.’ The Oca contrada’s sworn enemy was Torre and while that might not matter to her uncle, it would matter to her future husband’s contrada.

      ‘Then why did you tell me? I do not think of you as generally unkind,’ Elisabeta scolded quietly. Perhaps it was far crueller to know she could not have him. It was not like Giuliano to tease meanly.

      He ducked his head. ‘Forgive me. Last night you said you were desirous of avoiding your engagement. I thought only to give you a choice, Cousin.’

      ‘Your father would never forgive me.’ Elisabeta played idly with the stems of the flowers in her basket.

      ‘My father need not know,’ Giuliano countered. ‘You have done your duty for the family in marrying Lorenzo. You may even do it again in another marriage very soon, but in the interim, perhaps you owe yourself some pleasure?’ The argument was so very compelling, maybe because it was the same argument she’d made with herself. To hear it validated by another made it all the more persuasive.

      ‘No one can know,’ Elisabeta said out loud, more to herself than to Giuliano, but it was Giuliano who replied.

      ‘He is English. He is not one of us. He will leave. He will be a thousand miles away. While you think it over, say you’ll come with me to see the horses for the August Palio. Father wants me to go out to the farm tomorrow.’

      Elisabeta barely heard the invitation. She was too focused on the unspoken rationale. No one will ever know. Suddenly the risk seemed minimal against all that stood to be gained. Only two questions remained: Did she dare? What would she risk to see Archer again? And perhaps more importantly, what did it mean to her and why? What had started out as a spontaneous dare had taken on something much deeper and more significant if she cared to explore it.

       Chapter Six

      Archer didn’t dare press his uncle’s decision immediately. No man liked to be countermanded outright. Challenging his uncle would hardly be the way to ingratiate himself to his new family. But he could make an effort to change his uncle’s mind about the Palio. Archer kicked Amicus into a trot to pull up alongside Giacomo, determined to start on that good impression today at the horse farm.

      If his uncle could see him handle the horses or see him ride, his uncle would change his mind. Seeing was believing after all. His uncle had nothing to go on in reference to him except his mother’s letters and mothers were inherently biased. Based on that, Archer understood his uncle’s reticence to make him a rider.

      ‘Tell me about this beast of yours, mio nipote,’ his uncle said as Archer pulled even with him. The traffic had lessened on the country road. They were able now to ride side by side and enjoy some conversation. ‘He’s a fine-looking animal, strong through the chest.’

      ‘He looks much better these days,’ Archer agreed. Even considering the rough travel from France, Amicus had blossomed from good care and affection. He told his uncle the story of Amicus’s rescue and his heroic jump on to the boat, keeping his attentions covertly alert to his uncle’s reaction.

      ‘No!’ Giacomo cried in happy disbelief. ‘That’s incredible.’

      Archer patted Amicus’s neck. ‘It is incredible. But he’s an incredible horse. He had two months to rest in Paris and I worked him with a fine group of riders while I was there. Paris has a surprisingly strong group of enthusiastic riders. I had not expected it. They were a pleasure to train with and I was able to give Amicus some more refined skills. He’ll make a good hunter.’ Although he intended to stay in Italy, Archer still wanted to make the trip north to the Spanish riding school in Vienna. It would be a treat to see Amicus join their training regimen and it would be a good opportunity to look for new horses. He shared as much with his uncle. ‘Perhaps next year’s Palio horse will be among them.’ He winked.

      ‘Could be. We haven’t had a horse from that far away for quite a while, but it wouldn’t be unheard of.’ Giacomo nodded, the idea becoming more interesting as he thought about it. That had to be a good sign, a sign that he could trust his nephew as an assessor of horses. One step closer. Archer had no intentions of taking no for an answer on the Palio. Just because his uncle thought he wasn’t going to ride in the race didn’t mean he was going to accept that decision any more than he was going to accept the mysterious Elisabeta simply disappearing into the night, lost to him.

      He’d come too far to let these challenges get in his way. He was going to ride in the race. He was going to find Elisabeta because he wanted to, and Archer Crawford was a man used to getting what he wanted.

      ‘We’re nearly there. The farm is just over the hill.’ His uncle gestured ahead of them. ‘Let’s be clear on what we’re looking for today. This man is a horse breeder. He’s bred more winners of the Palio than anyone else currently living. I train them, of course, but they spend their early years with him. I’ve had two horses in his care since they were yearlings. They are four years old now. I want to see if they’re ready to be recommended for the race, but I also want to see which other horses might be brought in either by Torre or by the other contradas. We are not the only ones who use him.’ This was to be a test, then, of his skill, Archer thought. His uncle would listen to his opinions and decide if he knew his business. But the visit was more than a test for him. It was also a subterfuge.

      Checking on the two horses was merely the surface of his uncle’s agenda. Archer saw that immediately. This was a reconnaissance mission. They were here to ascertain the level of competition. ‘I understand,’ Archer nodded. He was enjoying this easy camaraderie with his uncle, finding it a novel contrast to the terse, succinct conversations he had with his father. His father rarely asked for opinions. The man just gave them. But his uncle seemed to genuinely care what his opinion might be. ‘This is not all that different than wandering through the Newmarket stables during race week to see the other horses.’

      Giacomo gave a friendly laugh. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, mio nipote. At Newmarket, it is straightforward; a man races his own horse with his own rider. Anyone who wants to enter a horse can as long as they can pay the entry fee. Not so, here. We have to make it more dramatic. We can recommend horses for the Palio, but we do not control which horse we get. We do not enter a horse for Torre, our horse is drawn for us, assigned to us, out of the final pool of horses. All we can do is recommend the best horses possible for that pool.’

      That was news to Archer. He was starting to see that his mother’s stories of the great race had left out certain details. It was easy enough to do. When one lived in a particular milieu, there were nuances that one took for granted and assumed everyone else did too. ‘I think I understand, but give me an example.’

      Giacomo grinned and warmed to the subject. ‘Consider the horse that won the July Palio, Morello de Jacopi. He is owned by Lorenzo Jacopi, but the Pantera Contrada drew him for the race. It doesn’t matter what contrada Jacopi is aligned with, if any. For the race, the horse is Pantera’s. If the horse is selected again for the August Palio, another contrada might draw him.

      ‘Hopefully us.’ Giacomo leaned in although there was no one on the road to hear. ‘He’s the best-looking horse this year and I think we could put a better fantino on him than any of the other contradas.’

      The remark wounded Archer although he knew it wasn’t his uncle’s intention. He could be that rider if his uncle would give him a chance. ‘If the