That, at least, he could fix. He’d promised her work for a month. He could pay her the salary she would have earned. It would support her until she found a position. “I’ll pay you.”
Her frown deepened. “Of course you will. There’s a salary stipulation in the contract, along with food and lodging for the length of my employment.”
“I mean I’ll pay you for the entire month now.” It grated at him to give any sort of concession when he knew he’d been tricked, even if it hadn’t been by her. The idea of her wandering off all alone with nowhere to go and no money for her future grated worse. “Then you can do whatever you’d planned on doing a month from now.”
Her eyes darted away from his for the first time since she’d approached him. She took in the horse, the Heath, and the surrounding spectators, who were stretching their necks to catch a word of this conversation. She shifted the bag until it was once more secure on her shoulder, bit her lip, then tilted her chin up once more. “No.”
“No?” His eyebrows shot up. Of all the responses he’d expected, a flat no hadn’t even been on the list.
“No. I want more than money.”
So, this was a swindle. The knowledge that he was indeed being taken for a ride by this woman somehow eased his anger. He wouldn’t be the first man to stumble because of an attractive female. Granted, it hadn’t been her appearance that had caused his initial idiocy—that wig and dress had been awful—but it had played a part in his handling of this morning.
“What do you want?” he asked, already prepared to decline it and send her on her way. He’d like to say with nothing, but he knew he’d give her at least a week’s wages. Swindler or not, he had to be able to look himself in the mirror tomorrow.
“Riding for you gives me a chance to show people what I can do. I want to make a name for myself as a horsewoman and not a performer. If I can ride your racehorses, people will respect my abilities. I’ll be taken seriously enough to train horses and riders again.”
Once more she’d managed to throw him sideways. Of all the things he’d been expecting, a chance to prove herself wasn’t on the list. Despite his irritation, he had to give her a grudging dollop of respect. “You intend to trade my reputation for your own? Ruin me in an attempt to make a name for yourself?”
“I won’t ruin you if I win.”
She could ruin him simply by existing. If he allowed her to race, people would doubt his discernment. If it got around that he made an offer of employment and didn’t follow through, his honor would be questioned. “And if you don’t win?”
More nervous lip licking. Her lips were going to fall off if she kept doing that. “If I don’t win . . .” She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “The day I don’t win, I’ll quit. You can pay me for whatever time I’ve worked and I’ll move on.”
Her confidence impressed him even as it made everything more difficult. His name meant less than nothing away from the turf. While his bank account was healthy, he had no legacy. He didn’t have family connections relying on him to make things better for the next generation. He had only today and his reputation as a horseman and stable manager.
And that reputation was about to be damaged. Because whether she said anything or not, whether the rest of Newmarket learned the details or not, whether he’d been tricked or not, he couldn’t go back on his word and still consider himself a gentleman.
He was racing against Davers again in a week, but it was possible he could find someone else she could race quietly before then. In the meantime, he would suggest other places of employment more respectable for a woman on her own. This entire debacle could be over in a matter of days.
“If you lose, you’ll drop your claim to employment as my jockey?”
She licked her lips and took another deep breath before giving a decisive nod. “Yes.”
“Then we have a deal.”
And he had an entirely new host of problems.
He offered his hand as he would to any man he was making a business deal with, but the slight hand that grasped his in return was most decidedly feminine. His calluses caught against hers, but the hand itself was slim. Though the grip was strong, the bones were delicate. This woman was turning everything he thought he knew about females topsy-turvy.
And he had a suspicion it was only the beginning.
Six
Sophia’s heart threatened to drop right through her feet and puddle into her boots.
Despite the assurances she’d given Jonas, she’d been terrified that she’d be spending the day hiding in those trees, waiting for her brother to return and find they were without jobs, homes, or direction.
Her stomach grumbled through the sudden rush of relief, making her aware that the roll she’d eaten before the sun rose wasn’t enough to sustain her for the day. She pressed a hand to her middle and breathed out a prayer of gratitude. Granted, she hadn’t assured herself any work beyond a week—or even a day if he could arrange another race that quickly. But for today at least, she could provide for her tiny family, and there was a chance—a small chance, but a chance nonetheless—that she’d be able to do more.
A thin man with a neat, full beard approached, brows lowered and arms crossed over his chest. “What’s the meaning of this, Whitworth?”
Mr. Whitworth extended the reins of the sleek racehorse to the newcomer. “I’ve hired a new jockey.” The man’s green-grey eyes cut in Sophia’s direction and speared her clean through. “Temporarily.”
The thin man shook his head and stroked the horse’s neck. “Have you lost your mind, Whitworth? A girl in the yard? What is she going to do there?”
Sophia drew herself up to her full height, slight though it was, and lifted her chin. At three and twenty, she was not a girl, though stating that wouldn’t help her situation. She bit her tongue to hold in the retort.
“Ride,” Mr. Whitworth said flatly, “just as Hughes did. That is the position I promised her, and I’m a man of my word.”
His word had been for a month’s employment, and he’d already gone back on that. Pointing that out would likely get her sent away completely, so she swallowed the comment with assistance from the pinched pain of nipping her own tongue again.
At this rate she’d have a hole in her tongue by nightfall.
A sigh gathered in her chest, and she clenched her teeth to keep from letting it out. She didn’t do well with silence. If she needed to keep her thoughts from escaping through her mouth for the duration of her employment, it might be a good thing it was to be temporary. It would take a miracle to keep her thoughts inside for an entire month. Given the dubitable merit of her recent requests, it was probably best to refrain from asking anything else of God at the moment. Her tongue was simply going to have to toughen up.
“They aren’t going to like it,” the man continued, talking to Mr. Whitworth as if Sophia weren’t there.
Mr. Whitworth’s gaze, however, stayed fixed upon hers. “That I even contemplated such an experiment will give them fodder for months. They’ll thank me for handing them the weakness they’ve been looking for.”