Objects Of His Obsession Read Online Free PDF Page B

growled.
    “Indeed?” A thickset, short and
soberly dressed man stepped forward, eyeing the two men with a quick interest.
Like many of the Casterwell’s guests, he was not here by dint of a title but by
the lure of his accomplishments. His accent gave that away. A well known horse
owner and trainer, he’d had a number of winners at Ascot that had been
discussed at dinner last night. His brown eyes moved, assessing, over
Benedict’s square jawed, clean-shaven face with the same air he probably used
when assessing horseflesh. “You’re good enough for me to wager my money on,
Yeats?”
    Benedict swallowed. This had
moved from being a lazy afternoon activity to something far more serious. “I am
good enough, but I would not like you to lose money on my abilities.”
    “Or I could win on them,” the
man snorted.
    Evander’s turquoise eyes mocked
Benedict, glanced over at the horse trainer. “You liked that colt I purchased
at auction, did you not, McCabe?”
    “Indeed I did. Would have
beaten you for him, but the bidding became too rich for my blood. Don’t like to
throw that much money at untried animals, no matter how good their bloodlines.”
    That hard, well-cut mouth
curled. “Well, I liked the look of that little chestnut filly you were showing
me the other week.”
    McCabe snorted. “She’s rough as
all hell, and her sire isn’t worth a farthing. I bought her only because I
liked the dam, and the price was right.”
    “Then it won’t disturb you to
wager her, up against Nautilus Prime.”
    The other man shook his head.
“Are you a madman, Casterwell? Nautilus cost you a fortune. Yes, I’d love to
own him, but frankly, I’d feel–”
    “Yes or no?”
    McCabe’s eyebrows rose and he
shook his head. “This is a ridiculous wager. Madness. That colt of yours is
worth a fortune. My filly, next to nothing.”
    Evander’s smile was slow and
lazy, his deep voice indifferent as he shrugged, drawled utterly outrageously,
“Tell me, McCabe. What else are we going to do on a Sunday afternoon?”
    ~~***~~
    This had all become far too
serious. Too much depended on it. And yet, at university, archery and boxing
had been Benedict’s sports of choice when he needed to relax. He had kept up
both. Rugby he’d dropped after having his nose well broken. Benedict had not
lied. He was damned good. But for a man to wager a horse on it – and for
Casterwell to wager horseflesh that had cost some hellish sum of money–
    “We play by our own rules
here,” Juliana told him, azure eyes gleeful. “As you’ve seen. The best of ten.”
    At Evander’s suggestion he
tested himself on several shots. There were a row of targets set up for them
both. He hit the bulls-eye only once. Failed miserably on the first try.
    The breath hissed from between
McCabe’s teeth.
    Sweat was running down
Benedict’s spine as he stepped back. At that moment Juliana’s golden hair
glinted in the sunlight, and caught by it, he gave her a sideways glance. That
rosebud of a mouth curled into an encouraging, sympathetic smile.
    Evander walked across the grass,
took his place. Lifted the bow.
    Hit a perfect bulls-eye. One
after the other. Relentless. A machine. Five in a row.
    Benedict swallowed, aware that
others had gathered closer to watch.
    Evander growled something and
turned his attention from the target.
    He gave Benedict an enigmatic
glance. “Go ahead, man. Do your best.”
    There was a challenge in that
smooth, cultured voice. And Benedict had the feeling it had nothing to do with
where an arrow landed.
    “I shall,” he promised easily.
    The first of his shots was
woeful once more. The second perfect. So too the third. The fourth. Benedict
was aware of the murmurs about them. Even more aware of what was riding on this
absurd wager.
    If he won, the magnificent,
alluring man he was infatuated by would lose a piece of horseflesh worth a
fortune. If he did not, the man wagering against Evander would lose what was
clearly a promising