Black Diaries

60. Racing Horse

Finally. The big day had come.

"Are you sure you're well enough?"

"Yes, of course! I've been out on the meadow helping you train Silver Star the entire last week, haven't I?"

"I know. Still..."

"Stop! I'm coming, and that's final."

"You are absolutely sure?"

"Hell yeah! I want to see that bastard Jasper get smashed!"

"An admirable sentiment, if slightly roughly phrased. Very well, then." He gestured to the waiting Rolls Royce, and the driver held the door open. "Let's go."

It only took us about ten minutes to reach the Ascot Racecourse. The crowds I had seen my first time there were nothing compared to the ones that were milling around everywhere today. Today was the climax of the Royal Ascot: the Golden Cup.

I looked over at Lord Christopher Conrad Alexander Edward Malcolm Farleigh, 7th Baron Farleigh. He was wearing his dark gray jacket and pants, and looked so deliciously lordly I felt my knees go weak. As for me, I was wearing a tight, high-necked black dress, and, out of principle, my pineapple hat.

Somehow, after the disaster the hat had caused last time, I had expected to be relegated to the silver ring, from where the main audience was watching. But when we stopped and got out of the car, Lord Farleigh immediately linked his arm with mine.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"I'm taking you to my private box, Miss McKinney."

"Are you sure? After last time..."

Slowly, he turned his head towards me, and from under dark strands of hair hanging into his beautiful face gazed into my eyes with a look of iron. "Do I look uncertain to you?"

I gulped. "No."

"Do you have any objection to accompanying me?"

"No."

"Very well then. I want you on my balcony, and I will have you there."

"That's very kind of you."

"Kind?" One corner of his mouth twisted up into a half-smile, and he interlocked his fingers with mine. "No. It's actually quite selfish of me—but in a good way."

Everyone made way for us. And of course, everyone stared at the pineapple. I didn't let it faze me. We reached his box in a matter of minutes, and took our seats in the center, while Tom settled down in a corner.

"Now, remember," his Lordly Lordshipness growled into my ear, "the Queen is here today. So no cheering chants about getting physical, understood?"

"Yes, your Lordship."

"And in general, please restrict your language to clean words that appear in the Oxford Dictionary, will you?"

"I'll do my best."

The door on the balcony next to us opened then, and a familiar emaciated figure stepped out, gazing over at us with cold eyes. I met his gaze, and felt the sudden urge to rip out my knife, kick through the glass barrier and improve Sir Jasper's fancy suit by adding a hole in the area of the heart.

Calm, I told myself, Stay calm. Stick with the plan.

If only the plan involved a little more blood. That wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

Yes, it is. Don't worry. What you're going to do to the stuck-up asshole is going to hurt a whole lot more than a simple knife wound.

Hm. I hoped so.