Winning the Gentleman (Hearts on the Heath)

By Kristi Ann Hunter

Aaron Whitworth hasn't had control over most aspects of his life, but he's always taken pride in being an honorable businessman and better-than-average horseman. When both of those claims are threatened, he makes the desperate decision to hire the horse trainer of a traveling circus as a temporary jockey for his racehorses.

Sophia Fitzroy knows that most horsemen don't take her seriously because she's a woman, but she can't pass up the opportunity to get away from the tumultuous world of travel and performing. As she fights for the right to do the work she was hired for, she learns the fight for Aaron's guarded heart might be an even more worthwhile challenge.

As secrets come to light and past vulnerabilities are confronted, will Aaron and Sophia sacrifice their former dreams and forge a new one together--against all odds?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
• Release date: Apr 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781493429950

Kristi Ann Hunter

Kristi Ann Hunter is the author of the Hawthorne House series and a 2016 RITA Award winner, an ACFW Genesis contest winner, and a Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award for Excellence winner. She lives with her husband and three children in Georgia. For more information, visit www.kristiannhunter.com.

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Books by Kristi Ann Hunter

HAWTHORNE HOUSE

A Lady of Esteem: A HAWTHORNE HOUSE Novella

A Noble Masquerade

An Elegant Façade

An Uncommon Courtship

An Inconvenient Beauty

HAVEN MANOR

A Search for Refuge: A HAVEN MANOR Novella

A Defense of Honor

Legacy of Love: A HAVEN MANOR Novella from The Christmas Heirloom Novella Collection

A Return of Devotion

A Pursuit of Home

HEARTS ON THE HEATH

Vying for the Viscount

Winning the Gentleman

© 2021 by Kristi L. Hunter

Published by Bethany House Publishers

11400 Hampshire Avenue South

Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

www.bethanyhouse.com

Bethany House Publishers is a division of

Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

Ebook edition created 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4934-2995-0

Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by LOOK Design Studio

Author is represented by Natasha Kern Literary Agency.

To the Provider of New Dreams

1 Peter 1:3–4

And to Jacob,

for helping me see that where

I came from doesn’t

dictate where I’ll go.

Contents

Cover

Half Title Page

Books by Kristi Ann Hunter

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Author’s Note

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Back Ads

Back Cover

Author’s Note

You won’t find Sophia Fitzroy if you look up the first female jockey in history, because she is fictional. If you look hard enough, though, you’ll find Alicia Thornton.

Mrs. Thornton ran two races in 1804, one as a personal challenge and one against a professional jockey. Both of them caused quite an uproar. Though her story inspired mine, that is where the similarities end. The rest of Sophia’s experiences and skills are pieced together from the lives of other remarkable equestrian women of the early nineteenth century.

Today’s female jockeys don’t owe a great debt to Mrs. Thornton, since it would be well over a hundred years before the sport acknowledged another woman in any official capacity, but the question isn’t always did it happen but could it have happened. And that is what makes history so very interesting.

One

SEPTEMBER 1817

After twenty-two years, Aaron Whitworth should have been aware of his closest friend’s idiocy. Yet it had never crossed his mind Oliver could do something so utterly foolish.

One could argue the man had saved Aaron’s sanity, if not his life, during their school days, but sometime in the years since boyhood, the heir to the Earl of Trenting had lost his mind. Befriending Aaron hadn’t been the wisest decision, though, so it was possible Oliver’s penchant for making poor choices, or at least rash ones, had always been present.

Aaron clamped his teeth together to avoid saying anything he might later regret. Yanking memories of better times to the front of his mind, he forced his voice to remain even. You did what?

"Accepted a challenge. That is what men of the turf do." Oliver lifted his chin as his gaze slid from Aaron’s and dropped to the horse patiently awaiting its rider.

Aaron frowned at the reins in his hand. He’d been moments away from mounting, ready to make the ride to the Stourbridge Fair in Cambridge and approve an order of saddles one of the sellers planned to deliver after the fair.

Dawn was stabbing its first streaks of light into a clear sky. Oliver’s cook had prepared him a breakfast of cold meat, cheese, and bread to eat as he rode. Aaron’s horse, Shadow, had been energetic on the short ride from his cottage to Oliver’s stable, assuring an enjoyable journey to the next town.

The promise of the morning paled in the aftermath of his friend’s blunder.

Aaron sighed and draped Shadow’s reins over a hook on the wall of the stable. Ever since Oliver had gotten betrothed to the daughter of one of Newmarket’s prominent horse breeders, he’d been determined to participate in the interests he would one day inherit.

Starting with the racing stable.

Unfortunately, though Oliver was a solid, loyal friend, his knowledge of property and business was little more than conceptual. He seemed to know he’d made a mistake this time, even if he didn’t realize the enormity of it.

Aaron spoke slowly, weighing every word before allowing it to cross his lips. Yes, men of the turf—and please don’t use that term again—arrange and accept challenges. He paused. It is customary, however, to only enter a challenge when one has a jockey to ride his horse.

Oliver shifted his weight and cleared his throat, slowly sliding his gaze back to Aaron’s. We don’t have a jockey?

Not since I fired him four days ago, no. It should have been done weeks, if not months, before, but Aaron had put it off because finding a good jockey who was willing to work for him was difficult. He had high demands on the skill of the rider, the care of the horses, and the character of the man.

Because Aaron’s reputation was less than ideal, he often had to settle for two out of three. Since he wasn’t about to let the animals pay the price, he’d been forced to give way on character. Hughes had been a lout, but he rode well and never hurt the horses.

At least, he didn’t when he was sober.

Why did we fire him? Oliver asked.

And that unwavering loyalty was why Aaron would always put up with Oliver’s naïveté.

He was enjoying his gin so much he thought the horses should have a nip as well and poured two bottles into the water trough. Risking his own health and reputation was bad enough, but endangering the horses was unacceptable.

Don’t we employ more than one jockey? Oliver asked.

Your other two took horses to a race in Yorkshire and have been delayed returning, Aaron said. Right now, I’m just hoping they’re here in time for the first of the October Meetings.

What about Hudson’s jockeys?

Hudson, Viscount of Stildon, owned the other stable Aaron managed, though Hudson had been absent from the area until a month ago. They’d moved from employer and employee to friends faster than Aaron would have thought possible, and he wasn’t sure he fully trusted the relationship or the way it had changed his life.

Still, if the situation were dire enough, Aaron could probably stomach asking a favor of him.

Maybe.

Fortunately, that wasn’t an option. One went to visit his ailing mother and isn’t due back for at least another week. The other stepped wrong dismounting yesterday and turned his ankle.

Oliver ran a hand through his hair, making the light brown strands stick up at odd angles. Equinox has no jockey.

The quiet statement cut through Aaron’s control, and a groan escaped as he dropped his head back to look at the lightening sky. Why would you agree to a challenge without asking me? Especially since we’ve several races on the books already with the upcoming October Meetings.

Davers was rather adamant.

Aaron’s head jerked hard enough to strain the muscles in his shoulder. The challenge was with Lord Davers? Aaron’s relationship with the Newmarket horse owners was tenuous but decent. Except with Davers. The other man had never liked that Aaron was allowed to sully his presence simply because he had an excellent touch with horses and a few decent connections.

Oliver knew that. Why would he have anything to do with—

And Brimsbane was there, Oliver admitted with a sigh, once again shifting his gaze to avoid looking Aaron in the eye.

For as long as Aaron had known Oliver, the man had gotten on well with everyone. Now, for a reason even Oliver probably didn’t know, he had formed a one-sided rivalry with his future brother-in-law.

With a sigh, Aaron reached out and buried his hand in Shadow’s mane, drawing comfort from the warmth of the horse’s neck. You have the girl’s affection, her father’s agreement, and a wedding date set in a month. What does it matter if her brother thinks you a cod’s head?

Oliver snapped his attention back to Aaron and frowned. Brimsbane thinks me a cod’s head?

No, but Aaron was on the verge of it. To my knowledge, Brimsbane doesn’t think of you at all beyond your ability to make Lady Rebecca happy. You’ve known the chap for years.

I know. Oliver began to pace, the dressing gown he’d been wearing when he rushed from the house to catch Aaron flapping about his knees. Pacing was a sure sign his grip on practical reality was sliding into panic based on some illogical conclusion only he could understand. Did you see him at the training yards last week?

Brimsbane? Why were they still talking about him? The challenge with Davers was far more pressing. They had one day to find a solution.

Aaron took a deep breath and counted to three. Oliver wouldn’t move back to the original conversation until this new one was completed. Yes, I saw him. When he’s in town, he checks his horses’ training at least twice a week.

Exactly. Oliver swung his arms wide as he continued to pace.

Aaron waited, but nothing more came. Exactly what?

Brimsbane knows his horses. Oliver stopped and pointed at Aaron. Did you know he asked me why my horses ran without blankets, and I didn’t even know what he was talking about?

I don’t care for sweating the horses. Aaron lifted one shoulder and let it drop. Wearing a winter traveling coat doesn’t make a man faster. Why would a horse be any different?

Many of the methods he used on the horses in his charge were different from the normal ones, and both the stables he managed—including Oliver’s father’s—had shown increased success because of it. The care of horses and advancements in their training had long been a passion of Aaron’s.

Despite his closeness with Aaron, Oliver attended very few races and never expressed interest in his father’s racing stable. Before he’d fallen in love with the daughter of an avid horseman, Oliver had cared only that his horse looked good and was fit enough to carry him wherever he wanted to go.

Perhaps it was love that had finally sent Oliver over the edge of reasonableness. It had certainly wreaked havoc in Aaron’s life, and he wasn’t even the one experiencing it, thank goodness.

Aaron didn’t have anything to offer a woman. At best he dallied on the fringes of polite society. At worst he was an outcast. Far better for Aaron to keep his circle of friends small and tight so his situation affected as few people as possible.

If only those few people would stop falling in love and expanding the circle. Each and every one of them had gone through a period of acting a complete fool because of their love-addled brains.

None had recovered from the malady with sanity intact.

Forget about Brimsbane, at least for the moment. Hopefully forever. Let’s discuss the agreement with Davers.

Oliver winced and blew out a long breath before relaying to Aaron the details of the challenge. Might he agree to a postponement?

Oh, most assuredly, Aaron said dryly, but not before ensuring that everyone in Cambridgeshire, Suffolk, and Essex knew you’d reneged.

It was possible that had been Davers’s plan all along. The man had a history of trying to tap a weakness in Aaron’s employers in order to mar Aaron’s reputation. If Oliver canceled the challenge, everyone would assume it was because Aaron didn’t think he could win. He’d tried to fire Hughes quietly, but if Davers somehow knew Aaron had no jockey . . .

Regardless of the method or motivation, Aaron’s carefully and strategically cultivated reputation was in danger. The small foundation he’d managed to build himself would crack. One crack would lead to another, and in little time at all, he’d become exactly what his father had told him he would be: nothing.

Aaron couldn’t—wouldn’t—tell Oliver that. He never admitted his fears aloud to anyone. Ever.

Besides, guilt would wrack the man if he knew Aaron’s concerns, and he might try to correct the disaster with an even more foolish decision. Oliver and Graham, the viscount who made up the third member of their boyhood trio, had sacrificed enough for Aaron as it was. Their friendship had inspired him to hope. He wouldn’t repay them by inspiring worry—or worse, pity.

Oliver ran his hand through his hair and resumed pacing. We have to run the race.

Yes. Knowing he couldn’t stop what had already been set in motion, Aaron turned his mind to potential solutions. Newmarket was the heart of English racing. Jockeys abounded in the area.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of anyone who met even his two essential criteria and would be willing to ride for him this close to the October Meetings. Jockeys worked closely with their horses, and the decent ones had all been hired long ago. They wouldn’t want to jeopardize those positions by agreeing to run for Aaron. Though superb, his reputation was fragile, and no one wanted to be the jockey at the helm when the ship finally crashed.

Either God thought Aaron needed another lesson in perseverance, or the world wanted him to remember his proper place—or rather his lack of one.

Existential issues notwithstanding, tomorrow morning Aaron would be expected on the Heath with a horse and rider at the starting post.

He sighed. I suppose we could use a groom. It would likely mean losing the challenge. Aaron’s stomach burned. He’d lost his share of official races, of course, but he’d never lost a personal challenge.

Mostly because he never accepted one he didn’t know he could win.

And while a loss would undermine his reputation, missing the race altogether would destroy it.

The grooms are all excellent riders. Oliver smiled, unsurprisingly unaware that anything aside from the money wagered might be lost during this race.

You know I wouldn’t hire a man who didn’t ride well or treat a horse correctly, Aaron grumbled. That didn’t make them good jockeys, though. Stable work tended to require stronger, larger men, which wasn’t the ideal build for a jockey.

Oliver’s smile fell, and he resumed pacing. A loss won’t look good to Brimsbane or Lord Gliddon.

Aaron narrowed his eyes at his friend. I do hope once you’re married you give more concern to how your wife feels about you instead of her brother and father. I didn’t haul your lovesick foolish self from London to court the earl.

Rebecca loves me. Oliver frowned.

Precisely. The calmness Aaron held with an iron grip shattered, and he stepped forward to grip his friend by the shoulders and give him a slight shake. She loves you. Since the betrothal has been announced and you aren’t going to live with Lord and Lady Gliddon after the wedding, what are you worried about?

You don’t understand. Oliver shook his head and looked away.

No, Aaron would never understand. He’d seen caring families and had, at times, craved one of his own, but in his experience, family was nothing but shameful responsibility. His father considered him an example to hold before his real son to show that choices had ramifications.

Explain it to me, then. Aaron’s voice was hard, not because he was frustrated with Oliver but because there were going to be consequences, possibly dire ones, and Aaron intended to take the brunt of them. Graham and Oliver were the only people who had ever chosen to be in Aaron’s life despite his less than noble beginnings. The least he could do was protect Oliver in return.

I love Rebecca, Oliver said softly as he broke away from Aaron and paced again.

We established that.

I didn’t propose in London.

As I’m well aware. Aaron had only visited London a few times during the Season, but he’d seen how Lady Rebecca’s popularity had paralyzed his friend, despite the indications that she reciprocated his feelings.

You had to drag me here from London and kick me in the backside to act before I lost her. Oliver shoved his hand through his hair again.

Again, I am aware.

Yes, well— Oliver cleared his throat—so are they.

Aaron frowned. Is she—

No, Oliver cut in sharply before sighing. She understands. Lord Gliddon . . . well . . . I don’t believe he’d have given his blessing if Rebecca hadn’t forced him to. I don’t think he likes me.

Everyone likes you, Oliver.

That doesn’t mean he respects me.

The truth of that statement silenced Aaron. Lady Rebecca saw the man’s faults as well as his virtues and loved him anyway, but to someone who didn’t take the time to get to know him, Oliver could look something of a cake.

I thought if I took an interest in the stable, won a few races, that would be something Lord Gliddon could appreciate.

Aaron clenched his jaw to keep the words in his head from rushing through his mouth. If Oliver had enlisted Aaron’s help, it would have been simple to teach him the right things to say and do to appear a proper horseman. But what was done was done.

Don’t worry, Aaron said, swallowing hard to keep the burn in his stomach from crawling up his throat. I’ll find another rider. Somewhere.

Oliver’s shoulders lost their tension, and he smiled, obviously content that Aaron would handle everything.

Before Aaron said something to crush his friend’s ease, he mounted Shadow and pointed the horse toward Cambridge. While he wouldn’t be spending the day leisurely strolling through the fair, he still had to make the final arrangements on his order.

Besides, there wasn’t a better place to ponder a problem than on the back of a horse. By the time he returned to Newmarket, he’d have a plan in mind, if not in place.

As the horse walked by the Heath, Aaron looked over the expanse of grass that had been his restoration. Hopefully it wouldn’t soon be the site of his humiliation as well.

Two

Though the solution didn’t materialize as Aaron rode through the countryside, a sense of desperation did. Unfortunately, the ideas of desperate men are risky. They might pay out in the end, but more often than not, they caused more problems.

Somewhere between stabling Shadow at one of the temporary liveries and meeting with the saddle maker, Aaron convinced himself that his absurd idea was one of the good ones.

What if his solution was hiding among the stalls of horse breeders and tack salesmen? What if he hired a complete unknown as a jockey? All he needed was someone of small stature with a good seat and the proper respect for horses, someone who didn’t fear the rush of wind as an animal in its prime surged at a gallop across the Heath.

Even if he lost, it would look better than putting a groom on Equinox’s back. At least then people could only question the race and not Aaron’s ability to manage and staff the stable.

The entire idea was ludicrous, though. How was he to go about testing a man’s abilities in the crowded confines of a fair? One could barely walk at a decent pace, much less ride.

With more attention on his musings than his surroundings, he didn’t realize he’d wandered into the edge of a crowd until he’d been swallowed by it. Oohs and aahs filled the air as the people pressed against the rickety fence of a traveling show.

He looked up just in time to see a horse performing moves he’d never known horses could do. Startlingly white to the point of glowing, the horse captivated Aaron as it pranced around the performance area, mane and tail flowing behind. Surely anyone who could make a horse do that could encourage one to run fast along a course.

His gaze tracked to the rider. His hopes plummeted even as his attention sharpened. Blond hair streamed down her back and across her shoulders. Her green gown, with long, wide sleeves and panels of sheer fabric floating about the skirt, shimmered in the morning sun. On the back of the horse, she appeared to be flying.

This wasn’t the solution to his problems, but he was intrigued enough to keep watching. It looked like a dance as the horse performed a series of intricate steps before running in a circle while the faerie stood on its back.

Aaron knew that excellent female riders existed—he even counted one among his small circle of acquaintances—but he’d never seen one ride like that.

A man stood to the side recounting some story that was likely meant to give meaning to the moves, but it was nothing but noise to Aaron’s ears.

Such a beautiful horse needed no additional story to be admired. The rider’s overdone gown and abundance of hair detracted from the beauty as far as Aaron was concerned. They were a distraction he narrowed his eyes to remove.

Though he wouldn’t discount the lady’s skill in being able to stay atop the horse’s back, he could see no signal from the rider to guide the horse. Likely the animal had been taught the routine by someone else and performed it so often that it would go through the motions, rider or no.

Murmurs of delight swelled through the crowd as the white horse knelt and the faerie dismounted to bestow a rose upon one of the boys crowded close to the fence. She climbed back on the horse, and the pair departed while the storyteller crossed in front of the crowd with a basket on a stick, collecting coins from the awed observers.

Aaron stepped away. There would be more shows today, perhaps even two or three. Well-trained horses and skilled riders should be rewarded, but he wanted to see the entire show before depositing his coins.

In the meantime, there were plenty of stalls in which he could have horse-related conversations and seek out someone ready to be molded into an excellent jockey, or at least an adequate one.

His hopes faded as he finished perusing the second full row of stalls without a single prospect. He’d circled back to the performance area, so he secured a position near the front but far to the right. Tales of the faerie queen must have spread, because several boys were already clustered near the center of the fence.

Though the traveling group had likely been here for days, it still drew a large crowd, and Aaron’s expectations grew. He glanced over the variety of people, stopping on a little boy edging his way into the crowd at the opposite end of the fence from Aaron.

Aaron had been that little boy staying carefully out of everyone’s way. Before his father had swooped in with a sense of responsibility and sent Aaron off to school, there’d been no fancy clothes or quality horseflesh. Aaron’s admiration for the animals had been fed by traveling shows such as this one.

They’d been his escape.

The performers didn’t care if he’d ruined his mother’s life or his father considered him the embodiment of sin’s consequences. They didn’t call him names or pretend he didn’t exist. They gave him the same show they gave everyone else.

Aaron took note of the boy’s height and what he was wearing so he could find him after the show and create some sort of errand that would earn the boy a coin.

The show began, and Aaron frowned. It was obvious why the faerie queen came out last, despite the uninspiring story supposedly being all about her. Other riders, dressed as wood nymphs and sitting atop brown horses, did little more than avoid falling, confirming his suspicions that the horse trainer should be receiving the applause. To the untrained eye, the display was fabulous, but even though Aaron hadn’t a clue how to make a horse walk with his forelegs high and stiff, he knew what it looked like to give a horse a command.

A few acrobats were mingled into the show, but soon the faerie queen made her entrance, eventually reaching the point where he’d begun watching the first time.

The horse paused for the others to clear the area, then, instead of moving forward, reared up until it was standing tall on its back legs. The crowd gasped and cheered while Aaron’s gaze flew to the rider’s face. A grim frown flashed across her mouth and then the horse was back on the ground. Moments later, the routine continued as if nothing had happened.

Obviously, the faerie’s skills far surpassed those of the other performers. Still, she had to be relying on the horse’s knowledge of the routine, considering she often knelt upon the horse’s back, with one leg draping down the animal’s side.

Was the trainer here? Perhaps behind the wall that had been erected as a backdrop for the performance? Aaron wanted to meet him. Had he trained the horses with a firm, caring hand instead of fear and pain? Was he short in stature himself, allowing him to easily train horses for female riders?

Perhaps God had a miracle for Aaron after all.

Once more the horse knelt and the faerie queen dismounted. The cluster of boys called out and pressed closer to the fence, rocking it until Aaron feared it might topple.

She stepped forward, shimmering from her head to her hem. Even her skin caught the light, covered in some sort of powder that gave it an unnatural glow and kept him from getting a clear look at her features.

A tightness squeezed Aaron’s chest as the faerie veered away from the center and walked toward the boy in the ill-fitting coat at the end of the fence. She extended the rose toward the lad, and a hush fell over the crowd, followed by a swell of displeased murmurs.

Aaron couldn’t help but direct a nod of respect toward the performer, though she couldn’t see him. She’d known who was enthralled by the show and who simply wanted to be entertained. That boy would cherish the flower until it turned to dust.

Soon the rider disappeared behind the wall. Aaron dropped two coins into the passing basket and cut through the crowd in search of the little boy. He was still on the far side of the area, clutching his rose to his chest while two boys in pristine tiny cravats stared him down.

Aaron knew that scenario as well.

He ignored the glowering boys and stepped up to the grim-looking lad. Do you like horses?

Eyes wide, the boy nodded. Yes, sir.

Aaron gave a sharp nod in return and pulled two more coins from his pocket. My horse is stabled at the end of this row. His name is Shadow. He’s a chestnut with a white face and white socks on all four legs. Do you know what that means?

The boy nodded and flicked a glance down at the coins before meeting Aaron’s eyes once more. Yes, sir.

Shadow doesn’t always do well in strange, noisy places. Surely God wouldn’t care all that much about such a harmless lie. I’d like you to purchase him a treat, whatever you feel appropriate, and check on him for me. You can keep whatever you don’t spend.

The boy pried one hand from the stem of the rose and slowly reached out to accept the coins. His fist closed tight and tucked up against his chest once more, a hint of fear edging into his face.

Aaron cut a look at the boys hovering nearby and tightened his jaw. He may not bear the name or the title, but there was aristocratic blood in his veins, and he could make himself look powerful and intimidating to those who didn’t know any better.

If you have any trouble, Aaron said slowly, let me know.

The boys scattered.

Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure your horse is in fine shape. The coins disappeared into a pocket.

After receiving a final nod of approval from Aaron, the boy ran off to enjoy the rest of what might very well be the best day he’d ever had in his life.

Aaron stayed in the shadows of the show’s ramshackle construction, edging around the enclosure to see the makeshift paddock and dressing area behind the rickety wall. Positioned on the end of the row, the lot extended far back, keeping Aaron from getting too close to the horses, unless he wanted to step fully into the blocked-off area.

In the farthest corner of the space, a short man with a shock of bright red hair brushed down the horses from the show. The faerie queen stood nearby, the green gown looking gaudy and cheap now that it lay motionless.

As the man talked, he gestured to the horse’s foreleg, then swept his hand out in a wide motion. Were they discussing that moment when the horse had reared?

The faerie nodded before patting the horse on the neck and moving away toward a wagon positioned to hold up part of the dividing wall.

Aaron kept his attention fixed on the white Andalusian he would have given a few teeth to get his hands on. He might even be willing to suffer bodily harm for a closer look. He’d heard about the horses and seen them in paintings, but this was the first he’d glimpsed in person. The Andalusian was as glorious as reputation claimed, though how it ended up in a traveling show and not the stable of a duke, Aaron couldn’t begin to guess.

The red-haired man led the horse in a circle, slowing each time they passed the corral. With each circle, that moment grew slower and slower, until the man was bringing the horse to a stop before continuing on. After three successful stops and starts, the man pulled something from his pocket and fed it to the animal

Reviews for Winning the Gentleman (Hearts on the Heath)

[Natalie S · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Kristi Ann Hunter is a good writer, but as time passes her books have been increasingly weakened by interjections of modern social views. If I want to read a contemporary book I will. It's frustrating to read a book where the author has clearly researched the setting (clothes/dance/etc) but hasn't bothered to figure out how to make her characters actually live in that setting.