Poppy and Diggs soaked in the sights and sounds of the racetrack as they strolled across the grounds. Horses, led around the track by jockeys wearing jewel-colored riding costumes, whinnied and clopped their hooves. Gentlemen dressed in bright-green velvet jackets greeted passersby and steered tipsy spectators off the course. The crowd milled in and out of the large tents while chatting animatedly.
“What’s happening under the tents?” Poppy asked.
“Rather more primitive entertainments,” Diggs replied. “Cockfights, boxing matches, carnival shows. Would you care to see any of them?”
“No. I’d rather focus on finding Tottenshire.”
“He could be in the gaming tent,” Diggs said. “Shall we wander through and see if we can spot him?”
She nodded. “What does he look like?”
“Tall, fair-haired, about the same age as Hawking—and fashionably good-looking, I’m afraid.”
Poppy scanned the half-dozen tables for a man matching that description. There were plenty of young gentlemen with light hair, none of whom she considered handsome. She idly wondered if Keane had spoiled her for all other men. “Do you see him?” she whispered.
“He’s not here.”
“Shall we check the other tents? I’m certain there are plenty of wagers being placed elsewhere.”
Diggs pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the face. “The main race will be starting within the hour. I think we should proceed to the Royal Stand. If he isn’t there already, he will be soon.”
They made their way to the tallest grandstand and climbed the steps leading to a large, covered platform overlooking the course. Ladies and gentlemen with fancy accents sipped bubbly champagne and exchanged witty repartee. Footmen in gold livery circulated among the guests while balancing trays of delicate watercress sandwiches and sliced fruits. Poppy swallowed and fought back a sudden wave of panic.
“Act as though you belong here,” Diggs whispered.
“It’s a far cry from my rowboat,” she admitted. “But I shall do my best.”
“There he is.” Diggs faced her. “Over my left shoulder, wearing the plum-colored top hat.”
Poppy flicked her gaze in that direction and found Tottenshire. He stood half a head above the crowd, flashing icy blue eyes and a wide charming smile at a trio of admiring women. “I’ll lead the way.”
She withdrew a fan from the reticule on her wrist as she weaved her way through the throng. When she was within earshot of Tottenshire, she began waving her fan dramatically. “I shall be fine, Papa. I only require a bit of space and…” She paused directly in front of the earl, swayed, and let her eyes flutter shut. “Oh my.”
“Whoa, there.” Tottenshire grasped her shoulders and held her upright. “No swooning is permitted in the Royal Stand,” he quipped.
“Thank you, kind sir,” Diggs said. “I’ve got her now.”
Poppy blinked as though she didn’t know quite where she was. “Papa?” she moaned.
“Right here, darling. Let’s move to the railing where you’ll be able to feel the breeze.”
“Allow me to assist you,” Tottenshire insisted. Even with her eyes half closed, she could feel the earl’s gaze on her.
He and Diggs escorted her to the rear of the stand where the crowd was thinner and eased her onto a cushioned stool. “Oh,” she exclaimed, fanning herself. “Forgive me for making such a spectacle. I am positively mortified.”
“How many times must I tell you,” Diggs said with fatherly exasperation, “that you mustn’t overexert yourself?”
“Please don’t fuss, Papa. Especially not in front of this fine gentleman.” She looked up at Tottenshire. “I am in your debt, er…?”
“Charles Draven, Earl of Tottenshire, at your service.” His eyes roved over her face and lingered on her chest a tad too long.
“Lord Tottenshire,” she said demurely. “You have my utmost thanks.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss…?”
“Miss Diana Cadbury,” Diggs interjected, extending his hand. “I’m her father.”
“My doting father,” Poppy said affectionately. “Lord Bonham.”
Tottenshire arched a blond brow and shook Diggs’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you both. You’re not from London, are you? I’m certain I would have remembered Miss Cadbury if our paths had crossed before.”
“You’re quite right,” Diggs confirmed. “We’re a bit out of our element I’m afraid. I have a small estate in Sussex.”
“Papa, you’re being far too modest,” Poppy scolded. To Tottenshire, she said, “He owns seven hundred acres of fertile soil, including the most productive farms in all the county. His profits doubled over last year.”
Diggs chuckled nervously. “Diana, dear, it’s not polite to discuss such matters in public.” He shot Tottenshire an apologetic smile and said, “I fear I’ve involved my daughter in my business affairs more than I should. Ever since my wife passed—God rest her soul—I have allowed Diana to assist me with my accounting ledgers.”
Tottenshire held up a palm, magnanimous. “There’s no need to apologize, Bonham. I admire a young woman with a keen mind and an appreciation for numbers.” His bold stare suggested he was equally impressed with her physical attributes.
Poppy raised her chin as though vindicated. “Thank you, my lord. It’s refreshing to hear such an enlightened view.”
“Is this your first time to Ascot?” the earl asked.
“It is. Papa says I may place a bet, but I don’t know which horse to choose. Perhaps you could be so good as to advise me?”
Tottenshire’s eyes gleamed. “I’d be happy to. In fact, why don’t you and your father join me in my private box?” He hesitated, then added, “If you’re feeling better, that is.”
“I’m quite improved,” Poppy said. “But we would not wish to impose.”
“It’s no imposition at all, and you’ll have an excellent view of the race from there.”
“Quite good of you,” Diggs said. “I shall join you after I fetch a lemonade for Diana. Can I interest you in something stronger?”
“You can indeed.” Tottenshire turned to Poppy and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She fluttered her eyelashes like a shy debutante as she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “I should be delighted.”
The earl escorted her to his box and introduced her to his two companions—a full-bellied squire and an inebriated viscount. Thankfully, neither of the men asked her many questions. Tottenshire seated her on his right so that she was unable to easily converse with the men, who were on his left.
As Poppy pretended to smooth her skirts, she ran a hand over the inside of her calf—just to make sure her knife was still there. Though it was unlikely Tottenshire would try anything in public, she had met plenty of men like him. She needed to keep her wits about her.
“Do you see the brown horse with the white markings on his nose and feet?” he said, pointing at the racetrack. “That’s the aptly named Gunpowder. He’s the popular favorite. The gray gelding behind him is Gladiator, who won the Gold Cup last year. Most people say he’s lost a step, but make no mistake, he’ll be a contender again today.”
“They’re both magnificent creatures,” Poppy mused. “Which would you recommend I place my wager on?”
Tottenshire leaned close to her ear. “Neither,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “My money is on the white filly with the gray mane—Discord. The odds are against her, but she’s nimble, fiery, and unpredictable. I like her chances.”
The earl was so close, she could feel his hot breath on her neck. A sinister shiver stole over her skin, and she understood why Keane had warned her about him. Indeed, she wondered if Keane was watching her now—and what he would think to see Tottenshire taking such liberties.
“If you advise me to place a wager on Discord, then that is what I shall do,” she said, resolute.
“There are no assurances she’ll win.” He rested his elbow on the arm of her chair, crowding her to the opposite side of her seat. “But I can guarantee you that the filly will enjoy the ride.”
Poppy suppressed a shudder and smiled sweetly as she handed him a ten-pound note. “Perhaps you could help me place my bet?”
The earl chuckled, took the money, marked up a card, and signaled to a lad in a blue jacket and cap. As the boy scurried away with the card and the note, Tottenshire said, “He’ll register your wager and return with the receipt. Then we must hope that the filly doesn’t disappoint.”
“How exciting,” Poppy said. “Just being here at Ascot is a thrill. It’s not often that Papa and I travel outside of Sussex.”
“No?” the earl drawled. “Are you so very sheltered, then?”
“I would not say that. I have been fortunate enough to visit some lovely, if somewhat provincial, locales.”
“And what was your favorite, my fair Diana?”
She arched a brow but let his impertinence slide because he’d given her the perfect opening. “My favorite destination is a picturesque seaside town called Bellehaven Bay. Have you ever been there?”
Poppy studied Tottenshire’s face, looking for the slightest reaction. “Bellehaven,” he repeated, stroking his jaw. “I’ve heard of it. It’s west of Brighton.”
“Yes. Their annual regatta and cricket match are great fun. Papa and I stayed for a couple of weeks last summer. They had a pub with a whimsical, nautical name.” She tapped a finger to her lips and pretended to search for the name. “The Salty something.”
Tottenshire nodded, thoughtful. “The Salty Sandbar?”
“No,” she said, frowning.
“The Salty Sailor?” he guessed.
“That’s not it, either.” The earl didn’t seem to be lying. If he knew the name of the pub where Keane had been on the night he was attacked, his face gave no indication, and certainly no hint of guilt. But there was always the possibility that the earl lacked a conscience altogether.
“Ah, there’s your father,” Tottenshire said, sounding vaguely disappointed.
Diggs shuffled into the earl’s box, turned to the footman behind him, and took a pair of drinks from the silver tray he held. “A lemonade for you,” he said, handing Poppy a glass, “and a brandy for you,” he continued, offering a snifter to Tottenshire.
“You must join me, Bonham,” the earl cajoled.
Diggs hesitated, then relented, and helped himself to a large glass of brandy.
“Papa, the earl and I were just discussing Bellehaven Bay,” Poppy said conversationally. “I was telling him about our trip there last summer.”
“Delightful place,” Diggs said. “I’m sure you’ve been.”
“Can’t say that I have,” Tottenshire replied with an amused smile. “However, if you and Miss Cadbury plan a return trip this summer, I may have to add a visit to my schedule.”
“Your calendar must be very full,” Poppy said, feigning envy. “I wouldn’t be surprised to hear you’ve already attended two house parties this summer.”
“Only one, so far,” Tottenshire said. “I was there a fortnight ago, but the festivities ended abruptly during a fox hunt when our host tumbled off his horse.”
“Terrible,” Diggs said, clucking his tongue.
“The marquess will survive, thank goodness,” Tottenshire said with a shrug. “Luckily for Rutherford, he only bruised his backside—and his pride.”
Poppy nodded sympathetically but made a mental note. If they could verify Tottenshire’s story about the house party, he had an alibi on the night Keane was attacked.
Which meant that she and Diggs had the information they came for—and that there was no need for them to remain in the company of the earl where they risked being exposed. Besides, she was already counting the minutes until she could find Keane.
She met Diggs’s gaze, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. “Diana, my dear,” he said, “I had not realized the earl was entertaining friends. We should leave these gentlemen to their own devices.”
“You can’t leave now,” Tottenshire balked. “The race starts within the hour. And you haven’t even finished your brandy.”
“Well, I suppose we could stay for one drink,” Diggs said, obediently taking a large gulp.
Poppy wriggled to one side of her seat in an attempt to put more space between her and the earl. “When you’re done, Papa, I think I would like to stretch my legs.”
“There’s no need to wait. I’ll take you for a stroll around the tents.” Tottenshire proffered his arm, and alarms sounded in Poppy’s head.
“I should stay with Papa,” she said. “He doesn’t like me to wander off, especially in a crowd such as this.”
“But you won’t be alone,” the earl said with a feral grin. “You’ll be under my protection.”
Despite her valiant efforts to remain agreeable, Poppy bristled. “I am under my father’s protection.”
“And I am certain your father trusts me,” Tottenshire said. “You should, too.”
She didn’t reply, but merely pasted on a smile and pretended to soak in the view. In truth, she was plotting how she and Diggs could escape the box without making a scene.
“Have you placed your bet yet, Bonham?” the earl called to Diggs.
“Er, not yet.”
“I’ll go with you, Papa,” Poppy offered.
Tottenshire narrowed his eyes at her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were suddenly eager to be rid of me.”
“Not at all,” she assured him. “I simply wish to accompany my father.”
Diggs threw back the rest of his brandy and set down his glass. “Excellent. Let’s be off, my dear.”
“I shall escort you both there,” Tottenshire said. “So there’s no chance of you getting lost.”
Diggs protested, but it was clear that the earl would not be deterred.
Poppy exchanged a helpless look with Diggs and allowed Tottenshire to walk them toward the betting window.
Keane set down a pail at the edge of the racetrack, took the handkerchief from his pocket, and patted the back of his neck. He’d left one set of stables under the pretense of bringing grain to another. Fortunately, the scene was so chaotic that no one questioned him or gave him specific orders.
And that left him free to search for Poppy.
He had an inkling that she and Diggs would eventually find their way to the Royal Stand, and that’s where he caught a glimpse of the green beads on her hat sparkling in sunlight. She was seated near a railing overlooking the track. And the tall, blond-haired man beside her had to be Tottenshire.
The sight of him so close to her raised the hairs on the backs of Keane’s arms. He reminded himself that Poppy was far from defenseless, and that Diggs was bound to be nearby. But Tottenshire was ruthless and crafty. Like a wolf circling a stray sheep, he’d be patient. He’d wait till she was unsuspecting and alone. Then he’d pounce.
As Keane watched from afar, his unease only grew. And when it appeared that Poppy was leaving her seat—with Tottenshire by her side—some instinct would not let him wait there, watching and hoping that all would be well.
He muttered a curse, pulled down the brim of his cap, and left his pail behind as he strode toward the Royal Stand.
In that moment, his world came into sharp focus, as if he’d rotated the eyepiece on a telescope and was finally able to see everything clearly.
He didn’t care if he was discovered masquerading as a stablehand.
He didn’t care if the earl had, in fact, almost murdered him.
All he cared about was keeping Poppy safe.