In Their Footsteps & Thief of Hearts by Tess Gerritsen

Author:Tess Gerritsen [Gerritsen, Tess]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2012-09-18T12:00:07+00:00

Three

It was three minutes into the fourth chukker. Oliver Cairn-cross, mounted on his white-footed roan, swung his mallet on a dead run. The thwock sent the ball flying between the goalposts. Another score for the Bucking’shire Boys! Enthusiastic applause broke out in the viewing stands, and Sir Oliver responded by sweeping off his helmet and dipping his bald head in a dramatic bow.

“Just look at him,” murmured Veronica. “They’re like children out there, swinging their sticks at balls. Will they never grow up?”

Out on the field Sir Oliver strapped his helmet back in place and turned to wave to his wife in the stands. He frowned when he saw that she was leaning toward Jordan.

“Oh, no.” Veronica sighed. “He’s seen you.” At once she rose to her feet, waving and beaming a smile of wifely pride. Sitting back down, she muttered, “He’s so bloody suspicious.”

Jordan looked at her in astonishment. “Surely he doesn’t think that you and I—”

“You are my old chum. Naturally he wonders.”

Yes, of course he does, thought Jordan. Any man married to Veronica would probably spend his lifetime in a perpetual state of doubt.

The ball was tossed. The thunder of hoofbeats, the whack of a mallet announced the resumption of play.

Veronica leaned close to Jordan. “Did you bring them?” she whispered.

“As requested.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew the bundle of letters.

At once she snatched them out of his hand. “You didn’t read them, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Such a gentleman!” Playfully she reached up and pinched his cheek. “You promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Not a soul. But this is absolutely the last time, Veronica. From now on, be discreet. Or better yet, honor those marriage vows.”

“Oh, I will, I will!” she declared fervently. She stood and moved toward the aisle.

“Where are you going?” he called.

“To flush these down the loo, of course!” She gave him a gay wave of farewell. “I’ll call you, Jordie!” As she turned to make her way up the aisle, she brushed past a broad-shouldered man. At once she halted, her gaze slanting up with interest at this new specimen of masculinity.

Jordan shook his head in disgust and turned his attention back to the polo game. Men and horses thundered past, chasing that ridiculous rubber ball across the field. Back and forth they flew, mallets swinging, a tangle of sweating men and horseflesh. Jordan had never been much of a polo fan. The few times he’d played the game he’d come away with more than his share of bruises. He didn’t trust horses and horses didn’t trust him and in the inevitable struggle for authority, the beasts had a seven-hundred-pound advantage.

There were still four chukkers left to go, but Jordan had had his fill. He left the viewing stands and headed for the refreshment tent.

In the shade of green-and-white-striped awning, he strolled over to the wine bar and ordered a glass of soda water. With so much celebrating this past week, he’d been waking up every morning feeling a bit pickled.

Sipping his glass of soda, Jordan wandered about looking for an unoccupied table.

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