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hear she gave you what-for in the stable. About time you got put in your place.”
    “Oh, I know my place, Tully,” Christian said coolly. “On top.”
    He stared at the arena where the grounds crew was raising several fences and taking others down in preparation for the jump-off. “Alexandra and I had a bit of a misunderstanding. Rest assured, we’ll work it out.”
    Haskell turned and jabbed Christian hard on the shoulder with a blunt-tipped forefinger. “You stay the hell away from my trainer, you pompous British prig. She’s got better things to do than have you pantin’ after her. I know your game, Atherton. Charm them into your bed, and they won’t try so hard to beat you in the ring. Well, you can just forget it this time.”
    Christian coldly eyed the finger pressed to his jacket. Using every bit of his inborn self-control, he reined in his temper, rerouting its energy to the force of his personality so that icy contempt rolled off him in a frigid blast. Haskell, sensing he had crossed a line, took an involuntary step backward, and Christian calmly brushed off the shoulder of his coat.
    “Regarding Ms. Gianni,” he said formally, his blue eyes blazing as he stared into Tully’s florid, fleshy face. “You’re not her owner and you’re not her father, which, in case you haven’t noticed, you are more than old enough to be. You pay her to ride your horses. What she does on her own time is none of your damned business.”
    Glaring at him, and growing redder by the second, Haskell chewed back a retort. The ring announcer called for the first horse of the jump-off. Tully turned abruptly on his booted heel and stalked off in a cloud of smoke.
    “Ill-mannered, ill-bred swine,” Christian muttered, scowling after him.
    “The horse or the owner?” Robert queried, taking up Haskell’s place.
    “Both. They deserve each other. Would you believe he actually had the nerve to warn me off?” Christian fumed. “The unmitigated gall!”
    Braddock arched a dark brow. “Tully’s got his eye on the Italian Iceberg too? Well, I’ll be damned. That old tub o’ lard!” He laughed in disbelief and tucked his hands into the pockets of the green windbreaker he’d thrown on over his riding coat. Grinning, he nudged his friend with an elbow. “Bet she can’t throw him over her shoulder.”
    Christian didn’t so much as pretend to smile. “Pray to God for his sake she never has to try.”
    The words came out in nothing short of a growl, making Braddock’s eyebrows climb his forehead again. Christian shuddered and rubbed a hand across his eyes. Maybe he was coming down with something after all: terminal respectability. Defending the honor of young women! Gads.
    He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Hard luck on that vertical, old boy.”
    “Yeah,” Robert said on a sigh of resignation. He stared at the fence in question, a barrier of green-and-white poles placed one above the other to make the jump the highest on the course. His horse had been one of many to bring it down in the first round of the class. Now it had been raised for the jump-off and the approach made more difficult. “I don’t think that mare’s ready to leave the hunter division,” he said reflectively. “The distances throw her. She’s always trying to add a stride at the last second.”
    “She’s worried,” Christian said with a shrug. “She doesn’t trust you because you’re letting her try to set herself right, and she’s not quite ready to do that. Take her in hand a bit, reassure her.”
    “You always know how to handle a lady,” Braddock drawled, teasing lights sparkling in his dark eyes. “What are you supposed to do when she throws you?”
    “Oh, shut up,” Christian said with good humor.
    They turned their attention back to the ring, where yet another competitor had brought down the green-and-white vertical jump. Christian’s gaze slid to the far end of the arena, where Alex was waiting on Terminator.
    What