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did one do after being thrown? One got up and tried again. He had every intention of trying again with Alex, and the sooner the better. There was a wager to be won, a jackass to be shown up, and a lady he wanted to know more about.
    Terminator pinned his ears and tried to bite the horse that was leaving the ring. Alex jerked his head aside and scolded him in rapid Italian. The strongly accented words floated to Christian on the gentle spring breeze, and he chuckled. Italian was one of the few useful things he’d learned at Cambridge before being asked to leave after scuttling a professor’s punt with the professor still in it.
    “What’d she say?” Braddock asked.
    “Commenting on the members of his family tree.”
    “Oh, well, he’s obviously Tully’s. He bears a striking family resemblance from behind.”
    They broke into laughter and were immediately caught for posterity on film.
    “Carter, what are you doing with that camera?” Robert asked.
    Carter Hill glanced up from the array of knobs and switches on his camera and raked back a strand of auburn hair. He was thirty-three, tall and slender, as were all the Hills. He smiled pleasantly, somehow still managing to look like a lawyer even without his pinstripes.
    “First show in the new arena and all,” he said. “Dad wants plenty of pictures. Too bad we won’t get you in the winner’s circle this time around, Robert.”
    Braddock shrugged. “Breaks of the game.”
    Alex rode into the ring then, and Christian’s attention focused on her and on the game men and women had been playing since the days of Adam and Eve. He had a feeling he was going to have to make his own breaks, but as far as he was concerned, both he and Alex would come out winners when all was said and done.
    Alex sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, nudging her horse into a canter as her body relaxed. She pointed Terminator toward the first fence and cursed herself as a lone thought intruded on her concentration. This is your chance to show Christian Atherton what you’re made of.
    Terminator pricked his ears and launched himself over the fence, realizing belatedly that it was higher than before and required more effort on his part. Alex nearly lost her seat at the unexpectedly high jump he made. By the time they landed, she had her position back and her mind on the matter at hand.
    They won it at the green vertical. While the other horses had had trouble managing the sharp turn and sudden acceleration needed to clear it cleanly, diving in on corners and charging fences were Terminator’s forte. He left the fence intact and kicked up his heels as he dashed away from it.
    Alex laughed and slapped him on the neck. It felt good to win. She’d lost so much in the past couple of years, every small victory was another brick for rebuilding the wall of her self-esteem.
    Outside the ring she slid off her horse and handed him to her teenage helpers, the two Heathers—Heather Connelly and Heather Montrose, riding students who were trading work for lessons. She gave the girls instructions for them to cool Terminator down and keep him away from other horses. She wouldn’t have charged one girl with the task, but between the two of them they would have no trouble. They threw a bright red woolen cooler over the gelding and led him away.
    Congratulations floated to her from passing riders, and Alex smiled her thanks as she pulled her helmet off and shook her hair free.
    “What’d I tell you, sweetheart?” Tully Haskell said with a grin. He spread his arms expansively, as if expecting Alex to rush into them.
    She couldn’t quite keep from frowning at his greeting as heads turned in their direction. “Please call me Alex, Mr. Haskell,” she said quietly, her stomach churning.
    He shrugged, smile in place on his mouth but not in his eyes. “Whatever you say, sweet—a—Alex.” He jerked a thumb toward the arena. “Let’s go get our picture taken.”
    He offered her his arm, but Alex