Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I said. “Hallie.”
“Sage,” Sage said, offering her hand too.
Victoria gestured for the guys behind her to take our bags. As they picked up our luggage, Victoria then waved for us to follow her. “This is just the gatehouse to the property.” We passed through the open doors of the building. My eyes were wide as I looked around the foyer. The gatehouse had a foyer. Large oil paintings of horses filled the dark wood–paneled walls, and suits of armor—for both knights and horses—stood proudly in the corners, like they could come to life at any moment and defend Golden Oaks from ancient enemies.
I stopped dead in my tracks in front of an ornate stone fireplace when I came to an oil painting of the most handsome man I had ever seen.
Jasper Knighton.
The day I met Jasper at my aunt’s home had changed my life. To say that I became enamored with him later in my teens was an understatement. Jasper Knighton was a show jumping prodigy. Ranked number one in the world for nearly a decade, he had three Olympic golds under his belt. He dominated the sport. He was a once-in-a-generation talent. For years, no one came close to him.
I’d only ever spoken to him once, on what was one of the hardest days of my life. Even when we competed on the same circuits, I watched him from afar or from the safety of the stands. I wasn’t a wallflower by anyone’s estimation, but Jasper Knighton was an idol to me. He was incredible. Untouchable. His fame in our industry unparalleled. Together with his horse, a famous gray stallion named Lord Henry, born and bred from this very equestrian property on their stud.
My own horse, Rocky, had been my pride and joy for over a decade. We’d swept through the Juniors and Under Twenty-Five Grand Prix. He was retired now, back home at Silvercrest with my aunt, enjoying the sun and endless fields of grass. He was the first love of my life. A heart horse. In my eyes, he was perfect. But in the professional equestrian world’s eyes, Lord Henry . . . there was none like him. The best jumping horse I’d ever seen—that anyone had ever seen. He was perfectly bred.
“That’s Jasper,” Victoria said, catching me staring at the painting. I smiled tightly, embarrassed I’d been caught. “But you probably already knew that.”
Sage’s arm came around my shoulders. “Don’t mind Hals, Victoria. She’s just got a small case of hero worship for your boss.” I wrapped my arm around Sage’s waist and discreetly pinched her side. Sage flinched, then backed away with a smug grin. My best friend knew all about my slight obsession with Jasper and liked to torture me as often as she could about my infatuation.
Sage also had zero filter and loved nothing more than embarrassing me in public. Case in point.
Victoria nodded in understanding, oblivious to our silent argument. “He’s the best rider there’s ever been,” she said. “The horse world will never be the same.”
Jasper Knighton wasn’t dead, even though Victoria’s somber tone may have indicated that. About eighteen months ago, after a string of family tragedies, he stepped back from competing and abruptly withdrew from the limelight. Completely. From what I’d heard, he’d always been more reserved anyway, unlike his gregarious cousin. But he’d been quiet, pleasant, and amiable. These days, the horse world’s gossip mill talked of him as a moody and bitter man who was best avoided. I had no idea whether that was true, but the man who’d chatted with me that day years ago at my aunt’s center became my hero. I couldn’t imagine him being bitter and cruel to anyone.
The oil painting must have been fairly recent. Gone was the nineteen-year-old I’d met, the one whose career I’d followed intently throughout the years. Instead I regarded a man of thirty-two with messy, deep brunet hair and heavy stubble covering his face. His eyes were as dark and stormy as the gray English skies in the painted background.
If possible, he was even more handsome in this picture than when he retired. More rough and rugged. But my stomach fell, as he also appeared troubled. Haunted, even. His eyes . . . They screamed of pain.
It made my heart ache.
“If you’d come this way,” Victoria said, and we walked out into a courtyard. I stopped dead in my tracks as the true glory of Golden Oaks immediately greeted us. Laid out like an equine paradise was every horse rider’s dream: pristine arenas (both indoor and outdoor), and stable blocks that stretched for miles. Even the harsh winter weather failed to make this place look anything less than spectacular.
“Okay, I get why you convinced me to come with you,” Sage said from her equally awestruck state beside me. I smirked at my best friend. There had been no convincing. Getting the opportunity to compete on a Knighton-bred-and-trained horse was the equivalent of winning the lottery in our industry. Despite her history with Atticus, Sage had jumped (no pun intended) at the chance.