Maggie hissed after they’d climbed into Shefford’s carriage. “What can you possibly be thinking?” Shefford lowered his eyelids to slits and allowed the hint of a smile to brush his lips. “That I will soon be a very rich man, indeed.” Maggie was taken aback. If he had such enormous wealth, he should have offered to resolve Julian’s debts. Or at least, helped Maggie deal with them. “You have that kind of money?” “Of course not. But my estates are worth far more than forty thousand.” “Are you saying you would mortgage them?” she asked, appalled. Good heavens, he was as bad as Julian. “I won’t need to.” Maggie didn’t know anything about racing. She’d had very little contact with horses after her accident, only riding in her small gig at home, or in her carriage in London. But she knew that Shefford bought and sold horses as though they were corn. “You have a horse that can win, then?” His smile broadened. “I can beat any one of those cows with Palmer’s Gold.
