Page 12 of The Untamed Duke
Contemplation. Decision. Anticipation.
Whatever business Lady Grace Willsdown attended at this hour, or more precisely, whomever she hurried to meet, was now his concern.
* * *
“Oh,you clever creature...how did you know what was hiding there? Stop now...that tickles! All right. Wait a moment. I’ll pull them out for you...but if you bully me, you’ll get nothing and be glad for it,” Grace giggled, half-turning her body. “You beast. You’ll ruin it, shaking it so!”
Mildly exasperated by the gelding’s playfulness, she hopped, snatching her cap from between his teeth. The thoroughbred had already ruined one hat two days before. When the horse kept his head high, just out of reach, Grace relented. Three sugar cubes were withdrawn from her coat’s inner pocket.
The gelding promptly dropped the cap, stretching his neck and lipping at the treats in Grace’s palm. While he crunched the cubes, she retrieved the cap, jammed it into her coat pocket, and continued tacking the sleek animal inside the dark box stall. Slipping on the bridle, she carefully avoided hitting the metal against Percy’s teeth. For an animal so mouthy and curious, eagerly picking up almost anything in exploration, he’d always been touchy regarding the placement of a bit.
“I’m grateful we became reacquainted, Percy. You’ve made my mornings here pleasant, and I’ll miss you terribly when I leave. Will you miss me, handsome boy? And our morning rides?” The steady stream of soft chatter was a habit around horses. All the foals she raised were accustomed to it, and the gelding Lord Calmont purchased two years ago still remembered her. Gathering the reins, she turned with the intention of opening the stall, when Percy pushed her forward with a nudge of his large head.
“Percy! Not so rough, mind you! Will you have me covered in bruises for your impatience?”
No sooner were the words from her mouth when the stall door flew open. Grace stifled a scream, scrambling backward.
Standing in the stable aisleway, Richeforte loomed in her path. By the flickering light of a single lantern, Grace saw a riding crop, held tight in his hand like a sword. Percy flung his head high, snorting and sidestepping until she soothed him with a quiet word.
The fury on the duke’s face was frightening.
“Where is he?”
“Richeforte! You scared me half out of my wits!”
“Where. Is. He?”
Grace was confused by the level of emotion contained in those three words. “The stable lad? I sent him back to bed. The poor boy is sick. Besides, I could saddle a horse in pitch darkness if needed—”
“Not the bloody stable boy. Whomever you were talking to. Where is he, damn it?”
“Oh, you mean Percy.” Grace blushed. “Quite the one-sided conversation, wasn’t it?”
“Lord Blanton’s son? That Percy? Tell him to come out of that stall. If I must come in after him, things will end badly.” A muscle ticked in Richeforte’s jaw, his green eyes shaded black as ebony in the flickering light. Astonished by his conclusions, Grace giggled.
The heat in his eyes flared higher than the lantern’s flames.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, really. It’s just there is no one else. Only myself and Percy.” Grace stroked the bay’s black muzzle. “Say hello, Percy. The Duke of Richeforte joins us this fine morning. You’ll excuse him, my lord, if he doesn’t bow. I did not have the chance to teach him before Lord Calmont took possession.”
“Who are you meeting, Grace? Tell me now.”
“I told you...it’s only me. And Percy.”
“I’m not a fool.”
Grace shrugged, her amused gaze locking with his. “I did not think you were, my lord. I’ve no reason to lie. You may check the stall if you like.” She led the gelding out, waiting in the aisle while the duke quickly examined the stall. When he turned back to her, her brow arched as she cheerfully stated, “A simple apology will suffice.”
“I’m Richeforte. I never apologize,” he replied calmly, although his voice seemed rougher than before. “What should I think when you sneak away and I hear what sounds like a conversation with a lover?”
“I wonder why you would think on my actions at all.” Grace tilted her head. “Pardon my confusion, my lord. Were you concerned for my safety? My reputation?” Her quick intake of breath revealed her amusement. “Oh! Were you coming to my rescue?”
When her gaze pointedly touched on the crop he still held, Richeforte flung it aside with a muttered curse. “I don’t give a goddamn what you do, but after my warning yesterday…”
Her laugh interrupted him. “You are wearing the same clothes you wore to dinner, shirttails untucked…” her nose wrinkled, “and you reek of Lady Ralston’s perfume. How did you know I was here, I wonder? Oh, goodness...did you just come from her bed? Or were you meeting her in the stables?”
Grace swiveled, expecting to see the woman emerge from an empty stall, picking straw from her hair. Why she felt a tiny sting of jealousy with the mention of Lady Ralston’s cloying perfume, she had no idea. She hated the envy evident in her words. Richeforte’s head would likely swell to unmanageable proportions if he suspected she harbored the tiniest bit of interest in his choice of companion.
“There’s no need for secrecy, my lord. No one gives a pauper’s shilling if you two share a bed. Or a stall.”Except maybe Celia. She’d like Helene Ralston’s head on a platter if possible. Perhaps I might as well.
