Page 21 of The Untamed Duke
Chapter 8
“Ya haven’t the full shilling, do ye?”
Grace grit her teeth. She regretted telling Hugh of the encumbrance and her plan of enticing Nicholas into releasing the estate. “I know this is crazy. It’s the only way.”
Scowling, the stablemaster stroked his greying beard. “Ach now, ye codding ole Hugh MacCormac, aren’t ya?” His Irish accent thickened with irritation. “Ye canna be crackin’ on traipsin’ across Cornwall, tryna get wool from a goat.”
“I hope His Grace never hears we called him a goat.” She tightened the cinch on Llyr’s saddle, patting the stallion’s black neck when he swung his head and nudged her in the back. “I promise he would not take it well.”
“A fool’s journey, this is. He won’t give in, milady,” Hugh grumbled. “Stubborn as an ass, they say.”
“How many different farm animals must you compare him to?”
Taking the reins from the grumpy stablemaster, Grace led Llyr into the bustling courtyard. Stable lads trotted to and fro, finishing up the morning feedings. A few busied themselves with rinsing the cobblestones with buckets of water. The summer morning shone bright, the brisk air sweetened by flowering camellias and buttercups. Swallows darted about, swooping low over the courtyard, calling to each other while horses nickered within stalls, impatient for their breakfast oats.
Emotion swelled inside Grace. She could not lose this beautiful place that rejuvenated her soul. Hopefully, her words would arrange themselves in a way Nicholas found intriguing. This plan must work, although showing up on his doorstep was foolhardy at best. At worst, her reputation would never survive if word leaked out.
“I must convince him to release it in trade for something else. My expertise in raising and training horses, for example. If he agrees—”
“He won’t. ‘Tis a bad idea,” Hugh said plainly. “But here now, I see ye are determined to try, no matter my say. What lads are ye takin’ for safety’s sake?”
Grace grinned at the older man. “Just Robbie. You’ll need extra hands when the mares from Lord Ravenswood arrive this afternoon. It’s a mere three-hour ride to Oakmont. If I should encounter trouble, Llyr can outrun anything on four legs.”
“Ye canna worry about four-legged creatures when keepin’ watch for two-legged ones.”
Grace said nothing. Hugh could not know the full extent of danger in which she willingly placed herself with the two-legged variety.
* * *
She keptto the main roads. Cooped up since her visit to Calmont Downs, Llyr was a bundle of excess energy. Maintaining a mile-eating steady canter, with Robbie bouncing along on a carriage horse pressed into duty, there were several times Grace needed to slow her horse down. At this pace, they would arrive at Oakmont quicker than anticipated. Her return trip would be accomplished before nightfall if Nicholas actually heard her out. She refused to think what might occur if he did not.
Halfway into the journey, the rain started, a summer shower that quickly grew into a rare thunderstorm. Drenched, cursing the weather, Grace wondered if they should turn back.
“We can go on, milady,” Robbie assured her as the roads disintegrated into a sloppy mess.
Llyr fought the bit, sidestepping nervously with the booming thunder and frequent cracks of lightning. Poor creature. Considering his past experience with storms, Grace considered herself fortunate she was still seated in the saddle.
“I think we should, considering we are now closer to Oakmont than Bellmar.” Grace agreed, praying the storm ended soon.
Arriving at Oakmont, they went straight away to the stables. Not only was she drenched and muddied, Grace was now furious with herself. What a picture she must present! Straggly, hanging down her back, her hair had slipped from its pins long ago. The jaunty hat and elegant, mauve broadcloth riding habit with black rope trim and jet buttons were hopelessly ruined, although that did not completely sadden her. She despised the outfit, wearing it only in the event she came across other travelers. After all, she couldn't very well go traipsing about on public roads dressed like a hoyden.
There was little hope she would inspire anything in Nicholas other than horror, she mused, lifting sodden skirts and examining her mud-splattered boots. Young Robbie wearily sat atop his mount, spattered with muck as well. The two horses would need a warm bran mash, a rinsing of muck and a dry towel. Before Grace ventured into the duke’s lair, a quick cleanup for herself certainly wouldn't hurt matters, although she considered her current state a deterrent should Nicholas entertain romantic inclinations.
The stable master greeted them as they trotted into the cavernous building. Upon learning who she was, the man reverently stroked Llyr’s arched neck. A groom fetched warm towels, and Grace blotted her face and arms, ruffling the cloth through her hair. She heard the stable master dispatch a lad to alert the main house of her arrival.
The thought of Nicholas in that imposing mansion, demanding an explanation for her presence, was terrifying. Rubbing a towel over Llyr, Grace collected her nerve.I can do this.She leaned her forehead against the stallion’s warm neck, gathering strength.I must do this.She could not, would not lose this horse or the others. They were hers. She would do anything to keep them.
"Where the hell is she?"
An annoyed voice echoed down the aisleway. Llyr blew out a nervous nicker, turning three times within the roomy stall and ignoring the hay set out for him.
Grace didn't think Nicholas would actually come to the stables...not in this weather. Dukes didn't go in search of people; people were delivered to them. Heart clenching, she gave the horse a quick hug. His quiet nicker steeled her resolve. She slipped out of the box stall, thinking it best to meet Nicholas halfway.
"Down there, Your Grace," the stable master said. "She’s with the stallion. And a fine piece of horseflesh he is, Your Grace. And just as they say. All black, with just the one, rear white stocking. It’s good luck, it is.”
Quick, hard bootsteps sounded on the cobblestones, drowning out the stablemaster’s lighter tread. Before Grace made her way down the end of the darkened aisle, Nicholas rounded the corner. The sight of her brought him up short.
He seemed shocked, as if the message informing him of her arrival was surely false. Grace swallowed hard. Blast. He was just as handsome as she remembered. Dressed in black breeches, a simple linen shirt, and wearing a huge charcoal colored overcoat, there was no denying the appeal of his sculptured face. A thin line of irritation flattened his plush lips. With the breadth of his shoulders filling the aisle, he was the image of an erotic, fallen angel.
