Page 15 of His Wife, the Spy
Snorts and stamping feet announced a newcomer. Each horse tossed their mane, either in greeting or as a plea for praise. Even his big blue horse fell victim.
Jasper looked to the door, and a satisfied smile stretched his lips. For all her protests about impropriety, Annabel Pearce had found room in her case for a riding habit.
Like other gentlemen of theton, he knew just enough about women’s clothing to realize the dark green skirt and coat had gone out of fashion last Season. However, she’d changed the buttons from bright brass to a more stylish black.
Unlike many gentlemen, Jasper cared little about fashion. He trusted his tailor to keep him in style. He knew what he liked when he saw it.
He liked Annabel in green. He also appreciated what she’d done with her hair. It flowed from under her plain, dark hat and over one shoulder, less a tumble of curls and more a steady stream that was neither fully blonde nor brown.
She dithered in the doorway, tapping her riding cane against her skirt, until she caught his eye. He waited until she’d stepped inside before he approached.
“Good morning, Miss Pearce.”
“Good morning, your lordship.” She looked past him and into the stable. “I seem to be the first to arrive.”
Society women had been known to dawdle in their carriages outside parties, out-waiting one another for the privilege of being last, of having the most eyes on them. Jasper didn’t think Annabel’s early arrival was accidental.
“The horses don’t mind the clock.” He offered his arm. “Come see if you approve of your mount.”
She took his elbow. Her gloves, from what he could tell by the fingertips, were new and well made. “What if I wish to choose my own?”
“If you disagree with my choice, you are welcome to make your own.”
They walked down the row, veering from one side to the other so she could stroke a wide forelock or a velvety nose. “You have a fine stable, Lord Ramsbury.”
“To be fair, many of them belong to houseguests. Men rarely travel without their best hunter.” He swept his hand alongthe opposite wall. “And most of the others were purchased by grandfather.”
“He did value a well-stocked stable.”
Women only knew such things from their fathers or from looking in account books. From what Jasper knew of Baron Chilworth, horses weren’t his weakness of choice. Kit was right—Annabel had been reading Grandfather’s ledgers. “I suppose he was famous for his excesses.”
“Most gentlemen are.” Annabel, her ear pink under her hat, led him to the other side of the stable. “Here’s a handsome man.”
The roan tossed his inky mane and snorted a hello before stretching his neck toward Jasper. More precisely, toward his pocket.
“No you don’t, Ceff.” Jasper chuckled as he ruffled the big horse’s forelock. “You’ve had your treats already today.”
“Ceff?” Annabel glanced up.
“Ceffylglas.” The light fell over the stallion’s gleaming back. “It’s Welsh for ‘blue horse.’”
Her laugh took years from her face. “You’re joking.”
“Not in the least.” Jasper relented and reached into his pocket for another carrot. “But, to my credit, I didn’t name him. The breeder did.” He offered the carrot to Ceff.
“The breeder is Welsh?” Annabel raised her hand to stroke Ceff’s neck but dropped it when he shied away.
The tightness in her voice pricked a string in Jasper’s gut. If she was suspicious of Wales, then Spencer likely was as well.
“My favorite breeder is outside Cardiff.” He kept his eyes on Ceff, holding him steady as the stable hands saddled him. “A wise old gent Kit introduced me to.” Jasper slipped the bridle over the horse’s ears himself, careful to settle the bit and reins just as Ceff liked them. “Why?”
“I suppose I expect Welsh horses to be ponies,” Annabel said in the casual way his mother did when she wanted to gather information without tipping her hand.
“Then you may be disappointed in my choice for you.” Jasper turned her to the other wall and led her two stalls down.
The delicate black mare danced patterns in the straw under her feet. Her coat shone like dark silk, and her mane fell in a graceful sweep. Her wide, dark eyes sparkled.
“What’s her name?” Annabel propped her cane against the stall’s door, then released him to shuck her glove.
