Page 36 of His Mad Duchess
He turned his head toward the gelding, a steady chestnut with bright eyes, then back to her. “Now?”
She only smiled.
With a half laugh, he nodded to the groom, who dismounted at once and held out the reins. “As you wish, Madam.”
Margaret’s brows lifted at his question. “You mean to lend me that creature?” she nodded toward Sentinel, who stamped and tossed his head as though insulted. “Or… Bramble.”
Sebastian gave a short laugh. “Hardly. He is old and a testy one at that. If he scents your inexperience, he’ll try it again. Also,Sentinel is still mending.” He turned in the saddle and signaled to the waiting groom. “Bring out Havisham and Bramble.”
The man jogged off toward the stable yard. Margaret tilted her head. “You keep spares, then?”
“Not spares. Companions,” he corrected, though his mouth curved. “But Havisham has better manners than Bramble or Sentinel, which is more than I can say for myself on occasion.”
She arched a brow, but there was a faint spark of amusement in her eyes. “Then perhaps I should prefer Havisham.”
When the groom led up a tall chestnut gelding with a steady eye and a great black stallion with a glossy coat that caught the light like polished jet, his head tossing high, Sebastian’s mouth curved faintly.
The old black stallion’s nostrils flared with imperious disdain. Every inch of him declared himself master of the field, untamed even beneath the saddle.
“Bramble,” Sebastian said with unmistakable pride, as though presenting a monarch. Then, with a glance toward Margaret, he guided the chestnut closer to her.
“There,” he said. “He’ll treat you more kindly than my Bramble ever would.”
Margaret accepted the reins, her fingers steady though her heart quickened with excitement. The gelding pawed once at the ground as though aware he had a new rider to test. She smoothed his neck, speaking low, and the animal stilled beneath her hand.
Sebastian watched, his brow raised. “You flatter beasts as easily as you do men. Shall I give you a hand up?”
“I hardly need one.” But she said it with a half-smile. Gathering her skirts with careful fingers, she set her boot to the stirrup and, with surprising grace, swung into the saddle. A faint flush colored her cheeks… whether from the effort or his watching, she could not have said.
He inclined his head, something like admiration flickering in his gaze. “Well then. Shall we?”
Her brow arched. “Shall we what?”
“To that oak there.” He tipped his chin toward the great tree standing proud at the edge of the meadow, its branches spread fully. A smile tugged at his mouth. “Unless you’d rather I give you a head start.”
Margaret’s answering laugh was bright, unguarded. “Keep your head start. You’ll need it.”
Before he could reply, she urged Havisham forward. The gelding leaped into motion, smooth and eager beneath her, and for one startled beat Sebastian found himself chasing rather than leading.
He pressed his heels to Bramble’s sides, the stallion stretching into a gallop. The wind tore past his ears, the ground rolling away beneath, and to his astonishment, Margaret held her seat with remarkable ease, skirts whipping, her laughter carrying back to him.
By the time they reached the oak, they were nearly neck-and-neck. Bramble’s stride devoured the last stretch, but Havisham did not falter, and Margaret sat him as though she’d been bred to the saddle.
She pulled up, cheeks flushed, eyes alight. “Well?”
Sebastian reined in beside her, breathless despite himself. “I’m not sure which shocks me more—that you dared or that you nearly bested me.”
“Nearly?” she teased, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “I thought I had you.”
He laughed then, a full sound that felt strange and good in his chest. “Careful, Margaret. Another challenge like that, and you’ll find I don’t give quarter twice.”
“Then you’d best prepare,” she said, her grin quick and defiant, “because I do not mean to.”
A few drops of rain spattered the fence, cool against her glove. He glanced upward. “We’d best head back before the weather decides for us.”
She gathered her reins, still flushed from the run. “Pity. I was beginning to enjoy myself.”
“So was I,” he admitted, a little too readily.
