Page 60 of Her Beast

“What?” he prodded.

“Papa has the world’sworstseat and rode once with the local pack and was thrown off at the first coop.” She chortled at this.

“Coop? Er, what do chicken coops have to do with fox hunting?”

Her eyes widened for an instant and then she collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Malcolm just drank in her pure, unadulterated joy like the obsessed fool he was.

∞∞∞

“I’m sorry,” Julia said when she could speak again, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I hope I didn’t offend you by laughing, it’s just that the idea of jumping hen houses was too amusing.”

“So, what is a coop, then?”

“It is just wood braced over an area that might be too dangerous to jump. This particular section was something stupid my father erected—metal railing like the sort you’d find in town. He took it down after that hunt. Anyhow, he was so mortified that he’s not been on a horse since.” Julia speculatively eyed Mr. Barton’s huge body.

“No,” he said.

“No, what?”

“You were going to ask if I rode. I do not. I’m afraid that—like your father—it wasn’t something one did when we were young. By the time I could afford a mount I valued an intact skull too much.”

She laughed. “So, no riding, then. Whatdoyou do for entertainment, Mr. Barton?”

“I work.”

“I meant for pleasure.”

He hesitated so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. “I have a gymnasium.”

“It seems like I’ve heard that word, but I’m afraid I don’t know what it means.”

“You’ve probably heard about the public gymnasium built here in London a few years ago. It was built as part of a credo—Muscular Christianity—by the founders of the Young Men’s Christian Association.”

Julia laughed. “What is Muscular Christianity? It sounds rather—er, daunting.”

“It is merely a movement embracing physical fitness.”

“And you, er, practice that?”

“No. I just have a private gymnasium.”

“I still don’t understand what it is for.”

“It is a room built to accommodate dumb bells, sparring bags, and other items that one uses to train one’s body to be, er… well, stronger.”

Julia couldn’t help but look at his shoulders and chest—the only part of him visible above the table—and knew she’d be red-faced, yet again. “It seems to be working.”

His lips parted as a surprised look flickered quickly across his face. He laughed, the sound low, masculine, and pleasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Julia suddenly felt uncomfortable meeting his direct blue gaze. “So, er,” she babbled, “that is all you do? Work and spend time in your gymnasium? Do you read fiction? Play cards? Fence? Shoot guns?” Julia scrambled to think of other masculine pursuits, and then recalled her brother Richard’s latest, disgusting hobby. “Taxidermy animals?”

His eye widened. “What?”

“You’ve not heard of it?”

He gave a faint shudder of revulsion. “I’ve not only heard of the disgusting hobby, I’ve seen the repulsive results. No, thank you very much, I amnota stuffer.”

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