I rubbed my gloved hands up and down my arms, where my thin dress provided little protection against the chill. “That would be much appreciated. It was a good deal warmer when I set out this afternoon.” I followed him around the back of the chapel, where a gig stood waiting.
He set his walking stick in the gig. And then, in a rather painstaking process, the duke slowly climbed up. Just as he’d almost transferred his weight to the seat, a small slip of his knee made him lose his grip. He cursed loudly, and the horse gave a nervous start. I hurried to grab the horse’s bridle, seeking to calm him with quiet whispers. Keeping my gaze averted, I gave the duke the space I sensed he needed. He grunted as he positioned himself on the seat.
“I have him now,” he said tersely once he had the reins in hand. I approached the gig so he could help me up into the seat beside him. He pulled me up with such easy strength that I exerted almost no effort, leaving me to wonder if with his bad leg he’d gained commensurate strength in his arms.
Seated next to him, I felt the chill of the air fade at once. Heat seemed to radiate from him in such close quarters; never had a gig seemed so small. Seeing how his legs extended to the length of the footrest, I noticed for the first time how tall he was. I shivered from something besides the cold, and he turned to me, his face still stern. “I want to get you back before you freeze.”
I nodded, hugging myself as we began to move. The easy conversation we’d shared during the tour had fled, replaced by a stilted silence. Seeking to lighten the darkness of his mood, I felt compelled to speak. The horse hitched to the gig seemed as good a topic as any. “You have impressive stables, sir. I have never seen so many fine horses.”
He looked ahead, still silent. The only sound was the clop of the horse hooves down the path.
Feeling the burden of conversation resting squarely on my shoulders, I continued. “Of course, I was not so fortunate as to be given one of the fine ones when I rode out with your sister yesterday.”
Finally, he turned toward me, forgetting his brusque manner. “Oh? Which horse were you given?”
I kept my face devoid of expression to give what I said greater emphasis. “Buttermilk.”
“Ellen had you ride Buttermilk? Whatever for?” He flicked the reins, and the horse picked up its pace.
“Oh, I don’t quite know. Perhaps she didn’t think I was a proficient rider. Though in Buttermilk’s defense, he did splendidly until our race.”
“Buttermilk, racing?” He shook his head. “Now, that I cannot imagine.”
“Do try. Despite my every effort to urge him to victory, he would not be hurried. I showed very little patience for his lack of competitive spirit and even reduced myself to begging, but to no avail. We came in third.”
“Then you must have had a great deal of luck. You do realize Buttermilk’s customary role is for use by young children as they learn to ride?”
I turned to him, open-mouthed, for Lady Ellen had conveniently forgotten to reveal that.
His mouth quirked; he was probably imagining the ridiculous race.
Continuing on at a quickened pace, the gig turned around a bend in the path just as a small jut made one of the wheels catch. I jolted forward, quickly losing my seat before the duke’s arm went around my waist and righted me. He looked me over, his hand still resting just above my hip. “Are you all right?”
I gulped. “Yes, of course,” I said, though my breathing said otherwise. Our unfortunate tilt seemed to have stolen my composure. I sought to fill the silence and cover my own awkwardness. Looking straight ahead, I shifted a little, and his hand slid from my waist. “I was grateful to Buttermilk for at least not making me come in last. Poor Lord Aberdeen had that unfortunate distinction.”
The duke gritted his teeth. “I am ashamed to call that man a relation. He hounded me last night for an insufferable amount of time.”
Discomfort bubbled up within me, manifesting itself in the form of a laugh. Once I began it was impossible to stop. The vision of the well-bred but tedious Lord Aberdeen trying with little success to make conversation with the foreboding duke was too much. Soon tears formed, and through my blurred vision I saw the duke eyeing me with apprehension.
“I am sorry,” I said at last, holding my stomach. “I fear my behavior is less than ladylike.”
“It happens so regularly I have already become accustomed to it.” His mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. “Though I am curious why you should find Lord Aberdeen’s leechlike tendencies so amusing.”
I fought back a smile of my own. A small feeling of remorse wormed through me, though it was difficult to tell which party was more deserving of my pity—the duke or Lord Aberdeen. We approached the west entrance of the castle, and the duke pulled the gig to a stop.
“You had something to do with it, didn’t you?” he asked. His voice was soft, but something in it set me on edge. All traces of my former humor vanished.
In the muted evening light his dark eyes shone like a dagger, and the truth tumbled out of me under the force of his scrutiny. “The loser of the race had to spend the after-dinner hours at your side,” I admitted.
Only once I spoke the words out loud did I realize how awful they sounded.
The duke’s face remained impassive except for a slight tightening around his mouth. “Is my company so terrible, then?” he asked, the harsh timbre from our first encounters, which I remembered all too well, returning.
“I didn’t mean . . . it’s only that you’re so brash. So
