I raised my chin. “I am sure you know, as well as anyone, she doesn’t fight fair.”
He studied my face, his gaze flitting over me as he evaluated my words. “You told her no?” Something like disbelief filled his voice.
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
He stepped forward, staring, almost as though he were seeing me for the first time. Reaching out a hand, he pulled a piece of hay from my hair. “Of course you would.” His gaze never left my face. “Shame on me for expecting anything less of you.”
His words did much to wash away the hovering disapproval of his mother. No matter what she’d instructed, I wouldn’t have Halstead think our time together had been a sham. That it hadn’t meant something to me. With every inch of his attention on me, an ache started down in my belly, reminding me that it meant far too much.
I let down my defenses, just for a moment, and let my gaze roam over his face, memorizing each detail—eyes the color of melted chocolate, the tiniest scar just below his bottom lip, the line of his strong jaw, now darkening with stubble. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, and my breath caught. A giddy feeling poured through me at his nearness. But why not? my heart rationalized. Just for a few minutes more I could forget every wall that stood between us and allow myself to hope.
Buttermilk blew out a breath and nipped at my shoulder. I gave a short laugh, and Halstead’s hand dropped.
He let out a deep laugh that echoed through the stables. “Oh, that I could have seen her face.”
I knew who he meant. “I’ll admit I took a measure of satisfaction in it.”
Before he could question me further, the muted clip-clop of approaching hooves sounded. A familiar commanding voice reached my ears. The dowager. My gaze darted about as I desperately looked for an escape. After what I had just endured from Halstead’s mother, I could not face another one of Halstead’s relatives.
Her voice grew louder, with an occasional murmured assent from the groom. “See that she’s rubbed down immediately. And some oats would be in order. I pushed her hard today.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Without taking another moment to think, I lifted the latch on the nearest stall, squeezed in, and shut the door behind me, silently praying Buttermilk would not be alarmed to find me sharing his space.
Halstead looked askance at me. “Juliet, what are you—”
“Shh!”
“Halstead, is that you?” came the dowager’s sharp voice.
I stepped back, relieved to be out of sight. Buttermilk nickered, and I put out a hand to calm him before I took another step back. Something sharp poked into my back. It was a nail, from which a feed sack hung. I edged myself into the corner and gave Halstead a desperate look.
He leaned on his cane and stepped forward, effectively ensuring the dowager would not catch sight of me. “Yes.”
I breathed out slowly. Buttermilk swished his tail.
“I will not even pretend not to be surprised to find you here, of all places.”
Halstead shrugged. “The castle is overrun with guests—whom I did not invite.” His words were biting, accusatory.
She walked toward him, edging into my line of sight as I peeked through the crack in the wooden slats. Her piercing gaze scrutinized him, and I was grateful not to be the subject of such an inspection.
“No, you did not.” She drummed her gloved fingers along the stall door. “But that doesn’t seem to be interfering with your enjoyment of one of our guests.”
I pressed even farther into the wall.
Halstead gave a mirthless laugh. “And what an irony your displeasure is, since you invited them.”
“My displeasure? You quite misread me. But there are plenty of people who would be astonished by your interest in someone of Miss Graham’s station.” My stomach tightened. “And abhorred at the thought of where that interest might lead.”
He tapped his cane in the dirt. “She is like no one I courted before the accident.”
I sucked in a breath.
The dowager snorted. “Some might count that as a point in her favor.”
“Do you?”
“Halstead, I do not hide my feelings well. You know you have always been a favorite of mine.” She paused, and though she kept all trace of emotion from her voice, I sensed a well of feeling within her. “The accident has already stolen nearly two years from you. It would be foolish to let it take any more. Quit all this nonsense about not marrying.”
The dowager was silent for a moment before she spoke again. Her words were cadenced, as if she meant every one. “People always think titles should marry titles and money should be kept with money. But marriage is a bit like horse breeding. If you have too many of the same characteristics in one line, it is often a detriment to the pedigree.”
Sometime while she’d been speaking I had stopped breathing, so intent was I on hearing what she had to say. My limbs grew numb, and I sank back against the stable wall, oblivious to the rough wood catching on my dress. I didn’t understand the first thing about horse breeding. What on earth did she mean by it? And what must Halstead be thinking? I wished myself far, far away.
“Mother doesn’t seem to share your opinion.”
“Which must mean I am right,” she said haughtily. “Though you’ve never put much stock in either of our opinions.”
Halstead barked out a laugh.
“I must be off to dress for dinner. But Halstead”—she paused, her tone grave—“don’t be obstinate merely out of habit. It doesn’t suit you.”
Even after her footsteps disappeared, I stayed frozen in place.
Halstead flicked a glance over to the shadowed corner where I hid, and I tried to make myself smaller. He drew a hand down Buttermilk’s nose. His face held no indication of what he might be feeling, but tension radiated from him, belying the indifference he pretended.
“You can come
