“I do not suppose you would like a second race?” Blake asked after a while. “After all, you did cheat last time.”
“I thought you liked a challenge,” Jane teased. “But yes, I might be glad of a second race.”
“The same stakes?” Blake asked, a mischievous look in his eyes.
“Of course.” She smiled.
Blake’s grin broadened. “If I win, you must eat your breakfast with your hands.”
“What?” Jane exclaimed, so shocked that she almost fell off her mare.
Blake took advantage of her distraction and urged his horse ahead, calling back over his shoulder, “You heard me, Miss Pembleton. You must eat breakfast with your hands.”
“Absolutely not,” Jane murmured, and then urged her horse after his, laughing as she did so.
As they raced down the path, Jane couldn’t help but feel freer than she had in a long time. And she realized that for some reason, she felt completely herself at that moment.
Perhaps the Duke has a point.
ChapterFourteen
Only Boring People Get Bored
“Iam bored.” Richard sighed heavily as he looked out the window.
Blake was sitting in one of the drawing rooms with Richard, Alexander, and Nigel. Each had a healthy measure of whiskey in his hands as they stared out the window. It was the third day of constant rain, and it was starting to wear on everyone’s nerves.
The last day of good weather had been the day Blake had raced Jane to the castle. He smiled to himself as he thought about it, absentmindedly glancing towards the door.
She had lost the second race, and as they entered the dining room, Blake had been prepared to watch her squirm. Yet, she had sat down and breakfasted using only her hands, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. There was a grace and deftness to her movements, and Blake could not help but admire her.
She had caught him staring at her and smiled smugly at him, and he had found himself smiling back at her.
“Only boring people get bored,” Alexander said, his words bringing Blake back to the present, and Richard scowled at him.
“What are you, an old woman? You sound like your mother-in-law,” Nigel said.
“Oh, do not tell that to Rose, or else I will never hear the end of it.” Alexander shuddered. “Is this what parenthood has done to me?”
“Apparently so, old chap.” Nigel clapped Alexander on the back.
“And yet the three of you have been trying to convince me all week that I should settle down and get married, and have several children.” Blake shook his head. “None of you have made it sound remotely appealing.”
“But it is wonderful.” Nigel beamed. “You should try it.”
“If the sentence was perhaps less permanent, I might be tempted,” Blake responded.
An image floated to the forefront of his mind, and he saw his father standing above him.
* * *
In his mind, Blake was standing in his father’s study. Barely older than Quentin, with a bruise already forming on his upper arm, young Blake shook with fear.
“But why does-does-does this matter, Father?” he stammered.
“Because you are my heir, boy. You will carry on my legacy, and you must find yourself a good match.” His father scowled and downed a measure of whiskey. “Stand up straight, you fool.”
Blake straightened up as much as he could, wincing in pain. “But what if I am not a good husband?”
