“Must the stables always come first? You have guests to meet. I am certain some of them will come to break their fast very soon. You could wait for half an hour, at least!” She sounded strained.
“The horses need to come first,” Callum said tightly. “I have a fine stable. I intend to keep it like that. It is the one thing I can adequately maintain.” He could barely get the words out, so tight were his jaw and his throat.
“You are not a stable master, Callum Alexander Stanhope,” his mother said stiffly.
Callum glared at her, not sure what to retort, anger clouding his mind. As he stood, he heard footsteps and the sound of conversation in the hallway, and he was glad that at least he would not need to have his mother sitting alone in a silent room. He inclined his head politely.
“Good day, Mother,” he managed to say. “I must go down to oversee the stables.”
Callum walked briskly down the stairs, breathing in the cool air of the hallway. It was a relief after feeling stifled at breakfast. He strode to the front door, pausing to put on his greatcoat before stalking out into the freezing cold. He breathed in sharply. The air really was freezing cold outside, and his fingers ached. He put his hands in his pockets and strode to the stables.
“Easy, old fellow,” he murmured to his horse, Firelight, who whickered a greeting as he walked in. The scent of hay and horses surrounded him, and Callum breathed in, enjoying the scent. It reminded him of his childhood. The roan thoroughbred always greeted him, always expecting to go out for a ride if Callum was there. Callum walked over to his stall, glad to note that the air in the stable was at least not freezing. He took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed the horse’s nose. Firelight snorted and stamped. Callum grinned.
“No apples today, old boy,” he said gently, scratching the horse between the ears. “And I don’t know if we will have time for a ride. Perhaps later.” He frowned. Since arriving back from Sussex, he had barely had time to take his horse out for a run. Between thoughts of Miss Rothwell, preparing for winter and his mother’s Christmas party, he seemed not to have a second to himself.
“Dash it. This wretched party,” he swore, but his horse stamped, and Callum winced. “Sorry, old boy.”
His bad mood was going to affect the horses, he knew that. He did not want them to be restless.
“I need to find Mr Randell,” he told the horses. “I’ll be back soon.” He scratched Firelight between the ears, patted Merry, one of the mares, and then walked swiftly out of the stable.
He breathed in, drawing the scent of the fresh, cold air into his lungs. The smell reminded him of his youth. He had come up to the country estate from Berkshire, where he attended Eton College, every winter for Christmas. Arriving at the estate had always made his stomach knot up with excitement. His Christmastimes were full of snowball fights with neighbouring boys—among them James—eating hot mince pies and sledging down the hill that adjoined the estate. Of course, he had always found time for exercising the horses; a job he took seriously.
Things were so straightforward then,Callum thought sadly. His responsibilities had been easy, his days carefree and his nights full of deep sleep in a silent, snow-blanketed house. His world had become so complex and confusing. He shut his eyes for a moment. Sometimes, he found himself yearning to ride across the fields, to leave it all behind and find some place where the weight of his duties might feel lighter. Perhaps to Ireland, where he had some distant relatives.
He dismissed the thought hastily and opened his eyes again, his heart thudding, body instantly tense, nerves straining as helistened to the noise that he had just detected. Someone was coming around the corner, running swiftly.
Chapter 9
“Run! Faster! Faster,” Georgina urged; her voice high-pitched with playful urgency as Rosalyn hurtled around the corner. Her feet were clad in winter boots of white leather, but the path was slippery with frost and ice, and she screamed as her feet lost traction on the glass-smooth surface and she plummeted forward. Isabel yelled and Rosalyn was distantly aware of her two sisters running across the icy lawn, their earlier game of catch forgotten, but then she screamed aloud as someone grabbed her, preventing her from crashing into the pathway knees first.
“What in Perdition’s name?” the duke’s resonant voice demanded furiously. “Miss Rothwell! What were you doing?”
“Your Grace!” Rosalyn exclaimed, horrified. “My apologies!” She straightened up, cheeks flaring. She was leaning against his firm, muscular chest. His one arm was wrapped around her, holding her close. She stepped back, heart racing. She was still held in his firm arms. She looked into his eyes. He stared back.
“You could break something, slipping on this ice,” the duke reprimanded. His grey eyes were huge with shock, his mouth firm.
“Pray accept my apologies,” Rosalyn repeated, her mind entirely blank. One minute, she had been hurtling towards the hard stone pathway, and the next, she was caught in an unyielding embrace. She drew a deep breath.
He stared at her. She stared back. The entire world seemed to move very slowly. The grey depths of his eyes drew her in, wide and compelling. She reached up self-consciously to tuck a strand of her hair behind one ear. She could only imagine what she looked like—the style had come loose, and her hair tumbled around her shoulders.
The sound of booted feet was loud on the pathway.
“Your Grace! Allow us to apologise,” Georgina said, running up to join them. “It was us. We were playing catch,” she said, gazing imploringly at him.
“We should not have. It was dangerous,” Isabel said sorrowfully.
Rosalyn looked over at her sisters, feeling guilty that they took it upon themselves to apologise for her. She gazed at the duke, willing him not to be unkind.
“It was foolish,” the duke said, his tone soft. “But I understand. You have been travelling for a week. It must be good to stretch your legs.”
“Yes!” Georgina breathed. Her pale cheeks were bright pink. “It feels grand. You have a beautiful garden.”
“The woods connected to the estate seem very large,” Isabel added.
“They are,” the duke said easily. “And that’s quite advantageous for exercising the horses.”
“I imagine,” Rosalyn said quietly. His gaze moved to her. His eyes widened and then narrowed, and Rosalyn’s cheeks flamed as he stared at her. His gaze held hers for an instant, her heart racing, and then he coughed.
