“And you are beautiful when you come undone at the seams,” Richard replied, his thumb tracing her jaw. “Especially when you finally learn to follow instructions.”
“I did not – I only –” Isobel sputtered, but found she could not quite muster the indignation when her body still felt soft and liquid with satisfaction.
Richard smiled, that genuine smile she had only seen glimpses of, and kissed her softly. “Be more careful what you wish for next time, Miss Wightman. I might just give it to you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The morning sun glinted off the frost-covered grounds, making everything sparkle as though dusted with diamonds. For the first time since Isobel's arrival at Gramfield Manor, the sky was clear, the air crisp but not bitterly cold.
It seemed as though she was not the only one who had thought to take advantage of the weather, because after breakfast, Gregory had risen from his seat and had captured the attention of the guests by repeatedly tapping his teaspoon against his teacup.
“As we have been blessed with a day of calm weather for once, I think it would be a wonderful idea to ride around the property. There is a wonderful meadow not too far, and it looks just as splendid in winter as it does in spring. It is not a mandatory exercise – I am not a warden and you are not my prisoners –” that earned him a few half-hearted chuckles. “But I do want to encourage everyone to take advantage of the good weather however they see fit.”
Isobel was very excited at the prospect of riding ever since she spotted a stable boy returning a beautiful thoroughbred to the stables. She loved riding with her father and brother in Scotland, and her brother had taught her how to be a fierce, brave rider – if not a bit reckless. But she was particularly grateful for this activity suggestion because she was in desperate need of a distraction.
Ever since yesterday – since she’d had the duke’s hands tracing every dip and curve of her body, his mouth ravishing hers, the devastating pleasure he had shown her… Isobel had found it nearly impossible to think of anything else. Even now, as she made her way to the stables with the other guests, her skin seemed to tingle, as though the memory of every place he had touched her had been branded to that spot.
She had lain awake for hours last night, replaying every moment, every sensation. Everything – every ministration, every stroke, and every kiss that eventually led to the pleasure that had crashed over her, so intense it had left her shaking, sent a flush of heat through her.
“I am not particularly fond of these creatures,” Bridget's sneering voice cut through Isobel's thoughts. “However, I will admit that we all needed to leave the house. I was beginning to feel quite trapped by all that snow.”
“Indeed,” Isobel managed, forcing herself to focus on the present. “It will be lovely to see more of the grounds.”
Bridget regarded her with an odd look. “Why do you feel you need to see more of it when you lived here all your life?”
Isobel froze.
This… this had been exactly what Richard had talked about. Little mistakes that would show the cracks in her façade.
Quickly, she cleared her throat and said, “Oh – I meant – this season. It will be nice to see more of the grounds this season, too. I always like to explore the grounds as the seasons change. It fills me with wonder how stunning nature is. I already made my rounds for autumn. Would you like to join me for my winter exploration?”
Bridget regarded her as though she had lost her mind.
“Absolutely not.”
Isobel watched her cousin walk ahead, clearly regretting the decision to speak to her. With a sigh of relief, she focused on the activity coming up instead, knowing that she needed all the focus she could muster to keep an unfortunate accident from occurring.
The stables were bustling with activity as grooms prepared horses for the riding party. Isobel watched as a beautiful chestnut mare was led out, already donning a sidesaddle that was traditionally meant for women.
Of course, she sighed quietly.
She had ridden astride her entire life in Scotland, but here, she would have to navigate the awkward, precarious seat that English ladies were expected to use.
“Your horse, Miss Wightman,” the groom said with a bow.
Isobel approached the mare cautiously, running a hand along her glossy neck. The horse was beautiful, well-bred, and clearly well-cared for. It was obvious that she would make a reliable partner for the company that morning, but it was not the horse that concerned her – it was the saddle.
With the groom's assistance, she mounted as gracefully as she could manage, settling herself into the sidesaddle and arranging her riding habit. It felt unnatural, and the lack of security made her feel as though she might slide off at any moment. But she took up the reins and tried to embody confidence, gently urging the mare forward.
To her relief, the horse responded in a lovely manner that spoke greatly about her training, moving into a smooth walk as they joined the other riders. Perhaps this would not be as difficult as she had feared.
Once everyone was mounted, they set off as a group, following a path that wound through the grounds. The winter landscape was breathtaking – bare trees reaching toward the clear blue sky, fields of white stretching as far as the eye could see, broken occasionally by stone walls or hedgerows.
For a moment, Isobel allowed herself to simply enjoy it. The cold air on her face, the rhythmic movement of the horse beneath her, the sense of freedom that came from being outdoors after days of confinement. It was especially enjoyable because she had resolved not to bother herself so much about the life she could have had but did not. It was easier to remind herself that she was technically a guest and therefore, she could simply hold onto the entitlements of one.
She urged her mare into a trot, and the horse obliged eagerly, moving with a fluid grace that made Isobel smile.
This – this she could do. Riding felt natural, even with the awkward saddle. However, Isobel found herself unable to fully focus on the thrill of the ride, consistently distracted by the uncomfortable saddle and her need to investigate things a tad more directly now. She was so preoccupied that she barely noticed when another horse drew alongside hers.
