Wright inclined his head. “Yes, my lord. She returned home not long ago and went directly to the stables.”
Dominic said nothing more. He should go straight to his study since there were ledgers from his new estate that required review. But the thought of Dorothea, alone in the stables, tugged at him. He hesitated, torn between duty and desire. In the end, he sighed inwardly and changed course.
He crossed the rear gardens and arrived at the open stable doors. As he neared, he slowed as soft singing drifted from within. The melody floated on the air like something out of a memory.
He leaned silently against the doorframe as he watched Dorothea brush her mare’s coat. Her voice was low and lovely, the same song she had sung during the darkest of nights—when pain had wracked his body and he’d teetered on the edge of death. That song had quieted the storm in his mind when nothing else could. Hearing it again now brought a strange ache to his chest.
She was good. Pure in a way the world rarely allowed. And that was why she could never be his. Not truly. Not forever.
He shouldn’t be here. He should slip away and bury himself in estate matters. He had come only to see—nothing more. But as he turned to go, her song faded and her voice called out, clear and direct.
“Dominic.”
He froze.
Botheration.
Slowly, he turned back to face her. “Dorothea.”
She smiled, and it was full of the one thing he dreaded seeing: hope.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m well,” he replied, his voice clipped, too formal. “I only came to inform you that your mare has arrived but I see you’re already aware of that.”Idiot.Could he have made a more redundant entrance?
Dorothea rested her hand on her mare’s neck. “Thank you for allowing her to be housed here.”
“They are your stables as well,” he said, though he stopped himself from adding,at least for now.
She turned and gestured to the stall at the far end. “I see your stallion returned from the Continent with you.”
That brought a smile to his lips. “He did. It took some time to arrange the transport, but I couldn’t leave him behind.”
“I’m glad. You asked about him often when you were recovering,” she said, watching him closely.
Dominic stepped farther into the stables, the scent of hay and leather surrounding him. He moved to the stall where hishorse stood and reached out, running a hand along its muzzle. “He’s been with me through everything. I wouldn’t have trusted another steed in battle.”
“How long have you had him?” she asked, moving to stand beside him.
“My uncle gave him to me before I left for the Continent,” he replied. “He told me to sit tall in the saddle and ride with honor.”
“You smile when you speak of your uncle,” Dorothea observed.
“He is a good man, unlike my father. He loved his wife fiercely and never remarried after her death.”
“Where does he live?”
“Just outside London. A modest estate, nothing grand. He rarely leaves his favorite chair these days. He claims reading keeps his mind sharper than any doctor could.”
Dorothea reached into a nearby bucket and drew out a shiny red apple. She held it out, and Dominic’s stallion eagerly took it from her palm.
“I would like to meet your uncle,” she said, brushing her fingers clean on her skirts.
Dominic looked at her. “He would like you,” he replied. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
“Does he know you’re married?”
He gave a slow nod. “I imagine he read it in the newssheets. I should have written to him before it was made public.”
