He stopped mid-sentence when she did not look at him at all. Her attention had already fixed on the horse.
Tempest reared again as she approached, its hooves striking down hard. Anne stopped just out of reach and spoke once, her voice steady.
“Enough.”
Tempest paused at once. He was not fully obedient, not yet calm, but his panic eased slightly.
Anne stepped forward slowly, no hesitation in her gait, and the horse did not strike again. When she reached him, she raised her hand and rested it against his neck.
The change was immediate. Tempest’s head lowered slightly, his breath still heavy but no longer breaking into frantic bursts, and his hooves settled more evenly.
The yard around them went quiet, as though the commotion had simply been forgotten. From the edge of the stableyard, Anne noticed that a large man was watching.
The Duke of Ashford.
Dorian Blackwood was, from what she recalled, thirty-two, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair falling loosely as if he had long since stopped trying to control it. His blue-green eyes were fixed on the scene before him with interest more than surprise. He stood with one hand wrapped loosely around the reins of another horse, relaxed, though nothing about him seemed careless.
One of the stablehands leaned slightly toward him. “Your Grace, we did try to stop her,” he said quietly.
The Duke did not answer immediately. His attention remained on Anne and the horse beneath her hand.
“That is impossible,” he muttered.
Anne turned her head slightly toward him. “Stop crowding him,” she said.
The trainer frowned. “My Lady, this horse has already injured?—”
“Because you are forcing him,” she interrupted. “How would you act if you were him?”
The Duke moved closer, and Anne could tell that he was studying her.
“You are not one of my trainers,” he said. “That much is clear.”
A groom stepped forward quickly. “Your Grace, she entered without permission?—”
The Duke lifted one hand slightly, and the man stopped speaking immediately. His attention stayed on Anne.
“Do you have a habit of walking into places you are not invited?”
“I came for my horse,” Anne replied.
A brief pause followed. His gaze shifted briefly toward Tempest before returning to her. “He is yours?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then I assume you also know what you are doing with him.”
“I do.”
Those words hung in the air between them for a moment longer than expected.
Anne hoped that he would simply shrug, say that Tempest was more trouble than he was worth, and return it to her. Instead, his lips curved slightly, clearly amused by it all.
“Every man in this yard seems to have failed where you have not.”
“They are not listening to him,” Anne pointed out. “But then, I would not expect less from thieves.”
“Why are you so angry?”
