Page 10 of How to Capture a Duke

“Yes.” It was perfectly acceptable to ride with a groom. Why did she still feel like she’d done something horribly wrong?

The dowager stood and smoothed her skirts with ringed fingers. “We must immediately go to the stables, young lady. I’m anxious to confirm your story.”

…

Tristan had just returned from visiting his tenants. He’d discussed which crops the farmers would add and which fields would lay fallow for the upcoming season and how best to improve the production of the land. Over the years, he’d sought out former soldiers to farm his land—men whose pitiful army pensions were insufficient to support their families. Men who needed work and a purpose in life after seeing the horrors of war. Tristan had never battled Napoleon on the continent, but he knew about battling his own demons. These men did not judge him if he stuttered. They cared about survival and the meaning behind his words, no matter how broken they sounded.

He unsaddled Atlas and had begun brushing the stallion when his grandmother stormed into the stables.

“Tristan!”

He turned and smiled. “Hello, Antonia.” He’d called her by her first name for years. Their relationship was one of love and quarrel. Based on her fierce expression and her hand resting on her hip, it looked like they would be quarreling.

“How long have you been back at Rosehill?” Antonia asked.

He saw no reason to lie. “Three days.”

She stomped her cane, but it made no sound on the straw-covered stable floor. Her dark eyes sniped at him. “Three days and you have yet to make an appearance at your own house party?”

“No. Your house party.”

Her lips thinned, and she glared at him. “Things have gone too far this time.”

“I hardly think m…m-issing a country party and avoiding a few debutantes and their overzealous mamas constitutes going too far.”

“You have much explaining to do, Your Grace,” Antonia said.

The use of his title did not bode well. Her expression remained fierce, and he inwardly groaned. He understood she was distressed that he had not told her that he’d returned to Rosehill days ago, but if he had, she would have insisted that he make an appearance, and that wasn’t something he was willing to do. He’d rather face a firing squad.

But he loved his grandmother and hadn’t sought to upset her. She was his father’s mother, and she shared the former duke’s temper. Tristan had no recollection of his father since the duke had died when Tristan was only three years old. Since then, Antonia was the one constant in his life. God only knew his mother, the former duchess, had never approved of her son up until her death a decade ago.

Antonia shook her head. “How did I not notice?”

She didn’t ask the question of him, but more to herself, and he imagined she was pondering the last few days.

He could have told her the truth but kept quiet. He’d slipped into the manor at night and slept in his own bed. The servants who knew of his presence were entirely loyal to him and never asked questions.

“I would have visited you,” he said, hoping to appease her.

“When? After everyone has departed?”

He figured his silence was a sufficient answer.

“As I said, things have gone too far this time,” Antonia said.

He watched her curiously as she walked to the stable door aided by her cane. Rather than leave, she raised it to wave at someone outside.

A moment later, Lady Olivia burst into the stables. Her golden hair was slightly disheveled, and her breasts rose and fell beneath her bodice like she’d run the entire distance from the house. Her appearance was like a punch to his gut, and images of their heated kiss flashed through his mind.

Christ! Why was she here? And with his grandmother?

Before his mind could comprehend, Olivia’s green eyes met his, and she pointed at his chest.

“Him! I was with him all afternoon. He is the head groom I had mentioned. His name is Caleb.”

Antonia stiffened. “Are you certain?”

“I swear my life on it!”