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She rode astride in a tomboy style all her own. Her long black hair was carried by the wind, no hat hindered its silky locks, and she seemed not to have a care in the world.
When had he ever been so carefree? He could not remember.
She was tempting. She wore a weathered black wool riding jacket, and it fit her figure tightly, displaying the fullness of her breasts and the smallness of her waist; his breeches became instantly uncomfortable.
Without concern about the proprieties, she wore a pair of boy’s tight-fitting breeches and dusty riding boots, and he couldn’t help but notice the alluring shape of her derriere as she lifted off her saddle and urged her horse faster.
Heat shot through his blood, and he thought the rise in his breeches would tear through. Damn, but she was a provocative little hoyden, and besides her stunning good looks, he had found that he liked her.
He trotted his horse towards her as she approached the fence line with ease and took it in fine form. She stopped on the other side to pat her horse and saw his approach. She waved with a smile that lit in his mind.
He was mildly taken with her and did not believe any harm could come from a bit of dalliance with her while he was at Searington; in fact, he rather looked forward to a little flirtation. He put up his hand in answer to her welcome and said, “Ho there, lass—what a fine, morning, eh?”
She beamed, but he could see as he got closer that her cheeks were bright red, and he smiled to himself. He knew she was embarrassed that he’d caught her riding like a scamp of a child in boys’ breeches.
“My lord,” she said in greeting, just a bit out of breath from her run.
Giving her no indication that he noticed her style of dress, he touched the tip of his hat and said with amiable grace, “Are ye headed back to yer Grange? I am on m’way there now to meet yer father and yer head groom—Chris Hubbard, is it?”
She looked surprised. “Are you? Whatever for?”
He laughed. “Nosey little miss.” He saw the sinking expression on her face and laughed again as he relented and said, “Did yer father not tell ye then? Good—I like a man who keeps his women where they belong.” He had meant this as a tease and was very amused to witness the indignation that swept over her face.
“And where, my lord, do you think women belong?”
“In a man’s eyes, in a man’s arms, and out of his business.” He was teasing still, as he wanted to enjoy a moment’s banter with her. However, he saw that she was a ‘knowing’ little puss and had seen right through him.
Her green eyes twinkled at him, and she said, “Of course—where else would any woman in her right mind want to be but in a man’s eyes and in a man’s arms and out of his business!”
He roared with amusement. “Saw right through m’bamming, eh?” His horse had fallen in step beside her mare, and he eyed her sideways. “As it happens, I am coming to have a look at that black mare yer father is so proud of. We are thinking of breeding her to m’stallion, Bold Tim.”
“Oh my, is Bold Tim, yours? I never realized … why, I have seen him race. Faith, but he is magnificent.”
“Aye, and to my way of thinking, if yer father is in the right of it, we could get some exceptional foals out of that mare of yers.”
“But where do you keep him?” she asked curiously.
“Och then, doona ye know even that? Most women would have known where I live, what I like to eat, the name of m’dog …” He chuckled as he watched her take slight offense and stiffen.
“Of course, you being the catch of the century, I am told,” she returned a bit sharply. “I, however, am not most women.”
She was an interesting little thing, he thought as he said, “Right then, I keep m’stud at Searington. M’mother was English, and I inherited her little estate when I lost her a couple of years ago. I’ve had Bold Tim standing at Searington for a couple of years then, even though I wasn’t here the entire time.”
“Searington? I did not realize Searington was yours.” She seemed astonished. “Everyone has always admired the foals that come out of Searington. I think, in fact, I met your mother when I was much younger.”
“Indeed?” For some unknown reason this pleased him. “She loved having a hand in the picking and choosing of mares to studs, and though Henry Gibbens does an excellent job here as our estate manager, she used to like to keep her ‘hands on’. M’da always brought m’mum to Searington for a month or two at a time.” He thought about his parents, gone now, and sighed.
She touched his arm sympathetically. “I am sorry …
I did not mean to …”
“Nonsense, only good memories there—nothing to be sorry about,” he answered.
“But Searington is famous for your mare, Lady Mirabel, amongst others—why the interest in our mare?”
“New blood is always a good thing,” he answered softly.
* * *
