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“Good afternoon, Miss Sunderland.”
Grace looked up, and then up again, and because the sun was shining very brightly today, she had to raise her gloved hand to shield her eyes to see the man seated upon the large and gleaming black horse standing on the bridleway a short distance away.
Not that there was any doubt in her mind that the rider was Alaric Montrose, the Duke of Melborne, Grace having recognized his crisp drawl immediately.
She’d also felt her heart leap at once again hearing that familiar voice.
A voice which also caused her breasts to tingle and ache inside her chemise and the heat to blossom between her thighs.
Physical reactions Grace found puzzling in the extreme.
Several of the unmarried young men in the vicinity in Devon had expressed an interest in her. Even the local squire’s son had invited her to dance on several occasions at the local assembly, during which he had made his interest in her more than obvious. Unfortunately, Grace had not felt that same interest in any of those hopeful young men.
She certainly hadn’t physically reacted to them the way she just had to the sound of Alaric Montrose’s voice.
Looking at him, seeing how he seemed as one with the restless horse beneath him, Grace could too easily imagine this man would look equally as wild and untamed when in the throes of sexual arousal.
She closed her lids, but instead of shutting out the image, it came into clearer focus.
Alaric naked in a bed, his golden hair tousled, shoulders and back glistening from exertion as he thrust his hips into the woman lying beneath him. Thrusts so hard, they would drive that woman’s body up the bed—
Grace was distracted from those turbulent thoughts to look down as poor Finn backed away from the massive horse, which snorted and tossed its head. The little dog immediately took refuge behind her booted feet. When the horse then made a sudden lunge at the railed fence which was all that separated them, Finn made a mad dash into some nearby bushes.
Melborne tightened the reins as he easily brought the horse back under his control. “Your protector appears to be cowering in the shrubbery today.”
Grace snorted. “Possibly because your horse appears to be something of a bully.”
He shrugged broad shoulders. “Caesar has little patience with rodents, and you must admit, your dog does resemble a rather large rat.”
“I admit no such thing,” she snapped, indignant on poor Finn’s behalf.
The feisty horse was fifty times the size of her little dog.
It would have to be to support and carry such a large man as Alaric Montrose, her inner voice observed with admiration.
Admiration? Really?
After he had just insulted her beloved Finn?
But there was no denying that the dukedidlook magnificent astride the black stallion.
A dark beaver hat covered his golden hair and rested upon his brow. A black coat and silver brocade waistcoat were perfectly tailored to his wide shoulders, chest and narrow waist. His shirt and necktie were snowy white. His riding breeches fitted snugly to muscular thighs and long legs, with his black-and-brown Hessians resting lightly in the stirrups.
He was, Grace conceded grudgingly, a man in his prime, and after her response to just the sound of his voice, one whose appeal she was not as averse to as she wished to be.
“I apologize if I have insulted your little friend.” Melborne drawled.
An apology Grace doubted was sincere when she saw the derisive glint in his dark brown eyes.
His next words confirmed it. “Or do I mean fiend,” he drawled speculatively.
“I—”
“What the devil—!” Montrose’s expression was no longer mocking. His gaze fixed on something behind Grace.
She turned at the sound of Finn’s sudden frantic barks. Just in time to see the back of a man as he ran toward one of the park’s exits, a familiar black-and-white tail visible beneath one of his arms.
“Finn!” she cried out her alarm.
