Page 74 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

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Kieran detectedfootsteps on the path outside the stable door of Bruxton Manor. He rose from the straw with the agility of his jockey’s frame. He gripped a curry brush in his hand. His pistol was buried in his saddle bag, and that sat on a bale of hay behind him.

He waited. The thoroughbred he’d been attending shifted uneasily in the freshly raked stall.

A wide-shouldered man in an unbuttoned coat ambled into the stable. Kieran stroked the horse’s neck in reassurance; he soothed the wheal marks on the thoroughbred’s abdomen. The earl squinted in the dark, cursed as he trod on the prong of a rake. The undergroom and stableboys slept soundly in the loft above.

Bruxton addressed Kieran in a gravelly voice. He reeked of wine. “I have never known you to miss a shot.”

Kieran noted the whip in his master’s hand. They had pursued this topic a dozen times since the night of the Park Lane party. “A lady appeared in the parterre and screamed like a mountain gale when she spotted me. I missed my mark.”

“How easily the fair sex distracts you,” Bruxton said in scorn. “You are certain the duchess could not identify you?”

“She was upset. I kept my head down.”

“And you spoke to her? Calmed her as you would one of your horses?”

“No. Not a word.” At least nothing intelligible or in English.

Bruxton pulled off the bridle that hung on the wall. “I warned you what would happen if you broke your vow. It will be the end.”

“I don’t care for myself,” Kieran said in quiet defiance.

He threw the bridle in Kieran’s face. “Saddle the horse.”

“It’s gone midnight. He’s not ready, my lord. You’ll break your neck.”

“You ride him then. Animals obey you. Ladies adore your charm and capable hands. Or is it the other way around? Saddle the beast. And pray that the duchess did not see your pretty face that night, or you are both dead. Perhaps you ought to practice shooting in the woods. The next time you will not miss.”

Ravenna trottedthe gelding sedately to the park. She should have arrived an hour ago, but Simon had taken forever to check and recheck Radnor’s girth, his hooves, and general temperament, her sidesaddle and stirrups. Already during the ride several acquaintances of the Boscastle family had halted her to wish her well, uncaring that their vehicles clogged the street. One middle-age gentlewoman in a cabriolet, apparently not a friend, pointed her umbrella at Ravenna in bellicose disdain.

“Are you the chit who took the duke off the market?” she shouted indignantly.

Ravenna adjusted her feather-tipped hat. “The very one. Why?”

“You might want to lock him up in that Welsh tower of yours if he’s as wicked as they say.”

“Oh, he is.”

“You admit it?”

She glanced around to reassure herself Simon wasn’t close enough to hear this codswallop. “Happily so.”

She rode on before the rude creature could respond. It was challenging enough to enjoy a simple afternoon out with so many eyes following her. She had never enjoyed riding sidesaddle, less so today. She felt exquisitely tender in her unmentionable parts. More worrisome than this discomfort was to be on guard against wagging tongues.

Would she ever know privacy, peace of mind again? Someone, a stranger, a servant, the good-intentioned and not-so watched her every step.

Or misstep.

While she was grumbling to herself, she felt Radnor falter, raising his right foot from the cobbles. She listed to the left and drew in the reins she had allowed to slacken during her musings. Her hat slipped off. She reached out to catch it and a half-dozen or so pairs of hands rose up around her as if resurrected from a graveyard.

“Good heavens,” she said in vexation, managing to return the hat to her head.

“Your grace, are you going into a faint?” an undergroom asked anxiously.

“No. I am not.” She would have been mortified to be unseated by a stumble, let alone swoon. “Thank you, all. I can manage. Has my horse been hurt?”

She waved the helpful hands away to modest effect, awaiting an answer. The gathering of lookers-on who evidently found a duchess in vague distress an enthralling sight grew by the second.