Page 49 of The Music of Love

“You willfully misunderstand me, Signora Stefani. You know very well I recognize and appreciate both qualities—neither of which are the same as managing. Not that I disapprove of managing qualities, although they are not something I seek in a mate.”

“No, I believe you possess that characteristic in abundance.”

“I daresay I do; does that worry you?”

She pursed her lips as she considered the question. “I’m afraid my temperament is not always amenable to following orders.”

He put his hand on her arm and stopped her, waiting until she met his eyes. “I do not expect to be issuing orders, Portia.” Did she think he was some sort of tyrant?

She gave him a rather suspicious look, as if she was only half convinced. “What happens when we disagree on a subject?”

“Then I would try to persuade you.”

“And if I remain unpersuaded?”

Stacy paused. What would he do if she did not agree with him? “I suppose it would depend on how strongly I felt on the matter.”

She gave a small nod and began walking.

“Portia,” he said, waiting until she turned back to him to continue, “We are to be married and I wish to please you in every way. I would never impose my will on you. I would not wish to make you unhappy.”

Her shapely mouth curved into a smile. “I know that, Stacy. I suppose I should have warned you how stubborn I can be before you offered for me. My father used to say I could be unmanageable when I got the bit between my teeth.”

Stacy could well imagine. She’d shown fire on more than one occasion, the last of which had been the way she’d handled his injuries the night he’d been shot. He’d been groggy, but not too delirious to recall how she’d issued orders to everyone and handled his wounds with impressive efficiency. He’d been very grateful—and always would be—but the steel in her had made him realize she had a will of her own. Stacy knew there had been few instances in his life when anyone had thwarted his will. Both his aunt and Nanny had spoiled him dreadfully as a child, no doubt feeling he deserved indulgence because he lived such a solitary existence. But while he might like his own way, he was no monster.

Was he?

He took a step toward her. “It is true that I am master of Whitethorn, Portia, but you will find that I am gentle with the ribbons.” When she flushed and bit her lower lip he knew she was thinking about horses and the first night they made love. Just thinking about that evening made him harden. And the expression in her eyes as she looked up at him only enflamed him more.

But the tenuous voice of reason held him in check: You’ve already behaved badly enough. Another few days and you can have her properly. Or improperly—however she wants it.

Stacy leashed his desire and put his hand on the small of her back, giving her a gentle push before he succumbed to his urges and mounted her against a nearby tree.

They walked in silence, his gaze on her hips, which swayed tantalizingly. He wrenched his eyes from her backside and forced his thoughts in another direction.

“I will teach you to ride,” he said, and then realized how autocratic he sounded. Did he always speak with such arrogant certitude? He tried again. “You will be able to explore far more territory than either walking or in a gig.”

“I should love to learn to ride. Is it difficult?”

“Not for someone as naturally graceful as you.”

“Charmer,” she said, but he could hear the pleasure in her voice.

“It will be more pleasant with a good horse and I will enjoy finding you a proper mount.” Indeed, Stacy was more than a little excited at the idea of spending time teaching her something.

“You mean I can’t ride Geist?”

He laughed.

“You are wretched, Mr. Harrington. Perhaps I should have snickered when you first played the piano for me?”

They bickered good naturedly about pianos and horses until they came to the rise that overlooked the cottage.

“It’s such a lovely house, Stacy. But wouldn’t you rather have Nanny closer? At Whitethorn, maybe?” She took his proffered arm and they walked down the gentle hill.

“My aunt thinks Nanny wants a place of her own.”

“I think she wants to be close to you more than anything else.”