Chapter 20
Atlas
Ihad not expected to spend my afternoon with Miss Lewis.
I had ridden out to meet my guards at the remains of a second mysterious camp located on the farthest corner of my property, opposite from where the first camp had been found.
The only evidence left behind was a patch of cleared ground where a sleeping mat had rested and a scattering of food scraps, now being picked over by birds—silent witnesses to the recent presence of my intruder.
I had been caught up in the frustration of our findings when I had noticed Miss Lewis on my walk back from the stables.
This close to the house, I had no reason to fear her safety.
And yet, an urge to protect her had rivaled my curiosity about her presence in the garden.
Stealing her book to find out what interested her had been entirely unintentional.
Even after monopolizing her time for a quarter of an hour, I had not been able to return inside to my duties.
I had already written Mr. Gregory to follow up on his findings about Miss Palmer and approved a supply list for Dr. Newman.
All that waited was the scathing letter I planned to write to Mr. Blackwood over his lack of progress in finding my attacker.
What I needed now was an activity to keep my mind from obsessing over my problems. Before the attack, I would have chased the rush of a profitable card game, but such a thought now brought instant loathing.
Miss Lewis, on the other hand, was a far more irresistible subject—one that held my attention captive.
The longer I was in her company, the less I thought about my past or my intruders.
She was the ultimate distraction.
I adopted my tour guide voice once more—one more sophisticated and a touch deeper than my natural tone—a voice I had purposefully used because it would never, ever work to woo a lady and reminded me that my intentions were friendly and nothing more.
“Here we have Rosemont stables, the hidden gem of the estate,” I said.
“The walls are a vogue, rustic brown, and the decor the finest equestrian wares money can buy. But please, watch your step.” I pulled one side of the double wooden doors open and led Miss Lewis inside.
“You’re right.” Miss Lewis adopted an exaggerated voice of her own. “The faded wood stalls are absolutely stunning.”
“Lord Camden.” Jerry set down a leather harness he was oiling and bowed, clearly surprised to see me return so quickly. “Can I saddle up Champion for you again?” He glanced at Miss Lewis. “And a mare for the lady?”
“Not now,” I said. “We are visiting the horses and no more.”
“Very good. The hands and I will be in the back if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you, Jerry.”
Jerry turned and hollered at the other three stable hands, who rushed to vacate the stalls so we might have privacy.
I guided Miss Lewis toward the horses. “Shall I start with introductions?”
“You wouldn’t be an adequate host if you neglected them,” she teased. I liked this side of her. Without Augusta to watch over, her walls had lowered, and she was playful and easy to banter with.
“Then let me start with the king of the stables. Miss Lewis, this is Champion, my loyal steed.” Champion lifted his black head to acknowledge my voice, and I gave it a stroke.
“He won the 2,000 Guineas Stakes a few years ago. But even more remarkable than his speed is his loyalty. After my, uh, accident, he returned to my stables on his own, alerting the others that something was wrong. They were quite worried until they heard from me.”
“A pleasure to meet you, your highness,” Miss Lewis quipped.
“Careful, you will insult his highness if you do not greet him properly.”
“Oh?” Miss Lewis dipped into a curtsy.
I chuckled. “That is not what I meant. Champion likes to be greeted with a pat on his head or neck.
Miss Lewis scrunched her nose. “Must I?”
I leaned over to whisper in her ear. “It’s part of your challenge.”
She groaned. “I should have guessed that this was not simply a stop on your tour.”
I shook my head. “This is the destination.”
She gave an apologetic grimace. “Horses and I don’t agree with each other.”
“You argue with horses?” I tsked my tongue.
She laughed and shook her head.
I drank in the melodic sound and the spark of happiness that lit across her face. “No? Was I wrong?”
“You know what I mean.” She grinned and playfully shoved my shoulder.
Her smile sent a rush of warmth through my veins, a fleeting but intoxicating reprieve.
It felt so blasted good to shed some of the somberness that clung to my soul like a persistent shadow.
“I do know what you mean, but I do not believe it is a permanent condition. If you complete my equestrian course—at a generous free price—you will be cured of all horse fears.”
“You’re a miracle worker then?”
“Oh, I like that title. If this works, will you call me that?”
“If this works, you may have the title of magician too. I assure you they do not like me as much as I do not like them.”
“Champion will like you.” I swung my arm around his neck. “Watch. Give me your hand.”
She lifted her hand with the speed of a much, much older woman.
“No gloves,” I said.
She scowled, retracted her hand, and pulled her glove off. Then once again, began a slow rise of her arm.
I reached over and slipped my fingers around her dainty palm.
The rush this gentle touch gave me outshined any card game.
“Let’s do it together.” My words came out a husky whisper.
She nodded, and I gently set her hand on the long bridge of Champion’s nose.
I directed her hand down his sleek fur, then lifted it to repeat the motion.
The entire time, I watched Miss Lewis out of the corner of my eye.
Her dark eyes, framed by even darker curls, were riveted on Champion, her breathing stilted.
Champion shifted his head, and Miss Lewis jerked her hand back, tucking it against my chest.
“He scared me.”
“They’re big animals. It’s understandable to be intimidated—and I would even say wise.”
Her forehead scrunched. “If you’re trying to flatter me to get me to ride that beast, you will have to try harder than that.”
I chuckled. “You heard what I said to Jerry. No riding today. My challenge to you is to simply become familiar with a horse or two—from the ground level.”
She sighed. “When you put it that way, it sounds so simple.”
“I don’t want to rush you, but since we are here, would you like to try again?” I offered my hand to hers. Eyeing me with a degree of warranted suspicion, she set her hand in mine. I grinned. “You are very brave, madam.”
“Because I can pet a horse?” she smirked.
I smiled back at her. “Because you’re so comfortable holding my hand.”
She tried to jerk it back, but I held strong. “I’m teasing.” I tugged her a little closer and set her hand on Champion before releasing it completely. “Take your time.”
I had not intended such overt flirtation, but her warm hand had made me forget myself.
Focusing on the task before us proved difficult with our proximity.
I should have stepped back, but my feet remain planted—the smell of lilacs keeping me rooted.
She was right to prefer the scent. It was soft and sweet, with a quiet charm that lingered—much like she did—and dangerously alluring.
After a few minutes, Miss Lewis grew bolder and reached back to stroke Champion’s neck.
This time when Champion jerked his head, she did not pull away in fear.
I watched in awe at her quick progression.
With bravery like that, she could certainly hold her own in this world.
I had seen her in several vulnerable situations since her first day here, like falling after saving our cat.
She had risen again after each one. What drove her to persist?
Even with Augusta she’d showed no fear, only determination—and that determination was making a measurable difference in Augusta’s life.
“For a horse as impressive as he is,” she said, “I thought he would be ornerier.”
“He can be stubborn when he wants to be. He must like you. However, if you want a friendship with him, it will take more than the greeting of an acquaintance.”
“Whatever you are hinting at makes me nervous,” she said.
“I was merely going to suggest you feed and groom him.”
“Feed him?” she gaped. “Only if it’s out of a bucket. I’ve seen the size of a horse’s teeth before.”
I laughed. “A bucket it is. We can work up to you feeding him an apple out of your hand.”
Spotting the feed sack, I picked up a tin pail and scooped some oats into the bottom.
I carried it back to Miss Lewis, who had removed her other glove and shoved them both into a skirt pocket that was lost in the large folds of her expansive skirt.
Taking the pail from me, she seemed to fortify herself before stepping forward and lifting the bucket much higher than Champion could eat from.
I stepped in and lowered it to the correct height. Champion stuck his head in with such force that Miss Lewis would have dropped it had I not been assisting her.
“He has a big nose, and this is not the largest bucket,” I explained.
She nodded, but I could only guess at what she was thinking. When Champion finished, I added some hay to his feeding trough and unlatched his stall door. “Are you ready for grooming now?”
She shook her hands at her side. “I can certainly handle a brush.”
She appeared to be gearing up for a race or competition of some sort, not a brushing down. I turned my head to hide my smile and went into the stall first, pulling Champion’s brush off a hook.
When I pivoted to hand it to her, I found she had not followed me inside. “Are you coming?”
“Yes, of course.” She inched past Champion, her back to the stall wall, strewn with dirt. She did her best to smash her wide skirt in front of her, but even with Champion’s larger stall, it was a tight fit.