Chapter 3
That evening, Rosemere House was quieter than usual, though Anne could not have said whether it was the house itself or the way she moved through it.
She stood at her bedroom window long after the dark had settled, her hands loosely clasped in front of her and her eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
The day weighed more heavily on her than she wanted to admit, not simply because Tempest had been removed from her life, but because the encounter at Ashford Hall refused to leave her thoughts.
The Duke’s voice lingered most persistently—the tone he had used when speaking about Tempest. He was frustrated, yes, but not careless with him, and that unsettled her more than she cared to admit. He was supposed to be a cruel man who had stolen what was hers, but he did not seem that way at all.
By morning, she hoped that the matter would become clearer. It did not.
The sound of carriage wheels arriving at Rosemere disrupted the household shortly after breakfast, drawing servants to the windows and forcing Lady Carlisle into a state of visible irritation.
Anne had just entered the corridor when one of the footmen appeared at the top of the stairs.
“My Lady,” he said, slightly breathless. “The Duke of Ashford is here. He has requested an audience with you.”
“Why?”
“I do not know,” he replied. “Your mother was hoping that you might.”
Anne had an idea, of course, but she could not be certain. Ideally, the Duke was going to ask her if she would like Tempest returned to her, but she did not think that was possible.
When all was said and done, the Duke was still a man, and a stubborn one at that. If he had made a decision, she doubted he would be all too willing to change his mind, and he had wanted Tempest.
She closed her eyes briefly before descending.
The Duke was waiting in the drawing room as though he had every right to be there. He stood near the window with his gloves still on, relaxed in a way that suggested he was entirely at ease in his surroundings. When Anne entered, his gaze immediately shifted to her.
“Good morning,” he greeted.
“It is not,” Anne retorted.
A faint smile flickered across his expression.
“I assume you are here to ask me to assist you with Tempest again?”
“I am here to ask you properly,” he corrected.
“My answer is unchanged.”
He stepped away from the window. “Diamond nearly injured two stablehands this morning. He will do worse if left without direction.”
“His name is Tempest,” Anne corrected. “And he is frightened.”
“He is dangerous.”
“He is without me for the first time in his life,” she said sharply. “How do you expect him to feel?”
Dorian studied her for a moment. “He could do severe damage, Lady Anne.”
“And you believe I am the solution to that.”
“I believe that he trusts you in a way he does not trust anyone else.”
“That is not my responsibility.”
“It is if you care about him, for you and I both know that there is only one fate for a dangerous animal.”
The words landed between them hard.
Anne’s eyes burned. She hated that he would make such a suggestion, especially since Tempest was not dangerous when under her control.
“I do care about him, but that does not mean I will be dragged to your house as though I am part of your staff.”
Something sharp passed across his face. “I did not ask you to become my servant,” he said quietly. “You would stay at Ashford Hall—”
“For several weeks, in the middle of the racing season, under the roof of a man I have known for two days and do not trust.”
“I would ensure you are treated with respect.”
“I am already treated with respect here,” she replied. “At least enough to avoid becoming a spectacle.”
Silence followed.
He looked at her in a way that was less amused than before. She knew that he was agitated by her refusal, and she thought that was a good thing. After all, she had not asked him to come, and she had never once given even the faintest suggestion that she was willing to do his bidding.
“He will not improve without you.”
“And I am meant to accept that as sufficient reason to uproot my entire life?”
“You are meant to accept it as a reason to consider it.”
“I have considered it,” Anne said. “The answer remains no.”
The distance between them felt smaller than it should have been in a room that large, and that was only made worse when the door opened behind her.
“Anne,” Lady Carlisle said, then paused when she noticed the Duke. “Your Grace.”
“My Lady.”
Lady Carlisle hesitated, then stepped fully into the room. “There is something you should know, Anne.”
Anne turned slightly, wincing. The time for such a conversation could not have been worse.
“Mother—”
“Mr. Holloway has sent word again,” Lady Carlisle continued. “He expects an answer within days.”
“I have already told you that I do not wish to leave.”
“I am aware,” she said gently. “But it is not as though we have another choice.”
The Duke’s attention remained fixed on Anne, but he said nothing. It was mortifying to have her mother airing their private lives right in front of him, but when she looked at him properly, he did not seem to be mocking her.
“He has offered to pay off the estate’s remaining debts, on the condition that arrangements are made quickly. He believes it would be appropriate for you to leave Rosemere once married.”
“He is negotiating my departure as though he is a part of this family and I am not.”
“Anne, it is not—”
“It is exactly that,” Anne said, her voice sharp. “It is always that, and one would think that my mother of all people would protect me.”
She turned away from them both, walking a few steps toward the window as if distance might restore clarity.
“So my choices are now reduced to a marriage I do not want or being thrown out onto the streets.”
“Anne,” Lady Carlisle said softly, “I am trying to protect you.”
“No,” Anne said. “You are trying to protect what is left of everything else.”
The Duke cleared his throat. “That is not a choice you should be forced to make.”
“Nor is the one you have presented,” Anne sighed. “And yet I am not the only one being forced into decisions.”
The Duke remained still, watching her with a focus that had nothing to do with courtesy.
Suddenly, a shout tore through the grounds outside the house, sharp enough to cut every other sound cleanly in half. For a moment, the room froze.
“Stop him—someone stop him!”
The words were followed by thudding in the yard beyond the windows, boots striking stone, voices rising in panic, and the distant but violent sound of a horse breaking into full distress.
Anne was already turning before anyone else had fully processed it.
“What is happening?” Lady Carlisle asked sharply, stepping forward.
A stablehand burst into the doorway, pale and breathless. “Your Grace, it is your horse. Mr. Fletcher tried to mount him and was thrown hard. He is injured. The horse has broken loose.”
Anne went still, though not in shock.
“Where is he now?” the Duke asked immediately.
“In the yard, Your Grace. He will not let anyone near him.”
Anne was already moving.
The Duke caught up with her in the corridor, his voice tight. “You should stay back. If he is in that state—”
“He knows me,” she said without looking at him.
“That does not matter if he is panicked.”
“It does. I would know that better than you.”
They reached the front steps together, but Anne was already descending before the rest of the household had even gathered behind them.
The moment they stepped outside, the full extent of the chaos became visible.
Tempest stood in the middle of the yard like a storm that had not finished breaking. He jerked left and right, reins trailing loosely behind him, his head tossing violently as if trying to escape something no one else could see.
Mr. Fletcher lay several yards away, being helped up by another man while blood darkened the side of his face. The air itself felt thick, broken by shouting and the harsh sound of hooves striking stone.
“Do not approach him!” someone called out urgently as another man tried to step forward.
Tempest reacted instantly, spinning with explosive force and striking out in warning, and the man stumbled back.
Anne’s voice cut through the air. “Stop!”
It was not loud, but it carried.
Everyone in the yard paused at once. The Duke looked at her sharply, but she was already walking.
“Lady Anne, please do not—” a groom started.
She did not turn. “Do not follow me,” she said, her voice steady but firm enough that it stopped him where he stood.
The Duke moved with her but more slowly, watching her carefully now instead of trying to block her path. “If he strikes out again, you will not have time to step away.”
“He will not strike me,” she said simply.
Already, Tempest had stopped moving not because he had calmed, but because he had seen her.
The shift was immediate, but subtle enough that anyone unfamiliar with him might have missed it entirely.
His breathing remained uneven, his body still coiled, but the direction of his panic changed.
It was no longer scattering outward. It was focused on her.
Anne slowed down as she drew nearer.
“Tempest,” she said softly.
The horse’s ears flicked back and forth, uncertain.
Anne took one step closer. “It is all right,” she murmured. “No one is going to hurt you.”
Tempest shifted his weight sharply, muscles still tight, but did not move away. The Duke stopped several paces behind her, watching in utter silence.
“He should still be attacking anything that moves,” one of the stablehands whispered in disbelief.
Anne did not look away from the horse.
“He is not attacking anyone,” she said quietly. “He never was. He is afraid.”
She reached out slowly, letting her hand hover for a moment before making contact. The instant her fingers touched Tempest’s neck, something in him changed. The tension did not vanish, but it loosened in stages, as though his body had finally recognized something it had been searching for.
Anne exhaled softly and stepped closer, resting her palm fully against him.
“You are all right,” she whispered. “You are all right. I have you.”
Tempest lowered his head enough that the transformation in him became undeniable. The frantic energy that had filled the yard moments ago disappeared at once.
Anne’s hand moved gently along his neck, steadying him. Tempest leaned slightly toward her, pressing his head closer to her shoulder in a gesture so instinctive it felt as though the horse had forgotten every other person in the yard.
Around them, the yard remained silent. Even Mr. Fletcher was no longer being moved. Everyone was watching without speaking, as though interrupting the moment would break something they did not understand.
The Duke stepped a little closer, just enough to see her properly.
“He does not respond like this to anyone else,” he said.
Anne finally glanced at him. “Because he does not belong to anyone else.”
“Lady Anne, I have seen horses trained, broken, corrected, and controlled in every way a man could imagine. I have seen fear managed through force and discipline, but I have never seen this. Not once.”
“And yet it works unlike anything else.”
The words should have been simple. They were not.
Tempest let out a slow breath, still close to Anne, still anchored to her presence in a way that made everything around them feel secondary.
The Duke’s expression shifted subtly as he watched the animal settle further against her hand. Anne could not have hidden her satisfaction for anything. It was undeniable proof that no amount of money could change things.
Tempest was hers.
He belonged beside her.
And if she wanted to remain beside him, there were sacrifices that she would have to make.
It was not fair, not at all, but if it meant saving Tempest’s life, then she would do it. He was the only thing in the world that she could consider entirely her own, and there was nothing she would not do for him.
Even if it meant leaving her life behind.
“Lady Anne,” the Duke said, “may I speak with you?”
“Your Grace, you have done enough. If you insist on having Tempest, then you must at least allow me to stay with you as a stablehand.”
“I have already told you that was never my intention.”
“Perhaps, but that changes nothing. I see no other way to take care of him, and if that means I must go with you, then so be it.”
“But I do not—”
“Your Grace, I am being as reasonable as I can be, given the circumstances. Do not act as though it pains you to force me into such a role. You heard what my mother said. You know how dire my situation—”
“Which is why you should marry me.”