Chapter 7 #3
She walked forward with the groom as Evander wrangled the dogs. By the time he made it inside the stable barn – hit immediately by that warm, comforting smell of hay and horses – Aurelia was stroking a mare in one of the stalls by the back doors.
The mare she chose was called Pearl. She was a beautiful cremello horse, sensible and sure-footed, who required little to no managing on the sometimes uneven country trails.
“You beat me to it,” he said as he approached them, causing Aurelia to pause. “I was going to suggest her for you, but I didn’t want to force your hand.”
“She is lovely,” Aurelia said lovingly, continuing to stroke the mare’s mane. “Mr. Howes was telling me all about her mother, Diamond.”
“His Grace’s preferred horse, aye. Maybe a little long in the tooth to keep up with Pearl this morning,” Howes said, readjusting his cap. “Shall I prepare Matchem for you, Your Grace?”
Evander nodded, and Howes left them to begin saddling the thoroughbred at the opposite end of the stables.
He breathed a sigh of relief now that they were alone, casting a cautious look up at the hayloft and finding it empty.
The stable-hands must have been working elsewhere that morning.
He noticed then the sound of buckles and straps.
Aurelia was picking up Pearl’s equipment from the nearby rack.
Howes must have showed her what to take while Evander had been with the dogs outside.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, not meaning to sound as parental as he had. “I wouldn’t think women like you saddled their own horses, let alone had the opportunity to ride much in London town.”
Aurelia smiled, arms full of tack, looking as charming as she did ridiculous. “Mr. Howes said you would show me what to do.”
“Mr. Howes…” He stifled a laugh but moved forward anyway. “Presumes too much from me.”
Moments later, he was adjusting the fit of the bridle when he noticed the gloves on Aurelia’s wrists as she returned to grooming Pearl.
They were leather riding gloves, yes, correctly chosen.
But the left one was folded wrong at the wrist, the seam turned in slightly, which would chafe before they reached the village.
He reached across without being fully conscious of it, one hand still on the bridle, and took her by the wrist.
She went still, her hand stopping, tangled in Pearl’s cream-coloured mane. Blinking, Evander turned the glove cuff and smoothed it flat against her wrist. He ran his thumb once along the seam to check how it was laying.
He was aware of the warmth of her wrist through the leather, and more importantly, the way her breath had shifted, an intake of breath that she held too long.
She wasn’t looking at him anymore, and he quickly released her, worried she had thought the gesture meant something more than it did.
Worried that he thought it meant something more too, and–
He stopped himself and stepped back, putting some distance between them. “You must be careful with what you wear when you ride here,” he said. “This isn’t like Hyde Park. We will ride hard – and you must keep up without stopping to adjust your garments on horseback. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, returning to Pearl. “Thank you…”
Nodding, he left to join Howes with Matchem and checked the girth on his own horse. He sent Howes to fetch Aurelia, and drew his horse to the gate. Outdoors again, the morning was the same clear blue it had been before. He heard Aurelia before he saw her. She was sitting atop Pearl side-saddle.
Evander knew he shouldn’t have said anything. He had already overstepped twice trying to manage her behaviour and emotions and force them into alignment with Carrstone, his expectations, what was safest.
But he said it anyway, “You needn’t ride that way when you are here,” he said, not able to meet her eye. “It is far too dangerous. Ride astride. And if you find your habit is not sufficient for this today… We will order you a new one soon.”
Sending Howes a look that told him to turn around and pretend to be busy, Evander moved to help Aurelia off the horse in the absence of a step.
His hands came around her waist as she slipped out of her saddle and fell backwards into him.
She was warm in his arms and smelled clean, like the women in the city.
Her hair brushed against his neck, and he suppressed the jolt it sent down his back, turning his attention back to the ride at hand.
“Will you, erm,” she said as he unhanded her, and steadied her. He swore her cheeks were flushed but decided to ignore that particular realization, staring at a space over her head. “You must promise to go slow, if you are leading the ride, and I am riding like a man… I am scared of falling.”
“Off the horse?”
She nodded. He was still holding on to her arms and promptly stopped. “Yes, what else?” She attempted to smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Imagine it. You will be the farmer duke, and I will be the duchess of broken bones.”
“We’ll make a decent pair.”
“Do you think?”
“Yes. No matter what they label us, I think we’ll be just fine.”