Chapter Eleven
As promised, Hugharranged for Christiana to visit the stables with him the next morning to choose her mount. The stables were large and airy, sunshine streaming through the windows and sending dust motes from the straw dancing in the air. Christiana passed along the stalls, greeting each horse as it came to sniff at her hands and offering them small pieces of apple.
Hugh followed behind, his hands tucked behind his back and his demeanor relaxed. Remarkably patient for a man whose mind seemed constantly occupied with his duties and the obligations of his station.
Compared to her father, he seemed like an entirely different breed of man. How both could have been born of women, she didn’t know.
“Were the stables affected by the fire?” she asked as she stroked the velvety nose of a horse named Bran. He was a sooty gray, with a light mane and intelligent, liquid eyes.
“No,” the duke answered. “We were fortunate in that respect. The fire largely gutted the east wing.”
Where the bedrooms were. Christiana’s hand stilled on Bran’s nose, and he whickered at her, quietly demanding moreapple. She smiled as she offered it to him, and he crunched it happily.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “How did it start?”
“A knocked candle. Easily enough.”
Such a small thing had sparked such a tragedy.
The hard edge to his tone told her he had reached the end of his patience for such questions, so she allowed the subject to drop. Briefly, she thought about her conversation with Amelia the previous evening.
Seduction.
If there was one thing of which Christiana was perfectly certain she would not be capable, it was seduction. No gentleman had ever viewed her as an object of desire, and she had never wished to be.
Besides, it was all very well to think that she and Hugh would fall in love purely by dint of being married, but Christiana knew better. Love was not convenient—if it were, Laura would not be contemplating scandal and alienation with her groom.
Still, as Hugh’s brown gaze swept across her horse, she could not help looking him over again. At her request, he had forgone the mask that morning, and she examined his face in the sunlight. With his aquiline nose and strong jaw, he used to be remarkably handsome. Even now, she found the sight of him oddly compelling.
This was all Amelia’s doing.
What did it matter if he had once been handsome? He had made it perfectly clear that they were not entering a marriage of that nature. Besides, even if she did think him attractive, that didn’t mean he thoughtherso.
She couldn’t let Amelia’s childish fantasies into her head.
His gloved hand joined hers on Bran’s nose. “If you would like him, then he’s yours. So long as you can ride him.”
The challenge sparked in her blood. It had been so long since she had last ridden, but she was confident she could manage this sweet-tempered beast.
“Let’s see,” she said. His fingers just brushed hers as she removed her hand. “If that suits you, that is.”
“It would do me good to go for the ride,” he said. “And after, I need to visit my tenants’ farms, anyway. We can take in the parkland along the way. I imagine it’s very different from your father’s estate.”
“Very,” she agreed. “Both in landscape and upkeep.”
Hugh ordered Bran and his horse—a big bay named Julius—be saddled in preparation.
“Bran was my father’s mount,” Hugh explained as they waited in the cobbled courtyard, the sun beating down on them. His Hessians gleamed in the light. “He chose Bran himself shortly before he died but rarely had a chance to ride him.” He cast Christiana a long, assessing glance. “I expect he will be lively.”
“He looked as though he had a lovely temperament,” Christiana said, recalling the eager way the horse had snuffled at her. “Besides, my father’s horses were largely neglected, aside from when I rode them.”
“Bran is not accustomed to a woman,” the duke warned.
Christiana smiled at him. “Then I will ride astride.”
She enjoyed the way his eyes widened. Ought she delight in his overt shock as much as she did? Perhaps not, but it was refreshing to know she still had some secrets. “I learned to ride astride before I learned sidesaddle,” she explained. “Admittedly, it’s less easy with a skirt, but I have no objections if you don’t.”
His gaze flickered down to her legs, though there was little enough to see under her skirts. “My tenants might be a little scandalized, I fear.”