“Why do you do that?” Damon asked after we were out of earshot. “Make yourself small for my brother?”
“I do no such thing.”
“You do. When Ollie is near, you talk more softly, you smile more, and forgive me for saying this so bluntly, but it is as if you forget you have an opinion.”
“You are wrong,” I said, but as he led me to the stableyard, I considered his accusation. When Ollie was around, Ididhave a tendency to be demure, but only because I wanted him to view me as a proper lady. A lady who was soft and kind and gentle. Like Lady Winfield. Like Mama.
Outside in the stableyard, the groom waited with our horses. In one hand, he held the reins of Damon’s impressive black stallion—Ares. The animal’s sloped, powerful-looking shoulders and muscular body indicated its power, and its thick, glossy mane and low-set tail denoted its elegance.
In the groom’s other hand, he held the reins of a chestnut mare—Andromeda. Though a beautiful animal in her own right, she was shorter and smaller, and she did not appear nearly as agile, nor as elegant as Damon’s stallion.
With a frown, I walked to the mounting block, and the groom assisted me into the saddle. I looped my legs around the U-shaped horn, then I smoothed my skirt over the horse’s back. The groom handed me a crop, and I held it in my hand opposite my legs.
Next to me, Damon slid one foot into the foothold, then swung one leg over the horse’s back. The motion was swift, strong, and steady.
I tried to focus my attention on the horse instead of its rider, but it was all but impossible. I looked in the opposite direction and accidentally caught Ollie’s gaze.
Behind us, Ollie sat rigidly atop his own horse. He watched Damon and me with a hard stare, then kicked his horse’s flanks, riding out of the stableyard.
“Now, where were we?” Damon maneuvered his horse in front of me, blocking my view of Ollie. “Ah yes. I remember. We were discussing your infatuation with my brother.”
“Shh!” I hissed. Even though Ollie had ridden a considerable distance away, there was a possibility of the wind carrying our words, and I didn’t want him to overhear anything.
“I only broach the subject,” Damon said undeterred, leading us out of the stableyard, “because the better I understand your feelings for Ollie, the better I can hold up my end of our scheme.”
“’Tisyourscheme, not mine. But to answer your question, there are many things I admire about Ollie.”
“Such as?”
“He is . . . thoughtful.” It was not the most eloquent of answers, but itwastrue. When Ollie missed our walk the other morning, he’d taken care to bring me back a sprig of lavender—my favorite flower.
Damon nodded. “That particular virtue of his was on full display at the Rumfords’ ball.”
“Thatwas an exception to the rule.” I frowned.
“Was it?”
“Yes,” I very nearly shouted.
Damon held up his hands in surrender and peered down at me from his high horse. Fitting, I thought.
“Perhaps we should improve the ride with silence.” I clicked my tongue, encouraging my horse to put some distance between myself and my unwelcome companion.
“I would rather we speak,” Damon said, closing the space between us without noticeable effort. “Can you not think of any other traits you admire in Ollie?”
“Of course I can, but conversing was not part of our deal.”
“True enough. Shall we wager for it?”
“Can you not leave gambling to the tables?”
“I can,” Damon said, “but for reasons you needn’t concern yourself with, I choose not to.”
“Then we are at an impasse. I do not wager.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “A friendly race then. To the crest.” He pointed to the top of a grassy knoll in the distance. “Whoever reaches it first will decide the topic of conversation—or lack thereof—for the rest of our ride.”
I glanced at the crest. Normally, a gentle horse such as mine could not compete with a thoroughbred like Damon’s. But the crest wasn’t far, and I was already a few lengths ahead of him. I tightened my legs around the horn of my saddle.
