“You would not understand.”
My hands fisted around the reins, making my gloves unbearably constricting. I tugged them off and set them in my lap. “Because I’m a woman?”
“No.” Damon gave me a reproving look. “Because you have a father whoadoresyou.”
“As do you.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “As I said before, you would not understand.”
He was right. Ididn’tunderstand his relationship with his father. But Ididknow Lord Winfield only wanted the best for his son. Why else would he want Damon to marry well or have him attend business meetings to learn the running of the estate?
“Explain it to me then.”
Damon worked his jaw as if chewing his words, but he said nothing.
It didn’t surprise me that he and Lord Winfield were at odds with one another; fathers and sons often were. Even Papa and Henry didn’t always see things eye to eye all the time. I imagined having more possessions would only serve to produce more disagreements.
“If your father is strict, it is only because he wants you to be the best lord you can be.”
“You should not speak about things you know nothing about.”
His censure was as swift as his stallion.
I frowned. Lord Winfield could be demanding, but to not want to be his heir, hisson? Damon didn’t know how lucky he was. I would doanythingto have even one more conversation with Mama.
“Was that your mother’s ring?” Damon nodded toward my hand.
I followed his gaze to the ring, which I’d been unconsciously twisting on my finger. “It was,” I said, and though I didn’t wish to abandon the subject of his father, Damon’s eyes pled with me to do exactly that. Perhaps if I was candid with him now, he would later be candid with me.
“Papa gave the gold band to her on their wedding day, and this emerald was taken from her favorite necklace.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
“It is,” I agreed. “She wore the ring every day of her life, until her condition worsened and her finger became too thin.”
Damon nodded, listening.
“She wanted me to wear it for safekeeping, but it didn’t feel right—wearing it when she couldn’t—so I left it on her nightstand where it would at least be near her; so she could wear it when she finally recovered her health.”
“But she didn’t recover,” Damon said quietly. “I remember how close you were. I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I said. “After she passed, I went to retrieve the ring, but it was missing. I searched everywhere, but it was gone. I thought it was lost forever.”
“Where did you find it?” Damon asked.
“I didn’t. Papa had taken both the ring and the necklace from the bed table to have them fashioned into a mourning ring for me. He gave it to me the day of her funeral, and I’ve not taken it off since.”
My eyes filled with tears, but I blinked them away. I’d not cried since Mama’s passing, and I would not start now, not here, not in front of Damon.
I tightened my grip on the reins and coaxed Andromeda into a trot. The cool breeze brought a little relief from the sudden swell of emotion, but it wasn’t enough. I nudged her flanks with my heel, urging her into a canter. A few wisps of hair escaped my bonnet, tickling my cheeks.
I kicked her flanks to prod her into a gallop, but she stubbornly remained at a canter.
Damon rode even with me now, and though he easily could have passed me, he made no move to take the lead. “Give your horse her head,” he shouted against the wind.
I relaxed my grip on the reins, and my mare sprung forward. The hills flew past me in a blur, and the wind whipped against my face.
We continued at the feverish speed for a long while, my horse setting the pace and Damon riding steadily beside me. Sitting straight in his saddle, with his heels down and his chin up, he was a strong and confident rider. He seemed almost one with the animal, like beast and man shared some unspoken bond, connection, and purpose.
