Shebelonged here.
He did not.
Olive rolled her shoulders back and took a calming breath. It would not do to appear overset. To admit she was still skittish from his last rejection, and probably always would be. Her weakness would give him power.
Only when her mental shields were firmly in place did she walk out of the stable doors with her head held high.
She came to an immediate halt.
Weston had that effect on her; she couldn’t help it. Though to be fair, anyone would look twice at the apparition lurking just on the other side of the fence.
He was atonfribble ripped from the pages ofLe Beau Mondeand placed here among fields of snow like a paper doll come to life.
Everything about his person was completely unsuited to working on a horse farm in winter. The too-light coat, the shiny tasseled Hessians, the... Did he think to tame Duke whilst wearing atop hat?
The effect should have invited her ridicule, not her ardor, but here she was. Standing in air cold enough to see one’s breath, with every inch of her flesh oddly heated, as if the sight of him caused a blush to travel her whole body.
He was not a farmhand, but rather a Trojan horse. His pretty exterior masked danger and deception. She knew his treachery better than anyone.
But it didn’t stop her breath from catching all the same.
She shoved her gloved thumbs into the waistband of her breeches and strutted forward. It was not the action of a proper lady. Olive was no one’s idea of the ideal wife. She’d been told so her entire life. It was best to disabuse him of any notion of her melding seamlessly with thehaut ton.
“Did you bring any carrots?” he called out. “I have some, in case you need them.”
Well,thattook some of the wind out of her sails.
Weston had made no comments about her manly appearance today or yesterday. Come to think of it, nor had he commented upon her veryladylikeappearance when he darkened her doorstep on Christmas Day. Perhaps he didn’t care what she looked like.
Or perhaps he’d made his opinion clear enough a decade ago, and his feelings on the matter had not changed.
“Go and put on your riding clothes,” she said. “You’re embarrassing me.”
But it was his sculpted cheekbones that flushed scarlet. “I didn’t bring any.”
“Well, you’re too big to borrow mine.”
And too big to fit into her father’s.
She frowned.
Whywasa ton fop as burly as a farmhand? What witchcraft had his tailor performed to make Weston’s tall, hulking figure resemble that of a dandy?
A dandy wearing… gray. Weston’s attire was well-cut, but not meant to stand out. He had not come here intending to win her. He’d expected her to be handed over to him like a lump of coal. Olive’s opinions did not matter to him in the least.
“Go inside,” she said. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
He crossed well-tailored, muscular arms over a well-tailored, burly chest. “You left me standing here yesterday and never returned. Fool me once...”
Yes. She snorted humorlessly. He’d taught her that lesson himself.
“If you’re going to be my shadow,” she said, “climb over that fence and follow.”
He did not. Of course he did not. There was snow on his side of the fence and mud on hers. The world might end if a speck of dirt were to mar his glossy Hessians.
Olive smirked.
His Town sensibilities played to her favor. Papa couldn’t claimshehad not tried, if it was Weston who refused to come near. She was winning.
