As the groom led Marigold away to be prepared, Dominic guided June toward his own stallion. "And this is Dancer. Far less steady, I'm afraid, but loyal to a fault."
June studied the massive black horse with appreciative eyes. "He suits you," she said simply.
Dominic wasn't certain if he should be flattered or offended. "Mercurial and difficult to manage?"
"Powerful," June corrected, meeting his gaze directly. "And perhaps not as untamed as he'd like people to believe."
Something warm unfurled in his chest at her assessment—a dangerous tendril of hope he'd been trying to suppress since the moment she'd agreed to become his wife. Before he could respond, the groom returned with both horses saddled and ready.
"Shall we?" Dominic asked, gesturing toward Marigold.
June nodded, moving toward her mount. Dominic followed, positioning himself to assist her. As she prepared to mount, he stepped closer, slipping his arms around her waist from inside the voluminous cloak.
"Allow me," he murmured, his mouth suddenly dry as the wool parted to reveal her form, wrapped in a deep green riding habit that clung to the graceful curves of her body.
She stilled at his touch, her breath catching audibly. They stood frozen for a moment, her back pressed against his chest, his hands spanning her waist. Through the layers of clothing, hecould feel the warmth of her, the slight tremor that passed through her body at his proximity.
"Thank you," she whispered, turning her head slightly. The movement brought their faces mere inches apart, her amber eyes wide and searching.
Dominic swallowed hard, fighting the urge to turn her in his arms and claim her mouth as he'd been aching to do since their arrival at Icemere. Instead, he lifted her with careful strength, setting her gently in the saddle.
"You look perfectly at home there," he observed, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "As if you were born to ride Icemere horses."
June arranged her skirts with practiced ease. "I haven't been on horseback since we left Stone Manor. I've missed it."
"Then we shall make this a regular activity," Dominic promised, moving to mount his own stallion. The simple action sent a bolt of pain through his chest, and he paused, gripping the saddle until the spasm passed. When he glanced up, June was watching him with a slight furrow between her brows.
"Are you well, Dominic?" she asked.
"Perfectly," he lied smoothly, swinging himself into the saddle with deliberate grace. "Merely eager to show my bride her new domain."
They rode out of the stables side by side, the horses' hooves crunching against the frost-hardened ground. The late autumn air cut like a knife, sharp and clean, but Dominic welcomed it. The cold seemed to clear his head, easing the pressure in his chest that had been building all morning.
"The estate extends to those hills in the distance," he said, pointing northward. "And to the east, as far as the river that marks the boundary with Thornfield."
"It's vast," June observed, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. "Larger than I'd imagined."
"Most of it wild moorland," Dominic admitted. "Beautiful in its own way, but hardly the manicured parkland of southern estates."
They rode at a leisurely pace, Dominic pointing out landmarks—a stand of ancient oaks planted by his great-grandfather, the ruins of the original watchtower that had once guarded the castle's approach, the distant spire of the village church where generations of Blakes had been christened, married, and buried.
"And there," he said, gesturing toward a tumbledown structure nearly hidden among gnarled trees, "is what remains of the hunting lodge where my great-great-grandfather supposedly encountered a ghost."
June turned in her saddle, intrigued. "What sort of ghost?"
"A white lady, naturally," Dominic replied with a grin. "These old houses always have one. She's said to be the spirit of a jilted bride who flung herself from the castle battlements."
"How very Gothic," June said dryly. "Did your great-great-grandfather survive the encounter?"
"With nothing worse than a dramatic tale to tell over brandy. The ghost apparently criticized his shooting form, then vanished into the mist."
June laughed, the sound bright against the stark landscape. "A helpful spirit, at least."
Dominic guided Dancer toward a ridge that offered a sweeping view of the surrounding countryside. "From here, you can see almost the entire estate," he said, his voice faltering slightly as his lungs protested the exertion of speaking while riding uphill.
If June noticed his momentary breathlessness, she gave no sign. "It's magnificent," she murmured, gazing out at the patchwork of fields, woods, and moors stretching to the horizon. "I can see why you love it here."
"Can you?" Dominic asked, studying her profile.
