She sat at a window table inside the inn’s dining room, teacup in hand, and she watched him with eyes too intense to pass off as casual curiosity.
Dash chuckled under his breath.
“Voyeurisme, ma chérie?” he murmured, patting Gwennie’s flank. “Bon. I was starting to worry this day would be dull.”
Mrs. Ambrosia Bloomington leaned forward but held back an appreciative gasp as she caught sight of the creature just outside the window. Sleek, muscular… and such a powerful-looking behind.
The magnificent horse turned its head, allowing a glimpse of its chiseled profile, and in that moment, she wished more than anything that she had learned how to ride. Perhaps after she arrived in London, if funds allowed, she could purchase a horse and pay someone to teach her.
Not that she’d be able to ride through the streets of London. That would no doubt be more than a little unnerving to maneuver something so unpredictable through all the traffic.
But perhaps she could ride in the park.
She pondered… It was one more thing amongst many that she would have to learn about living in the city where her future awaited.
She lowered her cup onto its saucer and, with a sigh, rested her chin on her hand. At the age of six and twenty, she was leaving everything familiar behind and, in but a few days, would begin her new life in London.
She would miss the familiar countryside of Rockford Beach—the cliffs along the ocean and, although tedious, the comfort of her strict routine.
As for the people, however, aside from her neighbor, Mrs. Tuttle, there was not one that she would miss.
Movement outside captured her attention once again.
A man stepped out from behind the giant horse, and Ambrosia jerked her spine so that she sat up straight. With one hand, he smoothed a brush along the beast’s back and side while the other rubbed it in a soothing circular motion. He must be the horse’s rider.
Taller than average, the rider’s lean physique appeared just as honed and athletic as his mount. Ambrosia licked her lips. The man had dark brown hair with just a hint of copper, just long enough to stay put in the que behind his head, and an errant lock dangled along his cheek. Ambrosia slid her gaze up to study his strong, determined features. He was a little scruffy, as though he’d not been shaven for a few days, and he smiled as he spoke to the horse. It was a smile that stirred something unfamiliar inside of Ambrosia.
A fine-looking creature indeed.
He wore nothing over his unbuttoned waistcoat and although the sleeves of his linen shirt were spotted with a few smudges of dirt, the shirt itself remained perfectly tucked into tight–fitting breeches. The black Hessians he wore seemed worn but also well cared for.
Unable to drag her eyes away from him, she couldn’t help but compare the rider to the animal she’d been admiring.
Both exuded unleashed strengths.
She could easily imagine the two of them in battle, chain mesh protecting the horse, the rider wearing knight’s armor, his stormy eyes peering out from beneath a steel helmet.
Although frightfully dangerous to his enemies, he would be charming to everyone else—but not too charming—and he would be honorable.
A knight in shining armor must always be honorable.
Her heart melted further when her knight kissed the giant horse just above his snout.
She exhaled a deep sigh.
A heartbreaker, most certainly.
Ambrosia tilted her head. Such a man would not be captured by anything but true love.
His scruffy chin and untamed hair made him appear wild and fierce, much like his horse. Although well worn, the apparel he wore so casually appeared to have been well made. And those breeches… they fit him perfectly.
When she realized her eyes had settled on the man’s firm and muscular behind, she chastised herself and forced her gaze upward to his broad shoulders instead.
Perhaps he was some second son of an aristocrat, or perhaps a professional man of business. The splendid horse was obviously valuable, and its rider moved confidently, as though he owned the ground upon which he stood.
“More tea, ma’am?” The question, posed gently by the innkeeper’s wife—Mrs. Neskers, if Ambrosia recalled—startled her enough to nearly slosh her cup.
Upon Ambrosia’s arrival, Mrs. Neskers had kindly informed her that they would have a room readied shortly but that they were still waiting for the current occupants to check out. As Ambrosia was a lady traveling alone, Mrs. Neskers had led her through the public area and into one of the private dining rooms where she could take her tea without fear of harassment.
