Delia had to go after her, and she knew exactly who to call on.
Chapter Five
Sweat pooled down Hunt’s back as he carried a pile of hay with the hay rake from Rain’s stall to outside the horses’ paddock. He walked back into the stall, ignoring the curious gazes of the two older men who had worked with him most of his life.
He picked at the hay, stabbing it as if it had somehow offended him. It was his tenth and last stall. He’d risen early on account that he could hardly sleep because both his dreams and his waking moments were haunted. Haunted by the hellion of a woman who had denied him a simple introduction.
It wasn’t like he was asking for marriage or a quick dalliance in the corner. No, he simply wanted to know whom he’d had the pleasure of meeting and wanted her to know who he was. That was proper etiquette after all.
An introduction, possibly a dance, but she couldn’t even allow him the dignity of that. Of course, she probably was more than well aware that he was the Earl of March, especially with that damn article.
He wasn’t sure exactly what he would’ve accomplished if the hellion would’ve granted him an introduction and a dance. Would he have asked to call on her? No, that would’ve been absurd.
Hunt wasn’t the marrying type, and he damn sure would not court a woman. Then why ask for introduction at all? He wasn’t in want of a mistress, and he wouldn’t insult the lady in that manner. His hellion was meant to be loved and worshiped as the goddess she was, and that one simple thought made Hunt less remorseful that she’d denied him. A woman like her needed forever, and he couldn’t give her that. Whoever she was, she was connected to the Duke of Cliffbury, if his swine of a cousin was to be believed.
It was odd, and disconcerting, how much thought he’d given the beautiful hellion from the previous night. He’d risen early, with barely three hours of sleep, intent on working her out of his mind.
Hunt had an entire staff to care for his horses, but it didn’t matter. He needed to work, to do anything to keep his mind off her. Caring for the horses had always soothed him when he was a boy. There was nothing he disliked about it, not even the smell. It was the place he’d always gone to get away from his life, from the whispers that he and his sister were bastards. Being able to work with his own two hands gave him a sense of pride.
It had started at his mother’s country house. His father had long abandoned them, and his only escape from the constant overbearing shadow of his mother and sister was to visit the stables. The horses, the groomsmen, they became a part of Hunt’s family.
“What’s got you working hard, mi’lord?” Walter, his stable master, asked, leaning against the open stall. His one good eye was trained on Hunt, his dark skin weathered by age and sun, drenched in sweat from the work of the day.
“I’d say the way he’s stabbing the hay like it called him a dandy, it has to be a woman,” Sampson, the old groom, shouted out from his usual seat in the stables. An old worn cap covered his thin white hair; his pale leathery skin was filled with wrinkles.
Walter and Sampson had worked for his mother’s first husband and had remained at her country estate, Tigress House, when she’d married Hunt’s father. Together, the two old men had taught Hunter everything he knew about horses. They were more like family than servants. If he was being honest, mere servants would’ve been released years ago for such impertinence.
Walter whistled. “She must be something to get you worked up like this.”
“Remember the last time he worked this hard? He was sixteen, and him and the skinny marquess was fighting over the tutor’s daughter!” Sampson pointed an old wrinkle finger at Walter.
They laughed together, always in tune with each other.
Hunt closed his eyes, wishing he could ignore the old fools. Unfortunately, they were a permanent part of his household.
When he was a boy, he’d foolishly thought that they were brothers. His own family was a plethora of differences, he thought surely the two men were related.
Needing to talk about the horrid events of the previous evening, Hunt shouted, “What sort of lady doesn’t want a simple introduction?”
“Turned you down, did she?” Sampson asked from his perch in the corner.
Did the man ever do his job?
“She must be some type of chit to resist the Magnificent Earl of M!” Walter slapped his thigh.
Bloody hell! They’d readThe Rake Review.
“I’d wager she’s a beauty!” Sampson pointed at Walter, his eyes wide and full of mischief.
Hunt shook his head, picking up a pile of hay from Rain’s stall and mucking it out. Rain, a pure-bred Arabian, was one of the first horses he’d purchased for himself. She was now ten years old, but he still loved her. She was a strong horse, from a good lineage, and was reaching her prime.
“Tell us what happened, mi’lord?” Walter asked, folding his arms.
Hunt stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hands. “A woman—no, an absolutely stunning woman with fire in her eyes and pretty brown skin that shined and called to me.” He shook his head at the memory of her. “That is beside the point. She bumped into me, and being the gentleman that I am, I prevented her from falling.” He pressed a hand to his sweaty chest. He’d long abandoned his shirt. “When I offered to introduce myself, she said ‘That won’t be necessary,’” Hunt said in a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like his hellion.
“Oh, she is a feisty one.” Walter stood up straighter, his smile wide and full of mischief now.
“Perhaps she’ll allow me an introduction.” Sampson took off his cap, smoothing out his thin head of hair. “I was quite the handsome lad in 1772.”
