“You have indeed.” She had a smear of blue paint across her cheek. “Are you ready to go riding? I have chosen you a good horse.”
She appeared to be debating, but he would not let her renege.
“Come, my lady. I’ve been waiting all last week. You promised.”
Rupert didn’t know why he cared. He knew only that he enjoyed her company. And without her, tedium threatened the excursion despite Lady Lillian now being one of their party.
“You would offend me deeply if you begged off.” Drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, Rupert leaned forward. “May I?”
“May you what?” Lady Delia asked, her deep-brown eyes fixed on his.
He had the wicked urge to kiss her again. More than an urge, he felt compelled but couldn’t possibly, given their location.
“Remove a little paint, although the color suits you.” Putting a hand to the back of her head to hold her still, he dabbed with his pocket square.
“You may have to use spittle,” she said.
A bubble of mirth rose in him.
“In that case, you had best do it yourself.” Holding the handkerchief before her pink lips, he waited for her to expectorate. After a pause, she did.
Wiping again, he was satisfied with his work while extremely unsatisfied at being so close for the most practical of reasons. Nor did she seem unaffected.
Staring at his mouth, she swallowed. “Very well. Let me change. I shall meet you at the stable yard.”
In ten minutes, Lady Delia appeared. As expected, she was dressed in a riding habit, with the train draped over her arm. However, the bodice hung loosely. Perhaps she had weighed a stone more when she’d had it made. In any case, Rupert was eager to show her the mount he’d chosen.
Lady Lillian spoke before any of them. “Finally! We had given you up as a lost cause.”
“My apologies,” Lady Delia said. “I lost track of time.” Her eyes were wide, taking in the other riders, already in their saddles.
Rupert’s horse stood ready just inside the stable, with a groom holding its reins. “Why don’t you three await us here?”
“Five minutes,” Lady Lillian said, in her spirited manner. “After that, we shall be away like the wind.”
Rupert grinned, thinking her poetic phrase to be good fun, despite her words bordering upon rude.
He and Lady Delia entered the stable.
“You may have preferred to choose your horse, but I hope you trust me.”
“I do,” she said softly. “Show me.”
Strangely, Lady Delia sounded the opposite to Lady Lillian, about as eager as going to one’s own execution.
He stopped in front of the horse he deemed ideal for her small size and gentle manner.
“Blossom,” she read the name, then glanced at him. “Rather a big blossom, isn’t she?”
“Not at all. Aptly named for you, she’s a mild-natured mare but quick.”
“Quick?” she repeated.
“My understanding is she has a light mouth and a smooth gait.”
Lady Delia nodded, and a groom opened the stall and did his work before leading the horse to the mounting block.
Lady Delia eyed it before nodding again. Thinking her out of practice, Rupert offered his assistance. Opposite to the famed Marchioness of Salisbury, still hunting in her sixties, known for gracefully and swiftly mounting her horse like an arrow from the hand of her groom, Lady Delia climbed, scrambled, and clawed her way onto the saddle.
