Julianna stopped walking when the groomsman brought the Arabian toward her. The man’s face was hidden on the far side of the impressive horse.
“Here he be,” called the stablemaster. “Alabaster.”
Julianna allowed her gaze to travel the horse. His high crest, his elegant back, his fine flank, his lovely strong legs, his glorious hooves. “Oh, look at him,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands and the crop to her chest. “He is magnificent, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” came an arrogant, deep, and somewhat familiar-sounding voice from the other side of the horse. “And the horse isn’t bad either.”
Julianna blinked, then narrowed her eyes. Had she heard the man correctly? Of all the impudent, arrogant, inappropriate things for a groomsman to say. Something about the voice made the skin on the back of her neck tingle, however. She knew that voice.
She swallowed. Hard. Bless it. What in the devil washedoing here?
Julianna took a deep reassuring breath just as Rhys Sheffield stepped out from the other side of the horse. He executed a deep bow. “My lady.”
Julianna blinked again. What was this? Why in the world was he dressed as a… a…groomsman? She tilted her head to the side, staring at him as if either he or she had lost their mind. Surely one of them had.
“Lady Julianna,” the stablemaster said. “This is Alabaster.” He pointed to the horse. “And this is our newest stablehand, Mr. Worthy.” He pointed to the man. The stablemaster’s eyes darted to and fro and he tugged at his collar, looking quite uncomfortable. Obviously, the man didn’t think for a moment that the duke standing next to them was a blessed stablehand. What exactly was going on here?
Julianna was just about to open her mouth to say something about the ludicrousness of it all when Rhys caught her eye, shook his head ever so slightly as if trying to tell her to remain quiet and announced, “A pleasure, my lady. I’mcompletelyat your service. Yourslightestwish is my command.”
It was the way that he emphasized the two words that made Julianna’s breath catch in her throat, while a tingle of apprehension—dare she think, excitement?—shot down her spine. She snapped her mouth shut. Turning back toward the stablemaster, she searched his face, but all trace of irony had disappeared. Her gaze moved back and forth between the two men, examining them.
She clearly saw the silent plea in Rhys’s cobalt-blue eyes, begging her to play along at least for the time being. Something was amiss here. Something significant, but if her instincts weren’t mistaken, she was about to be afforded a priceless opportunity: to treat Rhys Sheffield like a servant.
Julianna crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She narrowed her gaze on him and eyed him up and down from the tip of his boots to the top of his head. Damn him. The man was every bit as good looking as he’d been the last time she’d seen him. More so perhaps, with the slightest bit of gray in his black hair and a few new wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was just as fit and tall and oh-this-was-not-helpful.
Just what sort of a game was he playing? She didn’t trust him. Not for one moment. But her curiosity overcame her frustration. She would play along. For now. Oh, yes, she would. A grin she could not stop spread itself wide across her lips. She cupped a hand behind her ear feigning a hearing problem.
“What was that, my good man?” Meeting Rhys’s eyes, she hoped she conveyed the proper amounts of both I’m-going-to-torture-you and I-plan-to-enjoy-it. “Something about my wishes?”
He bowed again. His voice, when it came, had a deep timbre that made her insides quake with some old feeling she did not want to explore. “Your slightest wish, milady, is my command.” As he straightened again, she saw an unmistakable sparkle in his eye. And somehow, he’d managed to make the entire sentence sound positivelyobscene.
Oh, he was up to something all right. What was it?
Confound him. He was just as bold and arrogant and confident and oh, he waseverythinghe used to be. How had she ever found him attractive? Very well. He was good-looking to be certain, but his manners left much to be desired and she’d never met a man more in love with himself. Detestable!
She would want to slap his handsome face, but that would mean she cared, and she positively didnotcare. Not anymore. She’d made a new match. A better one. Perhaps not with a duke, but with someone who was consistent and true. Someone altogether unlike Rhys Sheffield.
Before Julianna had a chance to reply, the stablemaster mumbled something under his breath about getting back to his duties and took off in another direction, his coattails flapping behind him.
And just like that, the stablemaster was gone, leaving Julianna standing next to the finest-looking horse and (confound it) the finest-looking man she’d ever seen. For the first time in one year, three months, two weeks, and four days, she was alone with Rhys Sheffield.
CHAPTER FIVE
Rhys had been forced to make a quick decision. Either he could run off and risk forfeiting his bet on the first day—bad-form, that—or he could take his chances and risk Julianna recognizing him. The first choice meant instant failure. The second would at least give him a fighting chance, and he’d always been an admirer of a fighting chance.
He’d held out the slightest hope that Julianna might not recognize him given the way he was dressed, until he’d made that crack about his looks. Blast it. He simply couldn’t help himself. She’d given him the perfect opening. Her spine had stiffened. Obviously, she remembered his voice. That was interesting. Or at least it might have been if he gave a toss about her anymore. She also was aware of the Arabians. That was interesting as well, but for an entirely different reason. The lady knew her horses.
He allowed his gaze to take in her form, from the tips of her brown, leather riding boots to the top of her emerald velvet hat that brought out the gorgeous color of her light-green eyes. Eyes he’d once got lost in. Eyes he’d once seen his future in.
The past year certainly hadn’t served to diminish her beauty any. She was as lovely as ever. Her pert nose, dusky pink lips, and long lashes. She was tall, willowy, and blond, a work of art. A work of art with a gold-digging heart. Seeing her again physically hurt. Like a punch to the gut. He sucked air through his teeth then pasted on his most disarming smile. There was no reason not to be charming after all. He was known for it. If he wasn’t charming it would seem as if —God forbid—he cared.
She probably hated him. For good reason. The feeling was entirely mutual. But there was absolutely no reason not to be cordial to her. Especially now that she obviously had the upper hand. She was holding the key to his winning or losing his bet. And he couldn’t afford to lose.
Her voice was low when she spoke. Not exactly a whisper, but low enough to ensure no one would overhear. “It’s been a while,Rhys, but I could have sworn the last time we spoke, you were a duke.” She lifted her chin haughtily.
“And I could have sworn the last time we spoke, you were someone quite different as well; or at least appeared to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes flashed with anger.
