Amelia did not appreciate his crude double entendre. Was he attempting to flirt with her as well?
He must not realize he was doing so.
She washer, after all, and likely the very last woman with whom he wished to flirt. Perhaps it was simply second nature for him at that point.
Rather than dignify his comment with a response, she turned to her mount, patting the great bay beast on his thick neck. Rory, like Faye, was beginning to quiver with anticipation.
“Allow me.” Kempton came up behind her and made a cradle of his hands to help her up into the saddle.
Deciding it wasn’t worth the argument, Amelia allowed him to assist her, though she didn’t give him so much as a nod of gratitude. He launched her with ease, and Amelia could not mask her amusement at his expression of shock when she settled herself astride instead of sidesaddle. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed the difference in her horse’s tack, nor had he seen the cleverly concealed split in her skirts. She’d had her riding habit specially commissioned shortly after her marriage. James had been such an avid horseman and—while he hadn’t wholeheartedly approved of the unconventional garment—he’d recognized the need for them if she were ever going to be able to safely keeppace with him on their frequent rides. It had also been the lesser evil when she’d threatened to have breeches made for herself instead.
She’d always appreciated James’s indulgences of her quirks. After saying his peace and sharing his opinions, he would often capitulate to whatever Amelia desired. He’d liked giving her gifts and playing along with her whims. He’d been a sweet, kind, generous man who’d often said he could deny her nothing when she’d done him the great favor of agreeing to become his wife. That had always sparked a little kernel of unease beneath her breast—a reminder that their marriage had not been for love, despite its wealth of mutual respect and appreciation. Though wonderful in its own way, it had not been the marriage she’d imagined.
Amelia blinked and banished her musings, turning her attention back to the marquess at her side.
Kempton held onto her booted heel longer than necessary or even proper, guiding her foot into the stirrup, his large hands enclosing the dainty bones of her ankle.
“Close your mouth, else you might swallow a fly,” Amelia said to him in a tone dripping with smugness. With that, she whistled to Faye and kicked Rory into motion.
Dorian leaped backto avoid being trampled by Amelia’s horse. The animal was large—far larger than a woman of her size should have been able to handle—yet she did so with such confidence and grace. She’d always been an accomplished horsewoman, and the years seemed to have only improved upon that fact.
Her unconventional clothing likely contributed to her steady seat.
Dorian shook his head and, in one swift movement, he vaulted onto Maximus and took off after her.
They thundered out of the castle’s gates and down a path worn into the grassy hills, past cairns both small and large marking the bends and curves of their journey. He was quickly in awe of the confident, elegant sight she made, knowing the only reason he would eventually be able to overtake her was the sheer size and power of his mount. Were they on horses equal in size and breeding, she could easily have outpaced him. The long-legged deerhound loped along with them, tongue lolling joyfully out the side of its wide jaw. Watching Amelia ride had always been a thing of beauty, but the fluidity and grace and ease with which she moved now made it appear as if she were one with the horse. It was mesmerizing.
Dorian followed her lead as they wended their way past boulders and over streams, down hills and through valleys until they finally reached an ancient monolith rising from the earth like a jagged tooth in an old crone’s maw. Faye was panting happily, her lean sides expanding wide with the effort; even Amelia’s chest was heaving from the exertion. The sun chose that moment to slice through a cloud, and she tilted her face to absorb what little warmth could reach her chilled cheeks before the light was swallowed once more. Dorian had to force his eyes away from her and take in their surroundings.
They’d stopped in some old religious or burial site. Time and weather had toppled most of the stones, but a few still stood proud, looming far above his head, even at his height atop Maximus. Fleetingly, he thought how it was impossible the stones had been placed there by human hands; surely, giants had once roamed here, and these were the remnants of their time. Nearby, a forest rose darkly from the earth. It looked and felt like a place where fairytales just might be real.
Seeing what he was looking at, Amelia said, “The locals believe this to be an enchanted place.” Dorian turned Maximus in a circle as she continued. “There are stories of ancient kingsand unicorns, lairds who made bargains with sprites. Kelpies are said to inhabit the loch.”
“Kelpies?” Dorian’s head reared back. “What the hell is a kelpie?”
“An equine water-dwelling creature that can also take the form of a human. They lure men to watery graves.”
“I’m half certain you are making that up.”
She laughed, and the sound sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. “I assure you, I am not. On the coast, there are also selkies; they are incredibly beautiful and change form between seals and humans by removing or wearing their seal skin.”
“Have you ever seen one of these creatures?”
“I have not been drowned, nor have I been lured into a romance with a water spirit, so it is safe to say I have yet to meet one.”
“No unicorns either?”
“Alas, no.”
“A tragedy, that.” Dorian paused to watch a small smile curl the edges of her lips as she patted her horse’s neck. He cleared his throat and wrenched his gaze away. “Should we turn back to the castle?”
“Not yet. Let us give Faye a bit more time to catch her breath. She’s not as young as she once was.”
“Are any of us?” he asked with a wistful smile before dismounting and moving to help her descend as well. She allowed him to assist her without protest, but he hadn’t anticipated the jolt of awareness as her body slid down the length of his until he set her on her feet.
Dorian stared down into the green pools of her eyes, his hands encircling her slim waist, able to feel the heat radiating from her body even through the layers of her clothing and his leather riding gloves. He did not feel the stiffness of stays beneath the fabric of her bodice, and the newfound knowledgecaused his blood to heat several degrees. Barely anything separated him from her naked breasts, the soft skin of her womanly curves. What was she wearing beneath her skirts?
He had to tear his mind away from picturing her underthings, and settled for tucking a stray curl back behind her ear, trailing his fingertips over the pale shell of her ear, down the angle of her jaw. His thumb came to rest on the plumpness of the lower lip he ached to taste. Amelia’s eyes moved to his mouth, and he very nearly gave in to the temptation to see whether or not his memory of her sweetness was accurate.
