She’d not follow him across the hall, let alone the continent. It was folly to think she would. But he and folly were old friends.
One of his field officers approached. “Your Grace, your men will be in position in fifteen minutes.”
“Good. We must begin on time, Colonel.”
The man saluted with his good hand and then marched out to the troops.
Busick squared his shoulders and took a few steps toward the huge platform he’d designed. Gantry had his misgivings, saying the structure was something one would see outside of Newgate Prison to hang offenders.
This construction was needed.
Today’s exhibition with his troops in front of his guests and his nanny would show how far he’d come in his recovery. If LaCroy saw him looking strong, handling his horse, she’d see he was right. All would know he was capable on the field.
Maybe their rapport could improve, and she’d forget about their argument in the drawing room. That was his hope, but women were different than soldiers. They didn’t take commands well, not when they thought they knew better.
He’d forgotten that.
With the last two years focused on recovery, he’d forgotten a great deal, like how he enjoyed challenging eyes and passionate lips not pressed in a frown.
Moving toward the platform, Busick steadied himself and straightened his posture. Today would decide everything, showing his mettle was strong and that he could lead on horseback. He’d return to being one of Wellington’s trusted men.
The viscount leaned against the platform, as a groom, one of Busick’s second lieutenants, held on to a wonderful mount with a dapple-gray coat.
“Repington, your great secret has been completed.” Gantry knocked his elbow into the structure. “Finished late yesterday, built to your specifications. Board by board, inch by inch. Nail count to within two, plus or minus.”
“A two-nail discrepancy, Gantry? Hopefully, it’s overdesigned and won’t collapse. I’ve been told I’m weighty.”
His friend laughed, and Busick circled the twelve-by-twelve platform, touching the shoulder-height boards that served as the flooring he’d walk on once he climbed its steps. “When I’m up on the decking, I can literally stroll into the saddle from the rear.”
“You mean to mount using your horse’s backside? You had me build a rump deck, Duke?”
Busick craned his head, felt his face frowning. “I wouldn’t put it like that. I can also approach from the side. Straddling my mount from the outset will prevent any balance issues.”
With a shrug, Gantry handed him the reins. “If you say so. And without further delay, your fine piece of horseflesh. Also, per your instructions, backside included.”
Trying to remember this was his friend, Busick tugged off a glove with his teeth. He held it there a moment before the leather slipped to the ground. Lowering to retrieve it was tricky. He’d have to balance between his reliable crutch and the mechanical appendage strapped to his thigh.
No falling today, not in front of Gantry or his balcony guests who still hadn’t arrived. Where were LaCroy and Lionel? He didn’t want to begin until they were well ensconced in the chairs he’d set.
Taking his time, Busick sized up the horse and sank his palm into its pewter-colored mane. The coarse hair—thick, tangle-free—was wonderful. It’d been two years since he’d ridden. To have the opportunity to do it again almost brought him to his knees.
“Magnificent. You’re magnificent. Look at the slope of your shoulder. By Jove, the lines of your legs would make any Englishman jealous. No offset cannons or upright fetlocks. You’re the ride I’ve been waiting for.”
“Do you need privacy with the Shire horse?”
The viscount chuckled again, but the man seemed troubled. The bags under his eyes were thick. He patted the horse’s neck as if it were a fellow soldier. “Zeus is a strong one. You will enjoy him.”
“Zeus.” Busick nuzzled the horse’s nose. “Here, I told LaCroy I had one god and you bring me another.”
“What?”
“Roman mythology. Zeus, king of Olympus . . . Never mind. The horse is fantastic.”
“And coupled with an easy temperament, he’s perfect for today.”
“Easy?” Busick glared at his friend. “You think I like easy or that I need easy?”
Gantry frowned and picked up the glove. “Neither of us is easy, but it would be better if we took the less hardened path upon occasion.”
