Keeping a wider distance than before, they hurried to the barn where a stable hand leading a sleek chestnut mare across the front paddock greeted them in surprise.
“My lord,” he said, bringing the horse to a halt. “I wasn’t told you would be embarking on another ride this morning. Should I have a mount readied for you, or–”
“That won’t be necessary,” Weston interrupted. “We’re here for a sheep.”
“A sheep,” said the stable hand, appearing confused.
Evie could only assume it wasn’t every day the Earl of Hawkridge walked into the stables demanding a farm animal that wasn’t a horse.
“About this tall,” she said, cupping her hands twelve inches apart. “White. Fluffy. Ears that stick out to the side.”
“I am fairly confident he knows what a sheep looks like,” Weston said dryly.
“A description cannot hurt anything,” she defended.
The stable hand scratched underneath his cap. “Haven’t seen any sheep here. Maybe it went to the pond? Something has the swans spooked. They haven’t been in the water all morning that I’ve seen, which is unusual for them. Figured that old snapping turtle was back, but maybe your sheep went over to get a drink and frightened them.”
“The pond,” Evie repeated.
“This way,” Weston said, grabbing her hand.
Off they went, across the lawn and around the side of the house. By the time they reached the pond, Evie was short of breath, but Weston didn’t appear the slightest bit winded. On the contrary, their mad dash around the grounds of the estate seemed to have invigorated him.
The wind had swept his hair off his temple in a disheveled wave of obsidian silk. A button at the top of his shirt had come undone, revealing a golden swath of skin that was covered in a sheen of perspiration. There was a light in his eye that she’d never seen before. A glint of happy defiance, as if by temporarily leaving the manor and all of his responsibilities behind, he had stripped himself of the chains that bound him to duty and honor and obligation.
Standing beside the pond, he was just a man looking for a lamb.
And she was just a woman, looking at the man she loved.
Whilealsolooking for Posy, of course.
Even though Weston’s muscular chest was, admittedly, very distracting.
A flash of movement out of the corner of her eye swung her attention to a thicket of reedy marsh plants. Hidden in the middle of them, her tiny tail swishing furiously, was Posy. Chewing on a cattail, of all things.
Warm, welcome relief flooded through Evie.
“Weston,” she said, tugging on his sleeve to gain his attention. “There she is.”
Kicking off his boots and rolling up his trousers, Weston waded into the water. It appeared Posy, in her eagerness to taste the cattails, had wandered into the pond and gotten trapped on a bank of mud. With asquelchingsound, Weston pulled her free and extended his arms towards Evie so that she could grab the shivering lamb while he made his way out.
“There you are,” she whispered, pressing her face into Posy’s soft fleece. “I was terribly worried. You are not to run away like that again, do you understand? I know you’re just an animal, and you cannot understand a word that I’m saying, but you’re very special to me and I don’t want to lose you.”
Posy gave a bleat, which Evie took as a yes. Kissing the top of her head, she set the lamb down to dry off on the grass. The mud had gone all the way up to Posy’s belly, and she was going to need another bath before she could return to the house.
By the look of things, Weston was going to require a bath as well.
“Are you stuck?” she called out, managing–just barely–not to chortle with laughter at the sight of the earl staggering through the muck. Given that he weighed considerably more than Posy, he’d sunk far deeper into the mud than she had. It was nearly up to his knees, and the harder he tried to get to the shore the higher it went.
“No,” he gritted between clenched teeth, “I am notstuck.”
“What a relief. Then if you’re fine, I’ll take Posy and–”
“Wait,” he called out.
“Yes?” she chirped, batting her lashes.
He glared at her. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
