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James raised an eyebrow. "I could return to the ball and inform the owner that one of his guests is attempting to steal his horse."

The woman looked at him with open disdain. "Then the dukes of the north are obviously no different from those in London. My aunt told me that the duke is hosting this ball merely to look over the candidates and choose a wife."

"Is that what they say about the duke?" James asked, amusement warming his voice.

"They do." She finally managed to secure the saddle, though James noticed that it sat rather crookedly.

"How demeaning it is for a woman to be paraded around and chosen like a horse. At least I shall lead this horse to freedom, rather than wait for some gentleman to decide whether I am pretty enough to purchase," she said.

James studied her, surprised by how much he enjoyed listening to her speak. Most women he encountered during society events were careful with every word, especially around a duke. This woman seemed determined to say whatever entered her head.

"One could argue," he said, stepping forward to correct the saddle without revealing that the horse was his, "that a married woman has far more rights and freedom than an unmarried one, particularly a woman married to a duke."

She gave him a skeptical look. "That depends upon the duke."

"Naturally," he said.

"And upon the arrangements of the marriage."

"Also true," he nodded.

"And upon whether the duke expects his wife to abandon everything she loves simply because he has given her a carriage and three new gowns."

James paused, looking at her. "You appear to have thought about this."

"I have thought about nearly everything," she replied. "It is one of my more unfortunate habits." She rested one hand upon the horse's neck, her expression becoming thoughtful. "What good is a grand house if a woman cannot fill her days with something that matters to her? What good are jewels if she has surrendered her passions merely to possess them? I would rather have a smaller life that belonged to me than a magnificent one in which every decision was made by someone else."

James found himself unexpectedly quiet. Her words touched something he had spent years refusing to examine. He knew precisely what it was to inherit a grand house and discover that it came with expectations attached to every stone. He also knew that marriage, in his father's mind, had never been about love or companionship. It had been about producing an heir.

"And yet," James said, walking beside the horse as she led it from the stall, "you were apparently being sent here to meet a husband."

She sighed dramatically. "I was. I managed to slip away from my aunt before she could introduce me to the unfortunate gentleman. I imagine he is still standing somewhere, wondering where his bride has gone."

James laughed. "You left him waiting?"

"I considered it a kindness. He shall have time to reconsider his choices among so many eligible ladies."

James realized only gradually that they were moving away from Glenmore Manor and toward the distant outskirts of the estate.

I should stop her. I should tell her who I am.

Instead, he found himself unwilling to end the conversation. There was something refreshing about her complete lack of reverence, and something dangerously appealing about the way she challenged every assumption he had made about women, marriage and duty.

"What would you do," he asked, glancing at her, "if you discovered that the man you were meant to marry was not the dull creature you expected?"

She considered this seriously before smiling. "I suppose I would have to find something else to complain about."

James laughed again, and for the first time that evening, he did not regret escaping his own ball. He looked toward the woman beside him and wondered how long he could keep his identity secret before she discovered that the supposed horse owner walking beside her was, in fact, the very duke holding the ball.

He was about to make some teasing remark about her astonishing lack of criminal determination when a faint sound drifted across the fields. James stopped. She stopped too, and for a moment they both listened. There it was again, unmistakable now, the thin, desperate cry of a baby carried upon the wind.

"Was that a baby?" she asked.

Something inside James tightened at once. He did not think, he merely acted. With one swift movement, he swung himself into the saddle, turning the horse toward the distant road.

"Wait," the woman called, hurrying after him. "I am coming with you."

James looked down at her incredulously. Apparently, she had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. Yet when she lifted her hand toward him, he reached down without hesitation.