Page 37

Kenclere Hall Stables

15 July 1810

Four days later

“Yes, I brought you a treat. I know you expect one every day now, spoiled miss.”

Ophelia extended the carrot to Opal, who gingerly took the vegetable between her strong teeth and chomped happily. Ophelia had fallen in love with the gentle blue-eyed mare the instant Stanford had led her from the stables.

The mare, named for her unusual eyes, had taken to Ophelia at once as well.

Now, Ophelia and Stanford’s morning routine included a relaxing ride before breaking their fasts. There was nothing quite as lovely and refreshing as the English countryside as a new day began. Bird calls filled the air, hares darted across the verdant meadow sprinkled with blue, pink, and yellow wildflowers, and an occasional roe deer watched them cautiously from a distance.

Today, Stanford had promised to show her the previous castle’s ruins.

Several laborers toiled about the stables and immaculate grounds. All were impeccably polite and deferential.

Honestly, Ophelia had been surprised at the number of men Stanford employed. She supposed it was necessary for an estate this size, however. Particularly since not only did he grow barley, he bred and raised horses.

As he helped her onto the sidesaddle, she said, “You say the current castle was constructed over the course of fifty years in the thirteenth century, but the original castle dates from the ninth century?”

“Indeed. My ancestors were a rough lot. The first castle was a gift for my many times' great grandfather’s loyalty to William the Conqueror. There are whispers of Vikings, mercenaries, and other less savory sorts amongst my lineage.” He raised his eyebrows. “Hence my moniker, the Dangerous Duke, is rather apt.”

“Balderdash,” Ophelia scoffed at once. She hated when he referred to himself by that unflattering name. He might be somber, stoic, and, at times, intimidating, but he was not a dangerous man. “You are no more a threat than that tiny kitten the maids are feeding in the kitchen is.”

“Even kittens have claws, my dear.” Stanford winked rakishly, and her pulse did that silly, wobbly thing it did too often of late.

Though she’d given her heart to her husband weeks ago, Ophelia wasn’t yet prepared to admit that vulnerability. Cowardice wasn’t her nature, but something held her back. She wanted to keep that secret locked inside where it was safe and protected. Something that special ought to be cherished, and given her husband's austere character, she didn’t think he’d welcome the confession.

Stanford had made it abundantly clear theirs was a marriage of convenience.

Besides, it was too soon for such admissions.

After seeing her settled upon Opal, Stanford mounted his horse with masculine grace and agility that Ophelia couldn’t help but appreciate. His buff-clad muscular thighs flexed and bunched as Baldric, his gelding, pranced about for a moment.

With a laugh of sheer pleasure, Ophelia reigned Opal toward the road. She hadn’t expected to be so happy as Stanford’s wife. Nudging the mare’s side, she laughed again when the horse broke into a canter.

Stanford’s laughter echoed behind her. “Baldric, they think to outrun us. Come on, old chap. That won’t do at all.”

In a flash, her husband raced past her. He stopped at the crest of the hill where they generally entered the meadow. Angling back to watch her, he grinned like a naughty lad.

He was happy too.

Ophelia’s heart filled to bursting.

She had made him happy.

“Stanford, I’ve been thinking,” she said as she caught up with him. “Might we have a gathering at Kenclere Hall so that I may meet the locals? I’m sure by now they’ve heard you’re in residence with your new wife. I do not wish them to think me unfriendly or a snob.”

A shadow flitted across his face before a wry smile chased it away. “Tired of me already?”

Did he really think that?

That she wanted the company of others over him?

What a pea goose.

True, Ophelia missed feminine companionship and her sister. However, every moment spent with Stanford of late was a delight.