Page 19
Balston House Stables
Early the next morning
Self-castigation whipped Evan’s consciousness as he marched the path to the brick stables. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting the land in dark purplish shadows and the sky in lavender, gold, coral, and heather-pink whisps.
He’d been unduly harsh with Miss Slater, but when she’d flippantly suggested she’d win the hunting course race and give him the prize money as payment for her and her father’s stay, his temper had ignited faster than a flame to hay.
He clenched his jaw involuntarily in remembered ire.
She’d meant no harm…no real insult. But she’d struck a raw nerve. Every day, the burden of how he’d provide for his family if his horse breeding and racing ventures didn’t flourish etched needle-like talons further into his already troubled mind.
For certain, he didn’t need Miss Slater influencing his sisters with her wild, unconventional ways. Evan had a difficult enough time reining in his siblings on most days. He had no desire to crush their spirits, but neither did he want to deal with the commotions and chaos Miss Slater inevitably found herself right smack dab in the middle of.
Rubbing his nose as he angled toward the stable entrance, Evan calculated how soon the Slaters might leave. Given Doctor Dargavel’s meticulous care, Evan would warrant not for another week. The physician wouldn’t give his permission for George Slater to travel until he was positive the man’s spleen and ribs were sufficiently healed to endure the jostling and bouncing over miles of rugged, rutted tracks to London.
Which meant Evan’s precocious, vexing, maddening guest would be in Scotland for the Wesleyans’ outdoor fair the day after tomorrow.
He rolled his eyes heavenward in a silent bid for the Almighty’s help and grace. Patience too, for that undoubtedly meant that the Slaters must be invited as his entire family always attended. It would be unconscionably rude to insist his uninvited guests remain at Balston House while he and his entourage of female relatives made a day of it partying with their friends and neighbors.
And yet…Evan was tempted as hell to do just that.
Every male instinct he possessed fairly screamed that Sophronie Slater was no more capable of resisting entering the hunting course race than the sun and moon could change positions in the cosmos.
She would enter.
Bloody tempest in a teapot.
Likely, she would win, and the somewhat orderly life he enjoyed would be turned head over arse for a goodly while.
Leah Wesleyan would not be pleased.
That almost made Evan smile.
Head down, contemplating the almost certain chaos the next week portended, he entered the stables. His nostrils flared as the familiar scents of horses, hay, liniment, and feed created a tangy but not unpleasant mélange.
“You are a beauty, my friend,” a female cooed softly.
Nae, not any female. Sophronie Slater’s sophisticated Virginian drawl.
Evan halted in his tracks.
What in bloody hell was she doing in the stables before dawn? Especially when they’d been in the library together past midnight? Christ, even his grandmothers and aunts, all early risers, never left their comfortable mattresses before six.
“I wanted you for myself, but then I saw how you responded to the duke, and I knew you must be his.” Clothing rustled as she moved about Eclipse’s stall. “You will sire magnificent foals. I’m sorry that I shan’t be here to see any of them, but I’ll be far, far away, across an ocean.”
Eclipse nickered.
“I know. We could’ve been friends too. But the truth is, the duke needs you more than I do.”
Something near chagrin heated Evan’s face. Or mayhap it was something else. Something he couldn’t identify.
The soothing sound of a brush moving rhythmically carried to Evan in the stable’s early morning calm.
Was Sophronie brushing Eclipse?
Did she find the action as soothing as Evan did?
Evan glanced around the stables.
