Page 28
As it had since he’d sat down, Slater’s focus remained on Evan and Sophronie.
“He wants me to be ladylike, though I fear it’s a lost cause.” She shrugged, and a rueful smile tipped her mouth upward, making her appear vulnerable. In this light, the smattering of freckles stood out upon her delicate face. “I think he feels like he’s failed as a father because I’m not—because I seldom fit in, and I’m a hoyden.”
Evan made a sound in his throat as her unintended barb hit home with infallible accuracy.
He’d called her that very thing.
That night in the library, beset with worries, Evan had lashed out unfairly, his stress eclipsing his good manners and common sense. He ran his regard over Sophronie, from her expressive eyes that gave away nearly everything she was thinking, to the slightly stubborn tulip of a chin and her plump, perpetually smiling mouth.
There were ladies, and then there were ladies.
“I dinna think because ye wear breeches and ride astride ye are no’ a lady.”
He scrutinized the crowd of nearly two hundred milling about the lawns. There were many present today who considered themselves ladies that he did not.
“Ho there, Waycross. Heard ye’ve been stirrin’ up a wee bit of trouble.” A teasing grin framing his face, Tobias Forsythe, Duke of Heatherston, approached. His keen blue gaze roved over Sophronie as she turned to face him. “So this is the lass everyone is speakin’ of? She’ll race with the men?”
“Aye, Heatherston, she is. If she’s willin’.”
“She’s a wee sprite of a thing, Evan.” Skeptical lines furrowed Heatherston’s forehead.
“She can do it. I’d wager Balston House on it.”
“She’s standing right here and can hear everything you are saying about her,” Sophronie interjected with a wry upward sweep of her lips and hands planted on her hips.
Evan and Heatherston exchanged a glance at the spitfire taking them to task.
She shook her finger. “You’d be a fool to make such a wager, Evan. There is never any guarantee of the outcome of an obstacle course race. There are too many unknowns for anyone to wisely wager more than a small amount they can afford to lose.”
“Och, the lass is as intelligent and wise as she is lovely.” Giving Evan a wicked grin, Heatherston swept Sophronie a bow. “I believe we attended the same Christmastide house party, Miss Slater.”
“We did indeed, Your Grace.” She dipped a shallow curtsy. “Are you competing today?”
“Alas, I did no’ enter this year.” He replaced his hat and swept his gaze over the assembling competitors. “My mount strained a fetlock, and I willna ride another.”
Sophronie nodded, that little wisp of hair brushing her temple again. “I understand completely. I prefer to ride my horse, but she’s in Virginia. She knows me so well, and I her, that it’s almost as if we become one being when I’m atop her. I miss her dreadfully.”
“The lass sounds exactly like ye, Waycross, when ye speak of horseflesh.” Chuckling, Heatherston folded his arms, no small amount of speculation in his keen gaze as he looked between Evan and Sophronie.
“Admirin’ and respectin’ equines is a unifying bond across all mankind dating back thousands of years,” Evan offered lamely, even as his ears turned hot.
Damn, Heatherston.
He had Evan blushing like a wet-behind-the-ears pup.
Why did everyone keep on insinuating a match between Sophronie and him would be ideal? There was much more to the marriage union than a passion for horses. Being able to refrain from arguing for more than half an hour, for instance.
Sophronie caught Evan’s eye. “We don’t have anything in common other than our love of horses.”
“Och, well, many friendships have been forged on far less.” Heatherston’s eyes lit with hilarity.
He was deliberately goading Evan—God rot the bounder.
“Indeed,” Evan drawled.
“What’s it to be then, Miss Slater?” Heatherston jerked his chin toward the other riders. “Will ye prove that a woman can do anythin’ a man can?”
Sophronie’s focus shifted to the men, many of whom regarded her with hostility. Her expression remained benign, but a shadow dimmed her vibrant eyes for a second.
