Page 45

Balston House Stables

One week later—early morning

Evan felt Sophronie’s presence before he saw her. It was as if his soul was in tune with hers and sensed when she was near. His spirit cried out for hers, and in her presence, he was at peace. If only she felt the same, but given she’d asked again for an annulment last week, his confidence to woo her was waning.

Bent at the waist and forearms resting on the top railing, he’d been watching the two-, three-, and four-year-olds romping in their pasture. These majestic creatures were his future and that of the duchy’s too. He hadn’t spent a cent of the money George Slater had left him. It remained in a bank in Glasgow, earning interest.

There’d been no need, as the earnings from the investments he’d inherited and which were paid out quarterly were more than sufficient to meet his needs. Always frugal, he had no intention of changing his ways simply because he’d come into unexpected wealth.

The money from Slater would go to the man’s grandchildren—if Evan and Sophronie had children. With a fervency and a desire that caused his lungs to cramp, Evan prayed it would be so someday.

“Good mornin’,” he stated simply as she moved to his side. She wore her boy’s garments today. His only objection to her garb was the decadent view the trousers provided of the swell of her hips and the plump pillows of her heart-shaped bottom. He’d have to punch any man senseless who looked his pleasure.

Evan notched his chin in the horses’ direction. “They're feelin’ frisky this morn.”

“I can see that,” she said with a hint of humor in her voice. “They are such magnificent creatures, aren’t they, especially when they are running free? Graceful, spirited, powerful, and majestic.”

“When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk. He trots the air, the earth sings when he touches it.”

At Sophronie’s incredulous look, Evan gave her a sheepish grin. “Shakespeare.”

Eyes shining, she gave him a slow smile. One of comradery, as if they shared an intimate secret that only the two of them knew.

“The air of heaven is that which blows between a horse’s ears.” She stepped onto the lowest rail and still was several inches shorter than Evan. “That’s an Arabian proverb.”

“What was yer first horse’s name?” Evan didn’t know why he asked, but he didn’t want this new unspoken unity between them to end.

Her face took on a faraway look, and a secret smile arced her pink lips. “Sammy. He was a white pony. A gift for my fifth birthday. I had been riding for two years by then.”

“Sammy? No’ Sugar or Snowflake or Cotton?”

She made a face at him then climbed up to perch on the top rail. “That was his name when Papa bought him. I didn’t think it was fair to make him learn another.” Hands at her sides to balance her bottom, Sophronie cut him a sidelong look. “What about you? What was your first horse’s name?”

Evan chuckled and climbed up to sit beside her. Only a couple of inches separated their thighs. He hadn’t done this in decades. Not since he was a young lad. Even then, he’d been fascinated with horseflesh. “He was a geldin’ named Sandy. I was eight years old.”

“So I’ve been riding longer than you have,” she said with such glee, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Ye’re a wee competitive thing, aren’t ye?” He nudged her shoulder with his.

She shrugged. “I suppose I am.”

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. The sun rose above the Scotch pine forest in the distance. “We probably should return to the house for breakfast.”

With a nod, Sophronie swung a leg over the rail then jumped to the ground. She glanced at the horses. “This was nice. Thank you for letting me intrude.”

“Ye’re never an intrusion, lass.” He took her hand and began to lead her toward the manor house. “I enjoy yer company.”

After several paces, she withdrew her hand from his. She searched his face, her expression a mixture of bewilderment and wariness. “I need to change before breaking my fast. I’ll see you then.”

She broke into a trot.

She was running away. Evan was convinced she felt this thing blooming between them, but Sophronie, being Sophronie, fought her feelings every step of the way.

“Ye canna run forever, my obstinate lass. I mean to chase ye until ye run into my arms.”