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Heput one finger to his lips to indicate she also needed to take care.

Shenodded and, without hesitation, slipped her fine-boned fingers into his ham-like grip.

Shouldthey be discovered, explaining why he and Althelia were closeted in the stall, silent as church mice, might take a wee bit of doing. He had no desire to look down the barrel of a dueling pistol as the duke or one of his sons demanded satisfaction on the field of honor.

“OnceMaddock has them in their stalls, he’ll brush them down,” she whispered, releasing his hand and picking a piece of hay off her gown. “We can sneak out then.”

“Aye,” Owen whispered back.

Coconspirators, they grinned at each other.

Hehad smiled more since arriving at HefferwickshireHouse than in the past decade.

Thehorses’ steady clip-clop, clip-clop passed by the stall and then turned to shuffling as they docilely stepped into their assigned stalls. The sound of brushing soon commenced, accompanied by the stable hand’s murmured assurances.

Owenpeeked out and, satisfied that the passage was clear and the outside door still open, signaled to Althelia that they could go, hopefully undetected.

Whenshe unexpectedly slipped her hand into his palm, his heart toppled from his chest and plopped at her feet—hers to do with as she wished, if she only knew the power she had over him.

I’m in a bloody lot of trouble.

Handin hand, as if it were the most natural thing in all the world, they tiptoed the stable’s length. Once outside, he exhaled the lungful of air he’d held for fear of discovery and released their entwined fingers.

Asthey headed toward the great house, Owen laced his hands behind his back lest anyone observe them and suggest anything untoward had occurred.

Ithad, but that secret couldn’t be made known.

“Why did you kiss me, Owen?”

Ofcourse, Althelia being Althelia, would ask that.

BecauseI couldn’t help it?

Because, LadyAltheliaWestbrook, you have mesmerized me?

Because, although I have no right and nothing to offer a duke’s daughter, I fear that I’m falling in love with you?

Agrizzled gardener rounded the corner, shovel in hand, and saved Owen from answering. His weathered face crumpled into a wide smile, exposing a missing front tooth, as he tipped his hat.

“LadyAlthelia. Sir.” He veered a practiced glance heavenward. “I’d guess we’ll have snow before long.”

“Oh, I do hope so, Barret. Christmas snow is always the best,” Althelia said. “But not before Cassius, Darius, and Layton arrive.”

Conflictraged behind Owen’s ribs.

Snowmight well delay his departure after Christmas. However, the things that had been his priority a week ago had somehow faded in importance.

“Althelia?” Tall and regal, Margaret, the Duchess of Latham, stood in the entry, stunning in a maroon gown trimmed in cream lace with a ruby brooch pinned at the collar and matching ruby teardrop earrings dangling from her ears. Only a few silver threads peppered her auburn hair, much like her daughter’s.

“YourGrace.” Owen dipped his chin deferentially.

Theprobing look the duchess leveled Owen suggested she knew exactly what he’d been up to with her daughter, and guilt heated his nape.

“Come along, dear.” The duchess motioned for Althelia to ascend the stone risers. “I need you in the kitchen for a few minutes before we have tea.”

“Of course, Mama.” Althelia trotted up the steps, pieces of straw clinging to her hem.

“The men are in the billiard’s room, Mr. Lockington, if you’d care to join them before tea.” The duchess inclined her head. “I’ll send Simms to show you the way.”

Owendetected no frost in the duchess’s smile, tone, or brown eyes.

“Thank you.” He angled his head. “There was something I wished to speak to HisGrace about.”

Makethat three somethings: Sampson, a pup, and investing in Owen’s coal mine.

Afourth something tried to shove its way to the front of that important list, but his reason had returned, and Owen staunchly refused to totter down that dangerous path.

Nowwas not the time, in any event.

Asshe led Althelia away, the duchess linked her arm through Althelia’s elbow and lowered her head to speak into her daughter’s ear. Probably warning her away from Owen as any good mother worth her salt was wont to do.

ButAlthelia, the delightful minx, reached her other hand behind her and waggled her fingers in a secret farewell.

Everycarefully laid plan Owen had erected disintegrated at that moment, leaving him standing in imaginary rubble.

“Bollocks.” He scraped his fingers through his mass of hair. “I’m in trouble up to my limp neckcloth.”