Page 7

Three

HefferwickshireStables

A COUPLE OF TENSE SECONDS LATER

Intenton freeing the stuck puppy, and amid the poor little beggar’s mewling and his distraught mama’s whines and growls, Owen hadn’t heard Althelia enter the stables. He first became aware of her presence when she shoved past him, almost causing him to drop the rescued pup.

Angersparked in her blue eyes, darkened to the color of the sea at nighttime with her fright and wrath.

Accustomedto people fearing him and reacting defensively, he held his tongue. It shouldn’t sting that this wood sprite directed her ire toward him without knowing the situation, but it did.

Uncurlingfrom his crouched position, he carefully extended the hungry week-old pup, cupped in his hand and rooting around in search of a nipple. “I came in to spend time with the horses and heard this little fellow’s distressed cries. He’d caught his leg, and his mum couldn’t free him.”

Owenpointed to a slim opening, no more than half an inch along the bottom of one wall.

“You probably want to get that fixed,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral and without a trace of accusation. “Tuck a cloth in there or nail a board temporarily.”

“Poor darling.” LadyAthelia scooped the puppy into her hands and nuzzled its tiny neck. “There’s a dear. Mr. Lockington rescued your pup, Inez. You can stop growling at him now.”

Inezwagged her speckled tail and began licking the puppy when LadyAthelia laid him by the dog’s belly with its dual rows of swollen nipples. The famished little fiend latched on to a teat like a barnacle to a ship.

“I presume the handsome black-eared fellow that greeted me when I arrived earlier is the sire?” Bracing a shoulder on the wall, Owen folded his arms, which people often compared to tree branches.

“Yes. That is Apollo.” A throaty, feminine chuckle filled the cubicle. “He thinks he is the lord of the estate. Papa permits him the illusion. He’s proud as a peacock of his pups too.”

“Your father or Apollo?” Owen could scarcely credit his witty rejoinder. Humor wasn’t his strong suit.

“Apollo, of course,” Althelia replied with a you-cannot-be-serious upward sweep of bronze-tipped sooty lashes.

Owenhad come to the stables, where he’d always sought refuge. He’d never been able to afford to keep a horse, but the magnificent beasts drew him like waves to the shore. He would own a horse large enough to carry his eighteen-stone weight someday.

Ifrestarting the mining proved as profitable as he hoped it would—needed it to be. His entire future lay in that enterprise. After inheriting it from his grandfather, he’d invested every cent he’d saved the past decade and still needed investors to make the dream come true.

You could always use the earl’s money.

Onlyas a last resort, and Owen wasn’t that desperate yet.

Praythat he never was because, though humble, his self-respect meant everything to him. If he accepted the tarnished funds he viewed as nothing less than his father’s attempt to ease a guilty conscience, could Owen live with his self-loathing?

Altheliaangled her head, that swath of burnished hair shining in the lamplight. She stood so close he could see the flecks of gold in her blue eyes, the color of LochMor on the Isle of Skye.

Hisgut tightened, and moisture broke out upon his brow at the revelation that cudgeled him like a battering ram.

Hewas attracted to her.

Shedidn’t shy away from him or avoid his gaze like most refined ladies of genteel breeding, which perplexed him. Usually, women couldn’t look past his rough appearance and size, but she seemed not to notice or didn’t care.

Why?

Itdidn’t matter why.

LadyAltheliaWestbrook was an enigma he wasn’t bloody well going to try to unravel.

Notonly wasn’t Owen inclined to spend time on such a futile task, but he had other things occupying his mind. Mainly the thought that had occurred to him as he walked to the stables.

Would the Westbrooks consider investing in his mine?

Owencouldn’t very well present the question as a newly arrived guest, but in a few days?