Page 16 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

“That’s right. When you and Miriam were caught racing your horses through Covent Garden, you didn’t mind being caught, did you?” Violet asked with a laugh as she turned toward one of the carriages that was to take all the ladies to the nearby hill.

I minded Ma finding out.

Celia hardly cared what the rest of the ton thought. It had been a great adventure, something thrilling to do, until Marianne said just how disappointed she was that Celia was no true lady, after all.

“That was different,” Celia said eventually, though she still made no move to follow her sister.

“Then, you are coming?” Violet called, waving to the carriage she was about to climb into.

“One minute.” Celia glanced away, noting that one man was missing from their party. It didn’t take long for him to join them.

The Duke of Hardbridge strode out of the house within seconds, looking as different from the other gentlemen as night looked from day.

He wore another one of those long coats that hung behind him, his waistcoat tight around his waist and no tailcoat to be seen. Rather than a cravat, he wore a thin black tie that hung loose around his throat, revealing once again a sliver of skin. He hadn’t bothered with a top hat as every other gentleman there wore, so his dark curly hair was clearly on show, tousled around his ears.

A wild idea of crawling into the Duke’s lap the night before came to her mind. She imagined running her fingers through his hair and hearing his deep voice call to her…

“Lass?”

She started when she realized he was indeed speaking to her.

“What is this?” he asked, nodding his head toward the gentlemen.

“A race. The prize is a picnic. Will you be joining them?”

He frowned, plainly showing how much he thought this was no prize at all.

“If I raced, it would be unfair to these…” He waved in the direction of the other men.

“People?” Celia said rather sharply, prompting him to raise his eyebrows. “A gentleman shouldn’t aim to insult his peers, Your Grace.”

“Hmm.” He didn’t look convinced by the idea. “I rode in battle. You think I couldn’t ride up a hill?”

“It’s not about winning or losing.” She stepped toward him. “Lesson number one, Sir?—”

“Yer Grace,” he reminded her with a thoroughly amused smile.

“Your Grace,”she muttered through gritted teeth. “Lesson number one—if you want to find a bride, then do not make yourself the outcast, and do not treat others as your inferiors. It only makes you look proud.”

He smirked a little, and she knew at once exactly just how proud he truly was.

“At least try not to looksoproud,” she pointed out.

“Aye, as ye wish, lass.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment and walked toward the other horses, without so much as a good day.

She stared after him, her jaw slack as he picked his horse. Inevitably, he chose the largest horse, a great brutish-looking stallion that the other gentlemen had avoided for its size.

It bucked once as Lord Crampton approached, but with one grasp of the reins, the Duke of Hardbridge had it under control. The chestnut beast bowed its head to the Duke, practically leaning its forehead against the Duke’s.

How did he do that?

Celia couldn’t help admiring him. Never had she seen a man with such command over a horse before.

When one of the stable boys refused to saddle the stallion, quivering at his side, the Duke took the saddle from the boy’s hands. He said something in the boy’s ear, and to Celia’s surprise, whatever the Duke said actually made the boy smile.

Celia stared after the boy in wonder as he hurried off.

The Duke of Hardbridge now saddled the horse. At first, the stallion complained, stomping one hoof and flicking its ears backward.