Page 19 of A Duchess of Mystery (The Mismatched Lovers #3)

T he next morning, when Isabella went into the stable block to groom her horse, she discovered someone was there before her.

Richard was in the next stable to Sultan’s, grooming Douglas, the cob he’d ridden the day before.

Further down the row, the scrawny animals he and his man had arrived on were busy enjoying a breakfast of boiled barley, a feed that she herself had suggested to Amos would put weight on them.

In addition to taking to riding with gusto, Isabella had put herself out to learn as much as she could about the care of her horses as well, something Marcus had regularly poked fun at her for.

With determination, she tried to shut out the memory of his mocking voice as he’d berated her, a sneer on his face as he spoke.

“I have servants to do that, and yet you manage to show me up every day by behaving like a common farm girl, which I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at considering your origins.

” He’d never been able to understand her newly discovered love for everything to do with horses.

For him, they’d always been a means to an end, something to gamble on, to drive at breakneck speed for a dare, or to leap enormous fences with on the hunting field.

For her, they were creatures of gentle beauty and elegance who allowed her to share their friendship and speed.

For a moment, the contrast between Marcus and Richard, in his shirt sleeves yet again and with his dark hair flopping forward over his eyes in a far too attractive manner, couldn’t have been greater.

It had been a long time since she’d thought her late husband handsome, but his cousin, well, he was different.

Here was a man whose rugged good looks could warm a girl’s ardor if she weren’t careful.

They were certainly making her heart flutter all over again as she watched him grooming Douglas.

At least this morning he was wearing clean clothes as he looked up from brushing under the cob’s belly. “Good morning, Isabella.” How cheerful he sounded, as though he didn’t have a care in the world, which he probably didn’t. How wonderful it would be to be like that.

He grinned. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I would emulate you and take a morning ride around the estate. I need to get a better look at it, I think, and more used to being on a horse. It’s a long time since I was a boy here, and my memory is a little hazy.”

She stopped outside his stable, unsure if she was annoyed at his presumption or flattered, and regarded his casual dress.

Did he have no sense of how a duke should be attired?

Marcus would never have been seen dead anywhere unless dressed appropriately, and would never have been seen dead in the stables.

Although, now she thought about it, he had indeed died without his coat on.

That would teach him. He hadn’t been ready for that, had he?

She pushed out of her head the unwelcome memory of his body lying on the library rug in a pool of blood and something else she hadn’t wanted to look at. “Do you normally groom your own horse?”

“I noted that you did, so I thought it would be good if I did too. Yesterday, one of the grooms prepared Douglas for me.” He patted Douglas’s solid gray neck.

“Today, I thought I should get to know him a little better, and what better way to do that than to get him ready to be ridden myself. Having been in an infantry regiment, I need all the experience I can get with horses.”

“An admirable sentiment, and one to which I adhere.” Isabella went into Sultan’s stable and slipped a halter onto him.

“I always think that if I were a man and had to fight, I should be sure and join a cavalry regiment. Why would anyone want to walk everywhere when they could be riding?” She tied Sultan up and ran an appraising hand over his back where the saddle would go, checking for any lumps and bumps, something Old Amos had taught her early on.

Just smooth, silky coat under her hand with never a blemish.

Richard’s laugh, a little muffled, came from somewhere under Douglas’s belly where he was picking out his horse’s hooves. “Perhaps you’re correct. I never did much riding as a boy, though, and have no pretensions to being called a horseman. Which was why I chose the infantry as my career.”

Isabella began to brush Sultan’s already clean coat, which was just beginning to lose its shine as his winter coat pushed through, a sure sign cold weather wasn’t far off.

“Did you not have your own pony as a child? I know Marcus did, because there’s a painting of him on it in the dining room above the fireplace.

” The urge to run inside and snatch it down and put her fist through the young rider’s smug expression almost overwhelmed her.

A chuckle escaped her lips at the thought of what Atkins might say if he were to see her do that.

The possibility that he would help her in her vandalism existed, though.

“Dora and I rode the garden pony,” Richard said. “There, feet all picked out. Would you like me to carry your saddle down from the tack room. I know which it is, because I asked Amos.”

Isabella straightened up, aware of a sensation of being strong armed into something.

However, he had offered, so she might as well let him.

She inclined her head with all the graciousness she’d learned as a duchess.

“Thank you. I have to admit, it is quite heavy so that would be very kind of you.” She paused.

“I like to do this all by myself, usually, but I won’t say no to a little help from time to time.

” There. She’d been polite to him. Not so hard.

And she had her heart firmly under control.

His face appeared at the vertical bars separating the two loose boxes.

He was smiling, and to her surprise, contrived to look nothing like Marcus.

Perhaps because the only time Marcus had ever smiled was when he was thinking of doing something horrible.

Not a nice smile. Ever. Unless, of course, he’d had a different smile for his mistress.

That woman. He pushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes in a gesture that went a long way to breaking her resolution not to let her heart take over. “I’ll only be a minute.”

She’d smiled back before she could think of a reason not to.

“Thank you.” He was far too handsome with his unruly, over-long dark hair, the kindness in his brown eyes and a mouth that seemed to want to do nothing but smile.

Or kiss. For a moment, as she watched him walk down the corridor and into the tackroom, she let herself wonder what it would be like to be kissed by a man like him.

A real man. Not an effete member of the ton.

Not a man who’d bought her from her father and considered her his property to do with as he wished.

Not a fat and sweaty man with lust in his eyes who just wanted a quick fumble in an alcove at a ball when his wife wasn’t looking.

Five minutes later she was leading Sultan out into the yard.

Over on the far side, where the carriage horses were stabled, Amos and Jem, with the help of Jack Watkins, a relatively new arrival to the stable courtyard whom Amos had somewhat uncharitably described as a horseshoe short of a set, were sweeping up after themselves.

Both young men cast surreptitious glances in her direction as they worked, when they thought themselves unobserved.

Amos leaned his broom against the wall and hurried over.

“Shall I give you a leg up, Your Grace?”

“Thank you, Amos. That would be lovely.” Bending, he offered his cupped hands, she set her foot in them, and a moment later she was settling herself in the saddle, while Richard mounted Douglas.

Amos, who could worry like an old woman at times, would no doubt be glad she had someone to ride out with.

He strongly disapproved of her habit of not having one of the grooms accompany her.

She flashed a quick smile in their direction and had the pleasure of seeing the younger one, Jack, color hotly.

He was a thickset youth with a shock of untidy hair and a large nose that always seemed to be running.

Not very prepossessing, but she was nothing if not liberal with her smiles.

Always a good idea to have men in all walks of life ready to perform favors for her.

One never knew when one would need something.

Watching Richard mount brought an unwelcome memory of Marcus and the only time he’d ridden out with her in the ten years of their marriage.

Her shoulder blades twitched in sympathy as she remembered the sting of the whip’s blow across her back when she’d done something he’d perceived as stupid.

He’d been quick to inform her of his opinion of her riding skills, or rather lack of them, and even quicker with the punishment.

That had been early in their relationship, and she’d cried real tears at the pain and humiliation.

However, from then on, it hadn’t taken her long to overcome that reaction and turn a cold, unmoved face to the way he treated her.

The love she’d foolishly allowed herself to feel on her wedding day had rapidly turned to fear, and that, in its turn, had morphed to the hatred she’d had for him at the end.

A hatred she’d done her best to keep secret, too ashamed to allow anyone to discover the truth about how she felt about him.

Pushing those memories away, she bestowed a grateful smile on the head groom as he checked her girth for her and tightened it another hole or two.

Richard turned Douglas towards the yard gates, totally unaware of the thoughts jostling through her mind, and she urged Sultan after him. She must remember that he wasn’t Marcus. He was someone quite different, even though he had the misfortune to resemble his late and unlamented cousin.