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From the gate, which he looked ready to launch himself over, Lord Wennington copied her tone. “Miss Travers—I am begging you—leave him be. Trust me, I have known this animal since birth and he will not let you help him until he is calm.”

“He’s too much like Zeus,” added Bill, and that gave her an idea.

“But he can be gentle like his mother too, I’ve seen it. Fetch her.”

“You heard her! Fetch Juno!” To her surprise, it was Lord Wennington who was agreeing with her. “Fast!”

Lottie heard the thud of boots running across the cobbled stable yard but didn’t dare take her eyes off Hercules until she heard his mother’s hooves clopping back. Someone opened the gate, and in she came.

Miraculously, her presence was all it took for Hercules to slow. He trotted toward her, clearly still unsettled but not in the temper that he had been. Lottie bent for the line again, but rather than put any tension through it this time, fed it through her fingers as she walked toward him.

She was three feet away when he snorted and thrashed his head, ready to fight again, but his mother nudged him with her head.

Almost as if she were reprimanding her offspring, and he stopped.

Then he allowed Lottie to grab the bit and, a half minute later, let her stroke his neck so that Lord Wennington and Bill could also approach.

Between them, the men released him from the offending saddle so that Lottie, aided in no small part by Juno, could walk Hercules toward the gate to the pasture. A gate that was swung open by the viscount just as Lottie released the horse from his bridle.

Together, the two Arabians trotted into the field and the gate closed.

Lottie leaned on it, her gaze fixed on the horses as she sensed Lord Wennington rest beside her. “Shall we get your blistering lecture over with now, my lord, or would you prefer to tear me off a strip later?”

He huffed. “No lecture—merely a thank-you.”

“A thank-you?” She turned to find him watching the horses too. “Are you sure? This is me, after all, and I do exasperate you.”

“That you do.” The corners of his mouth lifted as he continued to stare at mother and son. “But you saved the day, so it would be remiss of me not to give credit where credit is due. Bringing Juno into the fray was a stroke of genius.”

“Gracious.” She really hadn’t expected that. “Did you just give me a compliment? Will wonders never cease?”

He laughed at her sarcasm. Not a full-bellied chuckle, more a gentle expulsion of air. “Try not to ruin this unexpected and unique moment we are sharing, Miss Travers.”

She could not resist teasing him a little bit to see how he would react.

“But I am all astonishment, my Lord Wennington. To get praise . From you . Good gracious. Who knew you had that in you?” She clutched at her chest as if overcome.

“My flabber is well and truly gasted . In fact, it is so gasted I am almost speechless.”

He rewarded her with a proper laugh this time and, to her actual astonishment, it suited him.

It did lovely things to his eyes; enough that she found herself staring into them as she smiled back.

Until his faltered and those mesmerizing dark irises broke contact to dip downward.

“Then allow me to take advantage of that rare occurrence by adding an apology to go with that compliment.”

“For what?” She was intrigued as to which one of his many rude misdemeanors he felt bad about. Especially after yesterday, when he had made it plain he thought she was cheating his aunt by wasting time fraternizing when she was supposed to be working.

“Where to start?” Was it her imagination, or did he look sheepish?

“I owe you an apology for not looking where I was going in Hyde Park. For not thanking you for retrieving Zeus that same day and barking at you instead. For the unforgivable way I refused to accept your later apology when half the blame for what happened in Hyde Park rests squarely on my shoulders.” His eyes lifted as he winced.

“For my curtness over the incident with the soup and the debacle in the pond. For not apologizing sooner.” His smile this time was awkward.

And oh-so-disarming. “Basically, for being an insufferably rude oaf every single time we have collided.”

“Gracious.” Lottie was so staggered by his admission she had no other words.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve wanted to apologize from the outset but…”

“But I would try the patience of a saint?”

“I have no doubt that you would, however…” He shrugged and stared at the horses.

“It is a pathetic excuse, but I am never at my best when I feel foolish and, when I do, sometimes… most times actually… I react badly.” He inhaled deeply, squared his impressive shoulders, and forced himself to face her.

“I’ve repeatedly reacted very badly around you and for that I am truly sorry. ”

It was rather big of him to take ownership of his behavior without blaming her for it. His was also one of the prettiest and most sincere atonements she had ever heard. “Your apology is accepted, my lord.” An answer that pleased him enough to earn her another smile.

“Thank you, Miss Travers. That is very decent of you.”

She could not resist teasing him a little bit more. “Does this armistice mean that we need to make an effort to be civil to each other going forward?” She pulled a face as if she could think of nothing worse and he responded in kind with a grave nod.

“Sadly, yes. I believe it does. Within reason, of course, as I sincerely doubt you can curb your annoying forthrightness all of the time.” There was a twinkle in his dark eyes now, and that suited him more than the smile.

“Any more than you could constantly avoid suppressing your inner curmudgeon. Or your outer curmudgeon for that matter too. But I shall grit my teeth and try to forgive you for it.”

He did a poor job of disguising how much her cheek amused him. “Indeed. We must be realistic in our expectations. The best we can hope for, until I celebrate the day that you and my incorrigible aunt leave me in blessed peace, is feigned toleration and not a miracle.”

“You can be as pessimistic as you want, Lord Wennington, as that is your dreary, doom-and-gloom, no-joy-in-your-soul prerogative. However—and I appreciate that this trait in me will only annoy you further—I am an eternal optimist to my core and I am confident in a miracle. So confident, in fact, that I will wager that you will not celebrate the day that I leave.” Before she thought better of it, her errant index finger prodded him in the center of his chest. It was every bit as solid as she’d imagined it.

“You will dread it instead. Because I am a veritable ray of sunshine and I am determined to make you—my perennially depressing storm-cloud nemesis— like me.”

He folded his arms and regarded her with fake pity.

“My poor, misguided Miss Travers. While I admire your ambition, you have more chance of touching the moon than you do my joyless soul.” Then as if thoroughly fed up with her presence, he stalked off, tossing a mischievous insult over his shoulder as he went.

“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Miss Guided . Mine is certainly all the brighter—simply because you won’t feature in it. ”