Page 8 of My Lord Rogue (Wicked Widows’ League #34)

He saw the effect, and his smile softened—just a touch. “I see I’ve surprised you,” he murmured.

Theo swallowed, unable to find her footing. She turned away, eyes on the shifting shadows beneath the trees.

The party resumed its ride, Lady Amelia keeping a careful distance now. The others, sensing the undercurrents, began to talk more loudly, their laughter brittle and insistent. But Theo hardly heard them.

She let the grey mare fall back from the group, content to watch the bobbing plumes and bright coats from behind. The woods closed in, the air thickening as the sun struggled overhead. She shivered, from cold or from something else.

Teddy kept pace with her, silent for once. She risked a glance and found him watching her with an expression unreadable—neither amused nor triumphant, but almost, impossibly, sad.

She straightened her back, pulled the blue sash tight around her waist, and forced herself to look ahead. The world was shifting, as it always did, but she would not give ground.

Let him chase, if he wished. She would not be caught so easily.

She let herself relax into the rhythm, the slow roll of hoofbeats, the shift and breath of the horse beneath her, the way the wet air beaded on her lashes and made her shiver, just slightly, in her habit.

It would have been easy, here, to lose herself.

She nearly did—until she caught the heavy tread of Teddy’s bay, shadowing her from behind.

When she glanced back, he was barely a length away, the lines of his body so casual it could only have been practiced.

“You said you enjoyed solitude,” he called, voice pitched so only she would hear. “But I think you just enjoy being the first to notice what everyone else has missed.”

She made a show of ignoring him, but the words threaded themselves through her, hot and close. Her mare stumbled slightly at a rut, and Teddy drew up alongside, the bay’s broad chest crowding the path until she could feel the animal’s heat and the crackle of its dark, restless energy.

They pulled up at a clearing, riders fanning out in twos and threes, some already dismounting to stretch their legs and sip from their flasks.

Teddy swung down and, before she could protest, he grasped her waist and lifted her down.

His palms lingered, and for a moment she was painfully aware of the entire world shrinking to the space between them.

“Thank you,” she said, voice brittle.

He stepped closer, not letting go. She saw the flecks of gold in his eyes, the slow, deliberate arc of his smile.

“You’re even more beautiful in the morning light than I imagined when I would read your letters,” he said, low and direct.

She recoiled, but only mentally. Her body was rooted, every cell tuned to the weight of his gaze. “You’re relentless,” she whispered.

He shrugged again. “I told you. I’m only as real as you want me to be.” He reached up—too familiar, too easy—and brushed a stray blonde curl from her brow, his fingers lingering a fraction too long. The gesture was simple, but it undid her.

A flush started at her throat and carried, hot and mortifying, up to her cheeks. She tried to retort, to swat away his hand and his words, but in that instant her mind went blank, she could only stare at the ground, the neat black boots on the trampled grass.

Lady Amelia arrived, perfectly timed, her face an exquisite mask of concern. “Are you quite well, Lady Pattishall? You look a touch flushed.”

Theo summoned all the steel she could find. “Just the ride, I think. Or perhaps the air.”

Amelia’s gaze flicked from Theo to Teddy, weighing, calculating. “I hope it’s not too much for you,” she said, with a hint of false sweetness. “Some of us are more accustomed to such exertion than others.”

Theo managed a thin smile. “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you I’m quite capable.”

Teddy watched the interplay with amusement, but then, as if reminded of his obligations, turned to Amelia. “Lady Amelia, you are a vision, as always. I trust the ride did not tax you overly?”

“Oh, not at all,” Amelia replied, her posture straightening. “My father ensured I was tutored by the best. He would never forgive me if I shamed the family with poor seat or a lack of stamina.”

Teddy smiled—polite, but distant. His attention was already drifting back to Theo.

Amelia pressed on, determined to wrestle the conversation back. “Baron Teddington, I’ve heard so much about your travels. Did you find the women of Paris as forward as they say? Or is that merely a tale for the gossips?”

Teddy’s lips twitched. “They are very forward, Lady Amelia, but none so daring as the English. We breed our own peculiar brand of courage here.” His eyes cut unmistakably to Theo.

Amelia followed his gaze, her own eyes narrowing, but then she smiled, her eyes sharp as a pin. “I’m not sure I’d call it courage. Some might say it’s simply a lack of shame.”

Theo was saved from answering by the call to remount.

Teddy handed her up, his grip steady at her waist, his face close enough for her to smell the hint of tobacco and leather that clung to him.

She felt too vividly the feel of his fingers on her body, the heat of his skin through the fine wool.

When she settled in the saddle, her heart was beating so fast she thought it must be audible, a small animal thudding against her ribs.

She reached up almost unconsciously for the locket at her throat, then remembered with a pang that she’d taken it off.

Teddy nudged his mount alongside hers once more, his presence overwhelming. The others had begun to ride on. “May I ask you a question, Theo?”

She could not trust herself to speak, so she nodded.

“Why invent a suitor when you could have any man you pleased?”

She laughed a little too loudly. “Because I don’t wish for any man. I wish to be left alone.”

He considered this, tilting his head. “But you aren’t alone. Not anymore.”

She glared, fierce in her embarrassment. “That’s your doing.”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “Is it?”

Ahead, the party was slowing, bunching up at a stile that marked the edge of the estate’s wildest meadows. Some riders dismounted to lead their horses over, others waited for the staff to open the gate. There was confusion, a tangle of hooves and chatter. Teddy seized the moment.

“Shall we race to the ridge?” he asked, voice raised for all to hear. “A proper contest, like the old days. Unless, of course, Lady Pattishall is afraid?”

The words cut through the crowd. Heads turned, the men chuckled, the women drew in sharp, delighted breaths.

Theo squared her shoulders. “I am not afraid, Teddington. But if you’re hoping to win, you’ll need a better mount.”

An older gentleman gave a bark of laughter, thumping his riding crop on his thigh in approval.

Teddy grinned, all teeth. “Care to prove it?”

“Gladly,” she said, and before she could second-guess herself, she urged her mare into a canter, rushing through the gate as it swung open.

Teddy was after her in an instant, the bay’s stride eating up the ground between them. The rest of the riders surged to follow, but for a moment it was just the two of them, flying over the dew-soaked meadow, the wind screaming past and the mist tearing loose in banners behind.

At the crest, they drew up, breathing hard. Teddy’s face was flushed, his eyes alight.

“Well done,” he said. “You apparently haven’t lost your touch.”

She laughed, out of breath but triumphant. “Nor you, it seems.”

Below, the rest of the party approached, Lady Amelia’s mare straining to close the gap. Lady Amelia was stiff and pale with fury, the older men, jovial and winded. Verity, several lengths behind, wore a satisfied smile.

For the first time since Charles’s death, Theo felt alive. Not safe, not comfortable—but vivid, every nerve sparking. She didn’t know what would happen next, or how she would manage it, but as they rode back toward the house, she understood she had never been less alone.

And she was not sure she minded it.