Page 64 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

“What’s her name?” Penelope asked, barely above a breath.

“She doesn’t have one,” Ramsay said. “Not yet.”

The girl blinked up at him.

“You get to choose.”

She looked back at the pony. The animal gave a slow huff and finally turned her head, snuffling toward the gate with all the energy of an aging duchess summoned to court.

Penelope’s eyes widened. “She’s… fat.”

“She’s well-fed,” Ramsay corrected.

The girl’s lips twitched. “She looks like a muffin.”

Ramsay blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“A muffin,” she said, more certain now. “A big one. With a fluffy top.”

He gave her a look. “Muffin? You want to call her Muffin?”

Penelope nodded, this time without hesitation.

Eleanor looked as though she were swallowing a laugh.

Ramsay grunted. “Right. Of course. That’s… fearsome.”

Muffin—a ridiculous name, truly—was about as intimidating as a loaf of bread. Ramsay brushed her mane, muttering apologies for what was about to be asked of her.

The pony took another indifferent step forward and lowered her nose toward the girl’s outstretched hand.

Penelope froze. Then—very slowly—she reached up and touched the velvety muzzle. A sharp, audible breath left her lungs.

“She’s soft,” she whispered.

“She likes you,” Eleanor said warmly.

“No,” Ramsay murmured. “She likes hay. And not being bothered. But you might be tolerable to her.”

Penelope gave him a look that was half glare, half wonder. Her hand stayed where it was, buried now in the pony’s mane. The animal huffed again and leaned into her touch.

“She’s really mine?” Penelope asked.

Ramsay shifted. “Well. She’s not going anywhere.”

Penelope turned her head and beamed—beamed—at Eleanor.

Eleanor smiled back and leaned in to whisper, “Why don’t you stay with her a while? Let her get used to you.”

The child nodded gravely.

Eleanor stepped back, brushing her hands together and turned to him. “She’ll be talking to that pony all afternoon,” she said softly. “You’ve done something good.”

Ramsay looked at her then, the way the sun caught in her hair. Her face was soft, open in a way he hadn’t seen in days.

And just like that, Ramsay’s lungs forgot how to work.

He cleared his throat. “Don’t look at me like that.”