Page 3

Mal

“That’s a good lass,” Malcolm Campbell crooned whisper-soft to the ebony mare at his side, his words nearly drowned out by the rhythmic clop of the horse’s hooves against the cobblestone floor of the stables.

Her ears twitched toward his praise, and she let out a contented rumbling snort.

She dipped her head, her whiskered nose nuzzling into his chest. A huff of laughter burst from him.

Cheeky wee thing . Jasmine was by far the sweetest horse on the estate.

Which was why Malcolm was currently leading the lovely mare out for the new Countess of Bentley’s morning ride with her husband.

Malcolm’s pulse ticked rapidly against his throat. He couldnae deny he was excited to set eyes on the new countess. Word had spread swiftly across the estate: the countess was a bonnie lass, the most stunning woman to set foot upon this earth. Heavy praise, that.

Mr. Porter, Thornfield Hall’s stable master, passed Malcolm and Jasmine, leading a large chestnut gelding with white socks. They disappeared out of the stable entry with a flick of the chestnut’s dark auburn tail.

The stable master’s deep baritone carried back into the stables. “Good morning, my lord. My lady.”

Malcolm’s heart echoed the clop of hooves.

Time to see what all the blether was about.

He and Jasmine exited the stable and turned the corner.

And Malcolm’s feet stopped working. Everything stopped working.

His lungs. His heart. His brain. He just stood there, stock-still, blinking dumbly.

Because the woman standing next to the Earl, wearing a simple sage riding habit, was more than stunning.

She was otherworldly.

Her rose-gold hair, tucked beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat, shimmered like spun sunlight. He’d never seen hair that color before. Browns and blacks, reds and auburns, wheat blonde or golden, aye. But that rosy hue? It was as if a blacksmith had melded gold and copper together.

She laughed at something the Earl said, a melodic sound that tickled his senses.

Her cheeks bunched over her smile, her dainty nose wrinkling.

It was a true smile. One that took over a person’s entire face.

No artifice. Sparkling eyes crinkling at the corners, plum-pink lips parting to reveal even white teeth.

Bonnie was too tame a word for the sheer beauty of this woman.

She was an unfettered dawn over an endless field of heather in the misty glens of Scotland.

Malcolm’s arm jerked, and he had to forcefully tear his gaze away from the woman. He glanced at Jasmine—a very impatient Jasmine who was tossing her head with restless energy.

“Sorry, lass,” he murmured and somehow managed to get his feet to lift and drop, propelling them forward again. He paused in front of the countess, and she turned from her husband, directing the full force of that smile on Malcolm.

His throat went dry, his tongue deserted him, and his heart tumbled out of his chest. Oh God.

Her eyes . Malcolm was sure there was something he was supposed to be doing.

Or words he was supposed to be saying. Or air he was supposed to be breathing.

But he was too busy drowning in the sea that was her blue-green gaze.

Her gloved fingers fluttered at her breast, and her cheeks turned the most fetching shade of pink as he stared at her. Stared at her like he was a daft man. And right now, he certainly was daft. Because he swore he heard her breath catch when their gazes clashed.

Leather pulled over the rough callouses of his palms, the skin catching on the material of his gloves, pulling him back to the present.

Someone took Jasmine from him and led her up to the countess.

And then the rare beauty was turning away from him, and Mr. Porter was assisting her into the saddle.

Malcolm’s gaze and body followed her, pulled in her direction without any conscious thought, tracking her form as she and the Earl rode off toward the riding path that traveled through the estate.

A hand whacked down hard on Malcolm’s head. He ducked away and winced. “Och!” He rubbed at his smarting head. “What was that for?” He glanced over at a glaring Mr. Porter.

“Gather your wits, lad,” the man said firmly.

“I was just—” Malcolm paused, floundering, his mind a hopelessly tangled mess.

“What you were doing was not much of anything. Just gaped at her like buffoon. Couldn’t even lead her mare up to her. Fortunate for you, the Earl knows of your competence with horses, otherwise he’d sack you for being a complete paper skull just now.”

Malcolm’s stare inadvertently found its way back to the countess, a mere speck in the distance. “I was no’ prepared,” he murmured.

For her.

“Well, now you’ve seen her. Be ready next time. You can’t be panting after the master’s pretty wife. You’ll find yourself dismissed…or worse.”