Page 40 of A Heart Disguised 1

“There,” he said, his voice low and rich. “A perfect fit.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant me on the horse or his hands on my waist, but either way, I was breathless. “Th-thank you, Your Grace,” I managed to stammer out, my cheeks aflame.

The duke mounted his own horse with effortless grace, making my struggle seem even more comical in comparison. As we set off from the stables, the castle’s imposing silhouette receded behind us, giving way to a breathtaking panorama of rolling hills and lush meadows. The morning sun bathed everything in a golden glow, making the dew-kissed grass sparkle like a sea of emeralds. It was a view straight out of a fairy tale, and for a moment, I forgot my precarious position atop this enormous beast.

That is, until my mare decided to veer off course, apparently enticed by a particularly appealing patch of clover. I tugged desperately at the reins, my knuckles white with effort, but to no avail.

“No, no, no,” I muttered under my breath. “Left, you stubborn creature. Left!”

The duke’s amused voice floated over. “Having trouble steering, little dove?”

I felt my cheeks burn. Of course he would notice my ineptitude. “Not at all, Your Grace,” I lied through clenched teeth, trying to salvage what little dignity I had left. “I’m simply… taking the scenic route!”

Just then a rabbit darted across our path, startling my mare into a sudden gallop. I let out a most undignified shriek, clinging to the horse’s neck like a limpet to a rock. My life flashed before my eyes—admittedly, a rather short and unimpressive montage.

“Make it stop!” I wailed, my carefully crafted facade crumbling faster than a sandcastle in a spring flood. “I’m too young and pretty to die!”

The duke’s stallion easily caught up, and I felt strong arms encircle me, hauling me back into a proper sitting position. His touch sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with my near-death experience.

“Thank you,” I gasped, heart pounding like a war drum. Scrambling for any shred of composure, I added, “I was merely… testing the horse’s reflexes. She passed with flying colors, wouldn’t you say?”

“Of course,” the duke replied, his voice rich with barely suppressed laughter. I could practically hear the smirk in his tone, and it made me want to sink into the ground.

No sooner had we resumed our leisurely pace than we encountered a slightly rocky incline. My mare, apparently deciding that a brisk trot was in order, picked up speed once more. I bounced in the saddle like a sack of potatoes in a cart on a cobblestone street, another scream tearing from my throat.

“Oh, sweet Aethoria, save me!” I yelped, my legs gripping the horse’s sides in sheer panic, which only encouraged her to go faster. In that moment, I swore I’d never so much as look at a horse again if I survived this ordeal.

Before I could topple off entirely, I was lifted bodily and deposited in front of the duke on his stallion. His strong arms encircled me, one hand holding the reins while the other steadied me against his chest.

“Perhaps it would be safer if you rode with me, little dove,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

I nodded mutely, too mortified to speak. After a moment, the duke asked, “I thought you said you knew how to ride and loved it?”

Oh, heavens. My little white lie had come back to haunt me. “Ah, well,” I stammered, scrambling for an explanation. “I’m used to… smaller horses. These are practically giants compared to the ones at home! More like furry mountains with legs, really.”

The duke’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, and I suddenly became acutely aware of our proximity. His solid form pressed against my back, strong arms bracketing me as he held the reins. A wave of heat washed over me, my face flushing for reasons entirely unrelated to my recent exertions.

My mind reeled, torn between embarrassment and a thrilling awareness of every point of contact between us. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the warmth of his body seeping through my clothes. It was… distracting, to say the least.

In my flustered state, I somehow managed to jostle the duke’s arms, causing the stallion to veer sharply to the left. “Oh no, not again,” I whispered, my eyes widening in horror as I realized what was about to happen.

Before either of us could react, we were tumbling into a muddy ditch. I landed with an ungraceful splash, my riding skirt flying up and my hat sailing off into parts unknown. The duke, to his credit, managed to land somewhat more gracefully beside me.

As we sat there, covered in mud and bits of grass, I realized with horror that my riding skirt had torn away, leaving me in nothing but the breeches and jacket. I looked like a drowned rat at a masquerade ball—if rats wore emerald velvet and had a penchant for mud baths.

I looked at the duke, expecting to see anger or frustration. Instead, I found him looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher, a mix of amusement and something… warmer. A glob of mud slid down his noble nose, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing hysterically.

“Well, little dove,” he said, plucking a piece of grass from my mud-splattered hair, “it seems you’ve managed to make this ride far more exciting than I anticipated. I must say, your equestrian skills are… unique.”

I could only groan in response, wondering if it was possible to die of embarrassment. If not, I was certainly giving it my best effort. “Your Grace,” I mumbled, “I don’t suppose we could pretend this entire morning never happened?”

His answering laugh, rich and genuine, made my heart skip a beat. “And deprive myself of such delightful memories? I think not, little dove. I think not.”

Despite the warmth his words stirred in me, the chill of wet mud was becoming impossible to ignore. With as much dignity as I could muster—which, admittedly, wasn’t much at this point—I gingerly rose to my feet.

Attempting to pat myself clean was a futile effort, given the sheer amount of mud coating me from head to toe. I looked like I’d been wrestling with a particularly aggressive mud monster—and lost spectacularly. As I surveyed the damage, I silently thanked the heavens that my riding jacket was at least long enough to cover my most… telling areas. The emerald velvet, once so pristine, now bore a striking resemblance to a swamp creature’s hide. Still, it served its purpose in maintaining my precarious disguise, for which I was immensely grateful.

My eyes darted nervously to the duke, who was also rising from our muddy misadventure. Even covered in muck, he managed to look regal. How terribly unfair.

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