Page 47 of The Lord Meets His Lady
Her thumbnail dug into the beam. She stood on the periphery of his notice like some dismissed servant. The gentle, charming lord had been replaced by a surly man in black, and she was at a loss what to do.
Lord Bowles grabbed a wool blanket from Khan’s stall and set it unfolded on the gray’s back. The horse chortled, arching his neck.
“It’s as if he’s talking to you,” she mused.
“He does. All the time.” Lord Bowles rubbed a spot behind the horse’s ear. Khan stilled, his dark eyes liquid and restful.
“He’s content,” she said wistfully. “Must be the way you take care of him.”
Lord Bowles angled his face her way, the corner of his mouth just visible over his collar, the line softer.
“I haven’t properly introduced you to Khan, have I?”
“I don’t know, milord. Horses, they frighten me.”
“Weren’t you the one holding the lead horse’s bridle that night on Devil’s Causeway?”
“Out of necessity…to help the coachman.”
“Exactly.” His eyes glittered with challenge. “You had the courage to leave your old life, bravely traveling alone to find a grandmother you’ve never met. And you’re afraid of a horse?”
“One kicked me when I was a little girl.”
“An unfortunate thing, but you survived. Don’t judge all horses by the one. Come,” he coaxed, extending his hand.
Stepping gingerly away from the post, she reached out and put her hand in his. Khan didn’t move, save his twitching ears. The four-legged creature had to sense her fear. His long-lashed eyes watched her watching him, and she knew. Silly as it sounded, befriending Khan opened a door to knowing Lord Bowles.
She offered the horse her other hand. Nostrils flaring, he dipped his head. A velvety muzzle rubbed her palm. Whiskered lips tickled her skin, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“He thinks you’re going to feed him an apple,” Lord Bowles murmured.
Inklings of the old fright thawed. This was new territory, being friendly with a creature larger and different from her. “I’m better with mechanisms than with people or animals.”
“You’re doing fine.” Lord Bowles inched closer, his pressure warm at her side. “Go ahead. Touch him.”
His quiet words sent a quiver across her backside. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“Here.” He raised their joined hands. “Behind his ear. He loves it.”
Gloved fingers twined with her hand, guiding her. Her palm grazed fine hairs behind Khan’s ear, the sensations filling her. Leather and softness. Darkness and candlelight.
Did the master of Pallinsburn have a tender spot?
“If you want to get on his good side, feed him apples and scratch here,” Lord Bowles said near her ear.
Rain cascaded from the heavens, pounding the barn. Coat buttons pressed her spine. Her breathing found a rhythm with Lord Bowles’s, steady and deep. Peaceful and calm.
“Do the same things work for you?”
“A dangerous question.” His voice vibrated against her hood. “Are you sure you want the answer?”
Shutting her eyes, she leaned back. Time could’ve stopped. How good it was to lean back and rest against solid, trustworthy male. His strength was a warm blanket, tender and reassuring. The escape north, the hunt for her grandmother, her choices—even choices for the better—wore her down. This new life meant pushing against the grain of old habits and finding a new way to live.
Couldn’t she give in to carnal wants at least once? Who would know? She missed sex.
Khan chortled. Eyes opening, Genevieve’s head snapped forward. Lord Bowles slid his hand down Khan’s neck, along the horse’s ribs, widening the gap between them. She stood alone, her body cooling at the loss. The storm pounded the roof, but inside, the air stirred thickly. The master of Pallinsburn had to feel it, yet he continued unfolding the blanket.
Heat radiated from Khan. The steed was truly magnificent. A black mane, a charcoal muzzle, and four black stockings offset his silver-gray coat.
