Page 47 of What a Scot Wants
Snatching an apple for her horse, she headed back to see if Ronan had answered Hilda on whether he would be accompanying her. The first thing she saw in the foyer was a lavish bouquet of white lilies. She nearly stumbled. Silas had always sent them on her birthdays, and after the night at the Golden Antler an arrangement had appeared.
With shaking hands, she approached. The thick card stock was marked with anSC, leaving no doubt of their sender’s identity. Trying not to breathe in their sickly sweet scent, Imogen glanced at the closest footman.
“Deliver these to the nearest hospital or children’s orphanage.”
“Yes, milady,” he said with a bow.
“If any others arrive, instruct the staff to do the same.”
Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned. Imogen was joined by a man descending the staircase, but it wasn’t the duke as she expected. It was his valet, Vickers. He bowed. “My lady, the duke has asked whether he needs to procure a mount for you. One suited to”—he cleared his throat, his face impassive—“old ladies.”
Imogen couldn’t help it: she laughed, the sound echoing in the foyer. “Inform His Grace that while I’m thankful for his thoughtfulness, I have my own mount.”
“Very well, my lady.”
She made her way to the mews and called for her horse to be saddled. Her usual mare, not so aptly named Temperance, was a fierce gray Andalusian with what seemed like boundless stamina. She snorted and pawed the ground, as though expressing her displeasure that Imogen had taken Pudding out on the previous ride. Imogen rubbed her nose, murmuring soft apologies. “You’re still my favorite girl. You know that.”
Imogen was so busy stroking Temperance’s ego that she didn’t immediately notice that Ronan had come up behind her. She sucked in a breath at the sheer presence of him, forcing her brain tonotthink of when she’d been with him last.
His eyes, more blue than gray today, met hers. “That’s the horse ye want to ride?”
“Is there a problem, Your Grace?”
“She’s a handful, I’ve heard,” he said as a groom walked his massive horse, Zeus, toward them.
Imogen didn’t answer and climbed into the stirrup. Urging the mare into a trot, she rode sedately toward Hyde Park. Her blood coursed in her veins. Oh, she had missed this. She could sense that Temperance wanted to run, but until they reached Rotten Row, where it was safe to do so, Imogen held the mare at a tame canter.
“Where’s Pudding?” Ronan asked, drawing alongside her. Temperance dutifully tried to take a mouthful out of the stallion’s hide. Ronan’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Did she just try tobitemy horse?”
Imogen grinned. “You said it yourself. She’s a handful. And Pudding’s having a nap back in Scotland.”
“Yer horse needs training.”
“Says any male ever challenged by a female.”
It gave her great pleasure to see his mouth drop open, his eyes snapping to hers. She arched an eyebrow, aware of the game she was playing.Think charm and seduction, she told herself. Leaning slightly forward, she could feel his gaze drop to her bodice and the visible swells of her breasts. Unlike her previous riding habit, this one displayed her bosom to perfection.
“Care to make a wager?”
His eyes had darkened considerably. “Wager?”
“A race, Your Grace. To the end of the Row. Winner gets…” She paused, tapping her chin.
“A kiss.”
She laughed. “Too pedestrian. How about a favor of the winner’s choosing, to be claimed at any time?”
“Agreed!”
Imogen patted the mare, her blood surging as they took off. Temperance was no match for the massive stallion in size, but in speed, she was like the wind. They were neck and neck for most of the ride. She sensed, rather than saw, Ronan’s astonishment that she was even keeping pace with Zeus, but the truth was, she was holding the mare back. Born of champion racing bloodlines, the horse had been a gift from her father on her last birthday.
Imogen glanced over her shoulder and met Ronan’s eyes. The admiration in them was clear, and for a second she allowed herself to bask in it. Then she grinned and stuck out her tongue. “See you at the finish, sluggard!”
When the race was done, she hauled Temperance to a smart stop, her heart racing, and turned to see Ronan doing the same a few seconds later. He was windblown and bright-eyed, and he looked too delicious for words. Imogen looked away.
“That was well done,” he told her. “Ye’re an extraordinary rider. I’ve never seen a better seat.” He made atsking sound. “Ye were holding back, Lady Imogen, the last time we went for a ride.”
Imogen patted the horse, hiding her blush of pleasure at his praise. “Thank you. I have an excellent steed.”
