Page 40 of The English Duke
Yes, she was being foolish. Yes, he was much more handsome than any other man she’d ever known. Yes, he was no doubt a danger to her peace of mind.
But she wouldn’t have traded being here for anything.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Reese said, smiling at Josephine.
He turned back to Ercole’s stall.
“Why shouldn’t I?” she asked, moving to his side.
Ercole. This was the horse she wanted. What a beauty he was.
Reese glanced at her, surveying her from the top of her hair to the tip of her shoes. Her dress flattered her and he was smart enough to note it. Not perceptive enough, however, to make a comment on it. He should have praised her appearance at least.
Instead, he only walked across the stable to stand at another stall.
“This is Jessamine,” he said, and recited the mare’s bloodline.
“She isn’t the match of Ercole,” she said.
A faint smile played on his lips, making her wonder if he ridiculed her.
“I want him,” she said. “I’m an excellent rider,” she added. “I could control him.”
“Do you always get what you want?” he asked, his laughter borderline insulting.
She didn’t allow her smile to falter.
“He’s already spoken for and I doubt you’ll convince the earl not to take ownership of him.”
“But as the duke’s friend, you could change his mind, couldn’t you, Reese?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “If I cared enough to make the effort.”
“If I promised to make it worth your while?”
“Do you make the same promise to all the men you know? Do they stumble over themselves to do what you want?”
“Most of them,” she said, smiling. “If I let you kiss me, would you speak to the duke?”
He laughed, grabbed her hand, and kissed her fingers.
“No,” he said, and then did the one thing she hadn’t expected. He walked away, leaving her standing there looking after him.
Jordan found himself bemused by Martha York. He hadn’t lied. She was unlike any other woman he’d ever known. She hadn’t batted her eyelashes at him once. Nor had she pretended to be helpless.
Her voice was normal, neither breathy or high-pitched. A little on the low side, it was definitely fascinating. He found himself listening carefully when she spoke.
The first day they’d worked together she’d called him “Your Grace” a great many times. Today, he noted, she didn’t, almost as if they were becoming friends. He had a feeling his title was an impediment to Martha and not an asset.
For the first time, he wished he’d met her when he was in the navy.
He found himself wanting to ask her opinion about a great many things. Did she think his boathouse was arranged in the most practical manner? From which sources did she acquire her materials? Would she be interested in helping him relaunch his ship when it was found?
All questions he might’ve asked of Matthew York if he was sitting here. But he doubted if he would have been as fascinated with the older man’s appearance as he was his daughter’s.
He shouldn’t have mentioned her dress. But lavender didn’t favor her. She needed to be attired in something bold, deep greens or blues, a shade to compliment her porcelain complexion and dark brown eyes.
She was wearing her hair in a bun again, but recalcitrant tendrils had escaped to frame her face. Her curly hair was another fascination. He wanted to touch it, see if it was as soft as it appeared.
