“Yes. Let me change into my riding habit. I’ll meet you at the stables.”
She left and Anthony, already in his riding clothes, went directly to the stables. His head groom raved about Bucephalus’ splendid lines. He asked for the horse to be saddled and one for his wife, as well.
“What mount was Her Grace given yesterday?”
The groom told him and had it brought out with Bucephalus. The horse seemed adequate but he wanted something far better for her. After all, Laurel was a duchess and deserved the best. He wouldn’t have her ride anything but the best horseflesh available, especially when they returned to London. He knew thetonwould sink their teeth into her and her reputation as it was. He wanted her dressed in the finest clothes. Wearing the best gems. Riding the best mount.
He turned and watched her approach. Yesterday, she had worn blue. Today’s riding habit was a rich forest green, the tight riding jacket snug against her breasts. The sweeping skirt hid her beautiful, long legs. Anthony had a vision of them wrapped about his waist and almost grabbed her hand to drag her back to bed. Instead, he greeted her.
She smiled but went straight to the horse and offered it an apple. A simple gesture but a thoughtful one. His duchess excelled at thoughtfulness. He remembered her seeking out staff at the St. Clair townhouse before they left to come to Linwood, complimenting them on the wedding preparations and thanking them for all they had done for her while she had lived under their roof. She’d been just as gracious when she’d meet her own staff at Linwood and already used the names of various servants. He could barely remember Monkton’s name most days.
Laurel stroked the horse’s mane and kissed its nose. “That’s my good beauty,” she purred.
Anthony wished she stroked him. That instead of climbing atop this horse she would mount and ride him.
“Are you ready?” he asked and handed her up before climbing atop his own horse.
“What is his name?” she asked.
“Bucephalus. He’s named after Alexander the Great’s horse.”
She leaned over and brushed her hand against the horse’s neck. “I will bring you an apple next time, Bucephalus,” she promised. “You look the greedy type so I might slice it into pieces and feed them to you to keep you from gobbling it down.”
Anthony pictured her feeding him. Naked. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image.
They spent close to two hours riding various portions of the property and then rode to the highest part of the estate. The April day was sunny and clear and they could see a great distance. Laurel slid from the saddle and went to stand at the edge.
“It’s hard to believe all this is owned by one man,” she said, awe in her voice. “That one day our son will inherit it.”
He had also dismounted and came to stand beside her. He refrained from standing behind her and slipping his arms about her. He had heard of wounded soldiers becoming addicted to laudanum, the drug becoming their entire reason to exist. This woman was like an opiate that he was having trouble staying away from. He must learn to temper his lust and only come to her every now and then. He prided himself on his control, even managing to harness his constant rage, only unleashing it to serve him. His growing attraction to Laurel threatened to upset the balance of his neatly ordered life.
“Shall we?” he asked.
He assisted her into the saddle and mounted Bucephalus. They rode to the first of the tenant farms, where they were warmly greeted. More people showed up, wanting to meet him and visit with the duchess again. Over and over, farmers pulled him aside, praising Laurel. In one afternoon, she had gained the love of their people without even trying. He tamped down the jealousy he felt and tried to smile and thank everyone.
It just showed Anthony, though, how dangerous his duchess was. He would get children off her—but it was best that they lead separate lives. He would remain faithful to her but he couldn’t be around her every day.
If he were, she would eventually break down all his walls and find out who he really was.