Page 44 of A Bride for the Ruthless Duke

Crewe’s brows rose by the smallest degree. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Theodore did not wait for a boy to saddle the gelding. He had the tack brought and put his own hand to the girth, because standing about while another man fumbled with buckles would only invite thoughts he had no intention of hosting. The duchess was a stranger to this stretch of country. The country was full of rabbit holes, soft banks, sudden ditches, and wet ground that a Leicestershire mare would not know. There was nothing excessive in riding after her.

Nothing at all.

He went up the south ride at a pace he told himself was sensible.

He found her on the ridge above the river, halted with the reins loose on the mare’s neck, looking out over the valley as if she had come upon a kingdom and was considering whether to approve it. The mare stood easily under her, one hind hoof cocked, ears moving with lazy interest.

Ellen heard the gelding and turned in the saddle.

Her face changed.

Theodore could not have named the expression. It was not pleasure, which would have been too simple, and it was not the old withdrawal, which he had begun to dislike more than was useful. Whatever it was, she waited for him to come up rather than gathering the mare and riding away.

That was extraordinary indeed.

“You ride well,” he said, drawing alongside her.

Her gloved hand moved once over the mare’s mane. “You came out to see whether I would fall off.”

“I came out to see whether the mare suited you.”

“That is a very ducal distinction.”

“It is also the accurate one.”

“Naturally,” Ellen said, glancing at him sideways. “I have noticed Your Grace is devoted to accuracy whenever it allows him to avoid warmth.”

Theodore looked toward the river to conceal the faint movement at the corner of his mouth. “And I have noticed Your Grace has a talent for making observations under the guise of obedience.”

“Then we are both improving our studies.”

“I was not aware we were studying one another.”

The words escaped before he could stop them.

Ellen blinked.

For a moment they both seemed surprised he had said it.

Then her mouth curved. “No?”

“No,” Theodore said evenly.

“That is unfortunate. I had begun taking notes.”

A sudden impulse to laugh rose within him, which he was forced to stifle with all haste.

“Have you?”

“Several pages.”

“And what conclusions have you reached?”

“That Your Grace is kinder than he wishes people to know.”

Theodore looked away first.