Page 5 of How to Capture a Duke

It was lovely the next morning when Olivia returned to the stables. Not a cloud dotted the blue sky. The weather was warm, and she’d come directly after her morning coffee in the breakfast room without asking for her mother’s permission. She was due a morning to herself after tolerating both Lord Elton and Lady Samantha the prior evening.

This time, when she stepped through the stable doors, she scanned the area for the head groom.

He was in Atlas’s stall. Dressed in a shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, he brushed the stallion’s sleek coat, his movements brisk and efficient. His forearms were muscled, his strong legs encased in buckskin. She hadn’t imagined his size.

She cleared her throat, and he turned.

One dark eyebrow shot up. “Lady Olivia.”

She was momentarily dumbfounded hearing him say her name. She’d never offered her name, and it was delivered unhesitatingly, without pause. A lock of dark hair fell rakishly across his brow. Lord Edwards had styled his hair similarly, but the groom’s was not by design and looked much more masculine. Edwards, and other dandies of the ton, would be green with envy.

She swallowed her trepidation. Unlike the first time, she would not allow him to deny her. “I’d like to ride. Kindly saddle a horse and arrange for a groom.”

Had she been riding in Hyde Park during the promenade hour, Olivia would take her maid as a chaperone. But here, in the country, it wasn’t required. Ladies would ride together, but if one rode alone, then a groom would accompany her to be sure she found her way around the vast estate or, in case, if her horse threw a shoe.

“No groom.” He didn’t bother to stand and face her, just shook his head and continued to brush the horse.

Her stomach dropped. Was he to deny her? Again? “What do you mean?”

“All the grooms are busy. I’ll t…t-ake you myself.”

She paused. She’d rather have a young groom, someone who wasn’t so intimidating, but she desperately wanted to ride, so she nodded her assent. She would ignore his presence and not allow anything to ruin the pleasant day or her freedom, no matter how short-lived.

He set aside the brush and opened the door to Atlas’s stall. He led Olivia to another stall. “This mare is gentle and has a fine gait.”

It was the same brown mare she’d first spotted when she’d walked into the stables. She watched in dismay as he prepared a sidesaddle for her. How she longed to ride astride, but she knew it wasn’t possible. Not here.

She stepped up on a mounting block, but as she grasped the saddle’s horn, she felt his strong hands lift her onto the horse. His fingers were long and lean and easily encircled her waist. A ripple of awareness traveled down her spine, and she tilted her head to look up at him before swiftly turning away.

He led out Atlas and mounted him.

“I thought only the duke rode him,” Olivia said.

He sat straight in the saddle and rode to her side. “I’m the only other person who can manage him.”

She glanced at the thick saddle muscles on the groom’s thighs as he gripped the large stallion and halted by her side. His fingers were calloused from handling the horses and tack. Strong hands, but elegant, too.

“If you are to escort me, what is your name?” Olivia asked.

He hesitated for the briefest of seconds as if deciding whether to answer before speaking. “Caleb.”

“Where do we ride, Caleb?”

“Where I say.”

She bit back a sharp reply. She refused to argue with the man. She didn’t want to risk his changing his mind.

Clearly, he was a man of few words. His facial expressions were another thing entirely. He treated her as a nuisance, a bother when one of his duties must be to escort the ladies who wanted to ride. She glanced about to see other grooms, all hard at work, bringing in hay for the feed or buckets of water.

She urged the mare to follow him. For the first mile, they walked their horses at an easy pace. The farther they got from the manor home, the more she could relax. She took deep breaths of fresh air and lifted her face for the morning sun to kiss her cheeks. As they crossed an open field, she breathed in the fragrant scent of the wildflowers, some at the peak of their beauty. The splashes of vivid yellow, purple, and blue reminded Olivia of a classical painting.

Soon, she grew restless. Not waiting for him, she began to canter, then gallop.

He picked up his pace, Atlas’s long stride easily overtaking the mare. He didn’t stop her. He seemed to know that Olivia needed speed, needed to feel the wind on her cheeks. Together they raced over the open fields.

A cool breeze blew through Olivia’s hair, and she reveled in the freedom. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t riding astride; it was wonderful. She felt the tension ebb from her shoulders. All thoughts of what awaited her back at Rosehill flitted away like leaves in a strong breeze.

As they approached a copse of trees, he motioned for her to stop.