“Nonsense, my dear. I daresay, the fresh air would be good for you. The weather is lovely.”
“I quite agree. We must insist.” Lord Livingstone stood as well, his gaze strong and challenging, as if daring her to refuse.
A sigh left her lips. “Very well. I shall go and change.” With a faint curtsy, she excused herself from the breakfast room and bolted back to the bedchamber. She slammed herself inside, breakfast storming within her stomach.
Facing William was something she was not yet prepared for.
Yet it was something she must do.
If ever she was to escape that kiss, she must look him once more in the eye—and convince herself what she felt for him was not love. By all that she valued, it could not be love.
William strode back into the stables, leading Browny-the-Beau beside him. He paused by an empty stall, frowning. Camilla was gone. Had Isabella watched for him to leave before she came for her ride? Did she despise him that much?
“Miss Gresham and her maid come and left, they did.”
William glanced at the boy, who was shoveling manure into a one-wheeled cart. “Had they anyone with them?”
“ ’Deed. A gent.” The boy yawned. “Same one what’s been takin’ walks with Miss Gresham in the garden.”
“I see.” William kicked plods of mud from his boots, brushed down Browny-the-Beau, then took the shovel from a perpetually yawning Isaac. “Off with you.”
“But Mr. Ribton—”
“Never mind him. He should not have kept you up all night for the foal birthing. Now climb into the loft and nap while you’ve the chance.”
Isaac’s tired face and heavy eyes grinned. “Ye’re a friend to be sure, sir.”
William hooked the boy’s chin with a light punch. “Go on with you.” Ten minutes later, William dumped the last shovel of dung into the wheelbarrow, the foul smell clinging to him as he rolled it through the stable doors.
Afternoon sun bore down on the back of his neck and the warmth tingled his skin. He squinted at the blue sky. The weather was clear for the first time in days, the clouds white and cottony, and a flock of small spring birds, their colored breasts bright against the sky, flew above him.
As much as he resisted, thoughts came anyway. Isabella running to the stables. Laughing. Galloping away with him, as she did every other afternoon, for those idyllic hours when they could be alone.
He still felt her lips. The taste of them. Moist, young, sweet, soft. Everything beautiful. Everything he could not cease thinking about. Everything he loved.Loved?
The word smacked him with its ridiculousness. As if a man in his position had any right—
Horse hooves pounded from the left, and without further warning, she appeared around the corner of the stables. She sat straight and erect, drawing back the reins, looking at him, wearing a green riding dress and dainty yellow gloves.
She glanced away so fast he felt slapped.
Her maid and Lord Livingstone halted behind her. “You there, hold the reins.”
The sharp command pulled William’s gaze from Isabella. Palms sweating, he gathered all three reins while Lord Livingstone assisted both ladies to the ground.
Even then, she turned her face away from William. Could he blame her? Alone, they had been friends. But in prestigious company, who could expect her to acknowledge him? Especially after what he had done?
“You are the one, I presume, who has been seeing to my horse.” Lord Livingstone stepped forward, peeling black gloves from his fingers.
“I am.”
“My lordto you. I shall be addressed properly, do you understand?” The man’s chin notched higher. “Have not I seen you before?”
Judging by the way his eyes glinted with amusement, he remembered well enough. Be dashed if William would let the man demean him. Turning, William tugged the horses toward the stable door.
“I am not finished with you, servant.”
He halted. Anger ticked through him as he pivoted back around.
