don’t believe you have any right to question my horse. Nor I yours. If you wish to ride a prissy animal, that is none of my concern.”
“Though my mare’s name is Lady Bud,” the duke said hotly, “she is not a weak animal. She’s just called—oh, dash it! I am not explaining myself to you. ” He sniffed, his back so stiff it was a wonder he could still ride. “Besides, she’s nothing like my usual mount. My horse is twice the animal of that brute you’re on!”
“What’s its name?”
The duke blinked. “Name? I don’t—”
“What is the name of your horse?”
A deep flush rose in the duke’s face. “That doesn’t have anything to do with—”
“Afraid to tell me,” Christian said with satisfaction. He glanced down at Beth and winked.
She colored, a quiver of laughter touching her lips.
The duke audibly ground his teeth. “I didn’t name the horse myself! He was already two years old when I bought him and—”
“Perhaps his name is… Sir Lady Bud?”
“No! Of course not!”
Christian shrugged. “Fine. Don’t tell us your mount’s name. I daresay it is nothing unusual.”
“It is too exotic! It’s Bathsheba!”
“You named a horse Bathsheba?”
“I didn’t name it, I tell you! Not that it matters. I find Bathsheba a lovely name.”
“That’s a horrid name for a horse. It’s far too exotic and should be given, instead, to a creature capable of beauty and passion and desires.” Christian turned to smile down at the lady. “Someone like Lady Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks pinkened though her companion was not so circumspect. She choked out a laugh. “La, Beth! You, as Bathsheba!”
The duke sputtered out a protest. “B’God, Westerville! Quite improper of you to say such things!”
“Nonsense,” Christian said, leaning down so that only Beth could hear him. “Would you like to be rid of these fleas, my love? Or have you not yet finished amusing yourself at their expense?”
Beth’s eyes met his with a warm look. “Fleas? Surely not.”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than her companion cleared her throat in a very telling manner. Lady Elizabeth glanced at her friend, then colored and gave a short nod.
Intriguing. Christian leaned down to speak yet again when Standwich’s clumsy horse knocked against Lucifer.
Lucifer instantly whipped over to nip at the bumbling mare, which balked and tried to get away, bumping into the horses of two other determined gentlemen.
“Blast it, Standwich!” said one gentleman, glaring at the duke. “Take heed what you are about!”
His companion added with a heavy French accent, “Perhaps you should move to the back of the group if you cannot control your mount any better than that!”
Christian noted with amusement that several of the suitors had already given up and had fallen behind. There were but the three of them left, and he had procured the only spot where one could actually converse with the lady.
He leaned over to Lady Elizabeth from Lucifer’s saddle. “If you will not call these lumps of manhood ‘fleas,’ then how about ‘rats’? They are swarming in a pack, look as if they’d be delighted to nibble your toes given the chance, and several have rather frightening facial whiskers reminiscent of that species.”
Elizabeth laughed, her eyes crinkling beneath the brim of her bonnet. She looked damnably fetching at that moment and incredibly feminine.
She opened her mouth to answer him when Mrs. Thistle-Bridgeton interrupted brightly, “They are more like little yapping dogs, don’t you think, Beth?”
Lady Elizabeth’s gaze narrowed annoyingly on her companion. There was a moment of silence, during which time her cousin sent her a warning look of such intensity that Christian raised his brows. Whatever warning Mrs. Thistle-Bridgeton communicated, it caused Beth to sigh. She sent Christian a rather apologetic look before saying, “S-s-s-so, my lord. How would you rid me of this
“Though my mare’s name is Lady Bud,” the duke said hotly, “she is not a weak animal. She’s just called—oh, dash it! I am not explaining myself to you. ” He sniffed, his back so stiff it was a wonder he could still ride. “Besides, she’s nothing like my usual mount. My horse is twice the animal of that brute you’re on!”
“What’s its name?”
The duke blinked. “Name? I don’t—”
“What is the name of your horse?”
A deep flush rose in the duke’s face. “That doesn’t have anything to do with—”
“Afraid to tell me,” Christian said with satisfaction. He glanced down at Beth and winked.
She colored, a quiver of laughter touching her lips.
The duke audibly ground his teeth. “I didn’t name the horse myself! He was already two years old when I bought him and—”
“Perhaps his name is… Sir Lady Bud?”
“No! Of course not!”
Christian shrugged. “Fine. Don’t tell us your mount’s name. I daresay it is nothing unusual.”
“It is too exotic! It’s Bathsheba!”
“You named a horse Bathsheba?”
“I didn’t name it, I tell you! Not that it matters. I find Bathsheba a lovely name.”
“That’s a horrid name for a horse. It’s far too exotic and should be given, instead, to a creature capable of beauty and passion and desires.” Christian turned to smile down at the lady. “Someone like Lady Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks pinkened though her companion was not so circumspect. She choked out a laugh. “La, Beth! You, as Bathsheba!”
The duke sputtered out a protest. “B’God, Westerville! Quite improper of you to say such things!”
“Nonsense,” Christian said, leaning down so that only Beth could hear him. “Would you like to be rid of these fleas, my love? Or have you not yet finished amusing yourself at their expense?”
Beth’s eyes met his with a warm look. “Fleas? Surely not.”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than her companion cleared her throat in a very telling manner. Lady Elizabeth glanced at her friend, then colored and gave a short nod.
Intriguing. Christian leaned down to speak yet again when Standwich’s clumsy horse knocked against Lucifer.
Lucifer instantly whipped over to nip at the bumbling mare, which balked and tried to get away, bumping into the horses of two other determined gentlemen.
“Blast it, Standwich!” said one gentleman, glaring at the duke. “Take heed what you are about!”
His companion added with a heavy French accent, “Perhaps you should move to the back of the group if you cannot control your mount any better than that!”
Christian noted with amusement that several of the suitors had already given up and had fallen behind. There were but the three of them left, and he had procured the only spot where one could actually converse with the lady.
He leaned over to Lady Elizabeth from Lucifer’s saddle. “If you will not call these lumps of manhood ‘fleas,’ then how about ‘rats’? They are swarming in a pack, look as if they’d be delighted to nibble your toes given the chance, and several have rather frightening facial whiskers reminiscent of that species.”
Elizabeth laughed, her eyes crinkling beneath the brim of her bonnet. She looked damnably fetching at that moment and incredibly feminine.
She opened her mouth to answer him when Mrs. Thistle-Bridgeton interrupted brightly, “They are more like little yapping dogs, don’t you think, Beth?”
Lady Elizabeth’s gaze narrowed annoyingly on her companion. There was a moment of silence, during which time her cousin sent her a warning look of such intensity that Christian raised his brows. Whatever warning Mrs. Thistle-Bridgeton communicated, it caused Beth to sigh. She sent Christian a rather apologetic look before saying, “S-s-s-so, my lord. How would you rid me of this
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