and the matching gray pair leapt forward at a swift trot.
~~~***~~~
Thea was a consummate horse woman. Christian didn’t know why he should be surprised. The woman constantly amazed him.
The drive out to his farm had been filled with their chatter. She asked a million questions about his breeding methods and training theories, countering his ideas with philosophies of her own acquired, she said, from her extensive readings and interviews with other breeders in Greece.
She was no less enthusiastic once they neared his farm. Their carriage raced down the lane; a pasture stretched long and green on the right. She had bade him to pull over and had launched herself from the vehicle almost before it had even stopped on the berm. He joined her at the fence where she had climbed to stand on the bottom rung, all the better to see the young colts frolicking in the field of wildflowers.
“The roan over there,” he said and pointed to a frisky reddish fellow leaping about on the edge of the group. “He’s the one I promised to Olivia.”
“Fine looking fellow, isn’t he?” Her voice was filled with admiration.
Christian adored that she saw the promise in the foal just as he did. “Indeed.”
He had a boy saddle his giant black horse, Nabatean.
“The Arabian god of war,” Thea noted while stroking the horse’s massive black neck. Her hand slipped into her pocket and reappeared with a small carrot. His horse was bound to fall in love with her as quickly as his stablemen. “He is a night deity, too, is he not?”
Her ability to impress him was boundless. “You have the right of it.”
“Your master named you well,” she told Nabatean as she stroked his nose. The great beast nudged her looking for more treats.
“I’ve picked out a good mare for you,” Christian told her as Marigold appeared between the stalls.
Thea said eyed the horse and turned to him with a pointed look. “Would you rather I think of a more hideous opportunity for your supplication?”
“Marigold is a lovely horse, aren’t you Mari.” Christian reached over and stroked her ear.
Thea clearly did not agree. Christian wanted to chortle at his jest, but he maintained a serious expression for a while longer. “I only think of your safety, Miss Ashbrook. My stallions have quite a spirited reputation.”
Thea huffed a disappointed breath and looked at Nabatean with longing. “I had hoped for a faster ride.”
Christian kept his grin in check. “You are experienced, you say?”
“Certainly,” she declared with mounting frustration. “My horse at home is almost as big as Nabatean.”
“I will be vastly disappointed if you break your neck.” What a lovely, lovely neck it was, too, attached like it was to her beautiful face which presently glared at him. “Perhaps I can find someone more to your liking.” He signaled the boy and Atepomarus was brought around.
“Now there you go,” Thea said with admiration. “Aren’t you just the thing?” Younger than his own mount, Atepomarus stood only slightly shorter, but his flanks were massive, his legs long and powerful. “What is your name, handsome?”
“Christian George Arthur Belling, Duke of Morewether,” he said with a grin. “Oh, you mean the horse. Allow me to introduce Atepomarus named after a Celtic horse god.”
Thea introduced herself with a piece of carrot and whispered to the horse, “You were what I was hoping for.”
Christian thought it absurd to be jealous of a horse. He had no one to blame, of course, he introduced them. “I don’t suppose you want a side saddle either, do you?”
Thea was distracted. “Hmmm. Oh, no, I’d rather ride him astride.”
Of course she would.
Saddled and clattering over the cobblestones of the drive, Christian led the way through a pasture and out to the wild fields. Thea gave her horse its head, and they flew across the grass, her laughter wiping through the wind. She was right. She was a fantastic horsewoman. That didn’t
~~~***~~~
Thea was a consummate horse woman. Christian didn’t know why he should be surprised. The woman constantly amazed him.
The drive out to his farm had been filled with their chatter. She asked a million questions about his breeding methods and training theories, countering his ideas with philosophies of her own acquired, she said, from her extensive readings and interviews with other breeders in Greece.
She was no less enthusiastic once they neared his farm. Their carriage raced down the lane; a pasture stretched long and green on the right. She had bade him to pull over and had launched herself from the vehicle almost before it had even stopped on the berm. He joined her at the fence where she had climbed to stand on the bottom rung, all the better to see the young colts frolicking in the field of wildflowers.
“The roan over there,” he said and pointed to a frisky reddish fellow leaping about on the edge of the group. “He’s the one I promised to Olivia.”
“Fine looking fellow, isn’t he?” Her voice was filled with admiration.
Christian adored that she saw the promise in the foal just as he did. “Indeed.”
He had a boy saddle his giant black horse, Nabatean.
“The Arabian god of war,” Thea noted while stroking the horse’s massive black neck. Her hand slipped into her pocket and reappeared with a small carrot. His horse was bound to fall in love with her as quickly as his stablemen. “He is a night deity, too, is he not?”
Her ability to impress him was boundless. “You have the right of it.”
“Your master named you well,” she told Nabatean as she stroked his nose. The great beast nudged her looking for more treats.
“I’ve picked out a good mare for you,” Christian told her as Marigold appeared between the stalls.
Thea said eyed the horse and turned to him with a pointed look. “Would you rather I think of a more hideous opportunity for your supplication?”
“Marigold is a lovely horse, aren’t you Mari.” Christian reached over and stroked her ear.
Thea clearly did not agree. Christian wanted to chortle at his jest, but he maintained a serious expression for a while longer. “I only think of your safety, Miss Ashbrook. My stallions have quite a spirited reputation.”
Thea huffed a disappointed breath and looked at Nabatean with longing. “I had hoped for a faster ride.”
Christian kept his grin in check. “You are experienced, you say?”
“Certainly,” she declared with mounting frustration. “My horse at home is almost as big as Nabatean.”
“I will be vastly disappointed if you break your neck.” What a lovely, lovely neck it was, too, attached like it was to her beautiful face which presently glared at him. “Perhaps I can find someone more to your liking.” He signaled the boy and Atepomarus was brought around.
“Now there you go,” Thea said with admiration. “Aren’t you just the thing?” Younger than his own mount, Atepomarus stood only slightly shorter, but his flanks were massive, his legs long and powerful. “What is your name, handsome?”
“Christian George Arthur Belling, Duke of Morewether,” he said with a grin. “Oh, you mean the horse. Allow me to introduce Atepomarus named after a Celtic horse god.”
Thea introduced herself with a piece of carrot and whispered to the horse, “You were what I was hoping for.”
Christian thought it absurd to be jealous of a horse. He had no one to blame, of course, he introduced them. “I don’t suppose you want a side saddle either, do you?”
Thea was distracted. “Hmmm. Oh, no, I’d rather ride him astride.”
Of course she would.
Saddled and clattering over the cobblestones of the drive, Christian led the way through a pasture and out to the wild fields. Thea gave her horse its head, and they flew across the grass, her laughter wiping through the wind. She was right. She was a fantastic horsewoman. That didn’t
Similar Books
