told him. “I cannot. You’re very sweet to want to do it, and I appreciate that. But nothing has changed in the way I feel.”
A growl rose in his throat but he choked it down. “In that case, I’d like a question if I win the race. No, three questions.”
Her dimple showed again. “Pride goeth before a fall, Cyrus. And you are the epitome of the prideful man waiting for a fall.”
“Oh, I’ve had the fall,” he said casually.
“You have?”
“Last night.” He glanced at her. “Are you ready? I’ll give you a lead since Tulip is a hand shorter than Beast.”
“Beast? Beast? What sort of name is that?”
“It’s not a real name,” Cyrus admitted.
“You don’t know your horse’s name!” she said, pouncing on it. “Shameful. Cyrus, what on earth is the matter with you?”
He spoke to what was unsaid. “I may not have been as aware as I could have been when I asked for your hand, but I chose correctly. You are the perfect wife for me.”
Lucy looked rather startled.
He grinned at her. He could feel joy rising up in his heart, the kind of silliness that had to do with flirting, and riding for pleasure, and being so close to a beautiful woman. “I chose correctly,” he repeated. “Now, would you like a head start? I have to warn you that Beast will trounce your Tulip without breaking a sweat.”
Lucy and Tulip flew down the path and, just for a moment, Cyrus enjoyed the sight of her curved rump and straight back. Then he shook himself out of the sensual haze she put him in and loosed the reins.
With a shake of his mane, Beast lunged forward. Lucy had veered around the corner; Cyrus went around the same curve at a more measured pace. But then he urged Beast on, ripping into the fog at such a speed that ragged tendrils of white mist fell behind him.
For a few seconds the only sound was the thudding of horses’ hooves. Cyrus had just time to think that he was having fun.
Fun?
He could not remember the last time he’d had fun. Playing with his tin soldiers, perhaps.
Tulip slowed, turned a neat circle, and then started back toward them. Lucy was bent low, her hat, miraculously, still perched on her head.
Beast twitched his ears, reached the end of the path and turned on his rear hooves. Cyrus leaned over and said to him, “Let’s go, Beast. Time to trounce the ladies.”
The gelding lengthened his stride, and tore past Lucy before the curve. By the time Tulip arrived at the beginning of the path, they were waiting, composed again.
“Wretch!” Lucy cried once she got her breath. “A gentleman would have let me win, I’ll have you know.”
“I’m no gentleman,” he said, grinning at her again. The smile felt unfamiliar . . . good.
“All right, you may have your questions,” she said, dropping her reins and reaching up to her hat.
Lucy’s riding costume clung tightly to her every curve. A stroke of hot fire caught him unaware and he swallowed a hoarse groan just before it betrayed him. She pushed a pin back into her hair, straightened her hat, and lowered her arms again.
“Ask me three questions,” he managed.
“What?” She made a little huffing sound of surprise.
“Ask me whatever you wish.”
“I will not ask you questions!”
“You must. I won.”
“But you were supposed to ask me questions!”
“I am coming to know you,” he said patiently. “But you don’t know me.” He smiled at her, slow and seductive. “I want you to.” He meant it, even though he had never encouraged a woman to ask him anything. In fact, he rebuffed inquiries of all kinds.
Lucy was different.
“I don’t know that there’s all that much to ask,” she said.
He winced. Was he that boring? True, he hadn’t thought of much other than the Exchange for the last few years . . . Then he registered her tone of voice. She was laughing at him.
“Try to think of something,” he told her. “If only so that you don’t hurt my feelings. I’m still bruised from last
A growl rose in his throat but he choked it down. “In that case, I’d like a question if I win the race. No, three questions.”
Her dimple showed again. “Pride goeth before a fall, Cyrus. And you are the epitome of the prideful man waiting for a fall.”
“Oh, I’ve had the fall,” he said casually.
“You have?”
“Last night.” He glanced at her. “Are you ready? I’ll give you a lead since Tulip is a hand shorter than Beast.”
“Beast? Beast? What sort of name is that?”
“It’s not a real name,” Cyrus admitted.
“You don’t know your horse’s name!” she said, pouncing on it. “Shameful. Cyrus, what on earth is the matter with you?”
He spoke to what was unsaid. “I may not have been as aware as I could have been when I asked for your hand, but I chose correctly. You are the perfect wife for me.”
Lucy looked rather startled.
He grinned at her. He could feel joy rising up in his heart, the kind of silliness that had to do with flirting, and riding for pleasure, and being so close to a beautiful woman. “I chose correctly,” he repeated. “Now, would you like a head start? I have to warn you that Beast will trounce your Tulip without breaking a sweat.”
Lucy and Tulip flew down the path and, just for a moment, Cyrus enjoyed the sight of her curved rump and straight back. Then he shook himself out of the sensual haze she put him in and loosed the reins.
With a shake of his mane, Beast lunged forward. Lucy had veered around the corner; Cyrus went around the same curve at a more measured pace. But then he urged Beast on, ripping into the fog at such a speed that ragged tendrils of white mist fell behind him.
For a few seconds the only sound was the thudding of horses’ hooves. Cyrus had just time to think that he was having fun.
Fun?
He could not remember the last time he’d had fun. Playing with his tin soldiers, perhaps.
Tulip slowed, turned a neat circle, and then started back toward them. Lucy was bent low, her hat, miraculously, still perched on her head.
Beast twitched his ears, reached the end of the path and turned on his rear hooves. Cyrus leaned over and said to him, “Let’s go, Beast. Time to trounce the ladies.”
The gelding lengthened his stride, and tore past Lucy before the curve. By the time Tulip arrived at the beginning of the path, they were waiting, composed again.
“Wretch!” Lucy cried once she got her breath. “A gentleman would have let me win, I’ll have you know.”
“I’m no gentleman,” he said, grinning at her again. The smile felt unfamiliar . . . good.
“All right, you may have your questions,” she said, dropping her reins and reaching up to her hat.
Lucy’s riding costume clung tightly to her every curve. A stroke of hot fire caught him unaware and he swallowed a hoarse groan just before it betrayed him. She pushed a pin back into her hair, straightened her hat, and lowered her arms again.
“Ask me three questions,” he managed.
“What?” She made a little huffing sound of surprise.
“Ask me whatever you wish.”
“I will not ask you questions!”
“You must. I won.”
“But you were supposed to ask me questions!”
“I am coming to know you,” he said patiently. “But you don’t know me.” He smiled at her, slow and seductive. “I want you to.” He meant it, even though he had never encouraged a woman to ask him anything. In fact, he rebuffed inquiries of all kinds.
Lucy was different.
“I don’t know that there’s all that much to ask,” she said.
He winced. Was he that boring? True, he hadn’t thought of much other than the Exchange for the last few years . . . Then he registered her tone of voice. She was laughing at him.
“Try to think of something,” he told her. “If only so that you don’t hurt my feelings. I’m still bruised from last
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