“Until you tell him to do something else, but I want to know your next-best treat.”

Alice gave the smallest, most useless tap of her heels. “And I want this to be over.”

Waltzer moved one front hoof then swung his left ear forward and back.

“Again,” Ethan coaxed. “He wasn’t sure you meant it, and he’s asking for clearer orders.”

Alice felt her shoulders move with the depth of her breathing, but she gave her mount a firmer tap, and he moved two steps then flicked his ear again. She wanted to pat him for being such a careful horse, but that would mean moving her hands, which were gripping the reins for dear life.

“Try again,” Ethan said. “This time, let your seat go a little too, or he’ll think you mean go with your heels but stop with your seat.”

“My seat?”

“Your hips. Here.” He pressed against her waist and angled his hands down, as if to rock her hips in the saddle. “You recall the motion of it from your childhood rides. Just think about it when you tap him again.”

Alice tried it, and the horse started walking at a very sedate pace.

“Oh, God. Now I have to steer.”

“Not necessarily. He’ll go forward in this direction until he lumbers up to the fence, and then he’ll stop and ask you what you want next. Watch.”

Because she couldn’t do anything else and breathe, Alice did as Ethan suggested. The horse stopped, sighed, then turned his head around to peer at Alice’s knee.

“What next?” Ethan interpreted. “Just tap again, and because he’s already looking around to the right, he’ll probably saunter in that direction.”

It took two tries, but the horse was rapidly figuring out the game.

Ethan kept his hands on her waist. “I think you might steer, if you wanted to.”

Hang him and his helpful thoughts. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. We’ll just find our way to the rail again.”

“Let’s be very daring.” Ethan dropped his voice. “Try another turn to the right.”

“Ethan, please don’t make me do this.”

“We’ll stop when you say, Alice, though I think you could steer us back to the mounting block.”

She bit her lip, because she didn’t want to get off all the way down to the ground. Just as she tentatively tugged on the right rein, the gelding began to shuffle along in that direction.

“Can he read my mind? Or did you make him do that?”

“You did it. You looked at the mounting block, you probably leaned toward it, and you picked up the right rein. Now why is it,” he went on in the most conversational tones, “you won’t tell me what your second-best treat is?”

“Hush,” Alice hissed. “He’s coming to the mounting block.”

Except he’d approached at an angle, and because the previous three times the horse had asked, the lady had told him to bear right, Waltzer, being an obliging soul, sauntered past the mounting block and strolled off to the right.

“Oh, blast and damn,” Alice wailed. “Now what?”

“Such language. Now you simply steer him back toward where you want him, and this time, we’ll ask him to stop.”

“I can’t. They don’t go when you ask. They don’t stop when you ask. They turn by themselves, and they’re just too big…”

“You’re doing splendidly, but think of wee Waltzer as a little boy, Alice. You have to tell him how to go on, and when you’re crossing a busy thoroughfare with a small child, you take his hand firmly. To Waltzer, there are many distractions, such as every blade of grass, every dropping, every breeze and sunbeam. You must make your directions clear, so it’s easy for your charge to know his task.”

In the midst of that little homily, Alice’s hips had finally started moving in rhythm with the horse’s walk. The image of the horse as a child in need of guidance tapped some vein of confidence unknown even to her, because she wordlessly directed him back to the mounting block, but this time, steered him left as they went around it. Ethan kept silent behind her but kept his hands on her waist as well.

“And now,” Ethan suggested a few minutes later, “you must tell him he’s doing well.”

“You’re doing well, Waltzer. You’d best keep doing well.” And Ethan Grey had best shut his helpful, interfering, gorgeous, handsome mouth.

“Oh, that was encouraging to a lad who’s trying his heart out for you. He doesn’t understand your words, Alice.”

“So you tell him.” She was beginning to think her best treat would not be forbidden pleasures with Ethan Grey, but rather, to fashion a gag for him.

“Pet the boy. Put both reins in one hand and pet him on his neck. He’ll be your devoted and humble slave.”

“Devoted and humble.” Alice carefully arranged the reins and leaned forward slightly to pet the animal’s neck.

“Tell him.”

“Good boy, Waltzer,” Alice said softly. “Very dear, good boy.”

“Well done. Now take me home, Alice, and don’t spare the horse.”

She actually nudged a little with her seat and steered the gelding on a direct course for the larger mounting block, then halted him right alongside of it.

“Oh, well done, indeed. And off we go.”

“Exactly, how?” Alice kept her eyes forward, because she’d done well so far by not looking at the ground. “I know how to do it with a stirrup, but this…”

“It’s simple. Waltzer will hold absolutely still while I get off, and then you will let me assist you.”

“How do you know he’ll hold still?” In the time it had taken Alice to state her question, Ethan had slid over the horse’s tail, landed on the ground, and hopped to the top of the ladies’ mounting block.

“Rest the reins on his neck, Alice. He won’t budge, since he understands his exertions are done.”

Alice put the reins down and tried to breathe. Bad things could happen during a dismount. Awful things. “Ethan, please get me off this animal.”

“Arms around my neck,” he coached. “Hold tight, and I’ll lift you out of the saddle on three.” Except the scurrilous varlet lifted on “one,” and Alice was on her feet, standing in his embrace, before she could even close her eyes in dread.

“See?” Ethan smiled down at her. “You’re safe and sound, Waltzer is dutifully catching a nap, and all is well.”

“Oh, Ethan.” She slumped against him, needing the physical support—surely she was entitled to that? “That was awful. That was the worst… I can’t…” She huffed out an enormous sigh, feeling lighter and looser than she had in years—despite the trembling in her knees. “It wasn’t awful. It wasn’t awful at all. You’ll give Waltzer a treat?”

“Waltzer is given a regular ration of oats for his efforts. I’m interested instead in the treats that would appeal to you.”

His smile was approving and genuine, almost tender. Alice was about to go up on her toes and seize for herself a sample of the treat she most desired when a patrician voice called out from the back of a large black horse over by the arena gate.

“Greetings, all. Have I come at a bad time?”

Nine

Why had she waited so long to try simply controlling a horse? Alice had been on a strange horse when she’d had her accident, a beast she’d never seen before, much less ridden, and she’d been in a panic even before she leapt onto its back and found the stirrup leathers much too long for her legs.

And having ridden again… this was heady stuff, this feeling of lightness and joy, something she would never have predicted. Had the Earl of Greymoor not come calling, Alice would have hugged Waltzer and kissed him on his big, horsy nose.

“Miss Portman?” A single knock on her door told her Ethan Grey was not going to allow her more solitude.

“Come in,” she called, hopping off the bed. She wanted to throw her arms around him too, and squeal like little Priscilla in a happy moment.

“One notes you are smiling, madam. This is encouraging.”

“I can breathe.” She beamed at him shamelessly where he lingered near the door. “And I met an earl.”

“A half-smitten earl.” He did not sound pleased about this. “Once he’d dispensed with the issuance of a social invitation, Greymoor complimented your eyes specifically and called you pretty when you’d abandoned us. He barely bothered to inspect me or my property.”

“I did not abandon you.” An earl had called her pretty, though the earl was clearly smitten with the small blond girl he’d had up before him.

“You most certainly abandoned me,” Ethan groused right back, taking a couple of steps into the room. “Lady Lucy rifled the entire library before tossing a book directly at her papa’s lemonade, managing to provide him, his shirt, waistcoat, and cravat quite the cold bath. I was obliged to loan the man clothing and entertain his offspring while he made himself presentable.”

He sounded quite pleased with himself, lending clothing to an earl attacked by a toddler.

“You poor thing. Having to manage a single, adorable child for an entire five minutes. The boys will be so proud of you.”

“You are supposed to be proud of me.” He ambled closer then stopped by her escritoire. “Lady Lucy is accounted a woman of particulars, and I convinced her not to shatter my hapless eardrums with her caterwauling.”

Had they teased each other like this before? “Children are sometimes fascinated with strangers. You should be pleased, nonetheless. Generally, the young have good instincts about people.”

“How you flatter me, Miss Portman.” He offered an ironic bow. “May I take it you are none the worse for having ridden with me? Be honest, Alice.”

Alice. The way he used her name was sweet, special, and a little stern. “No trouble breathing. I cannot credit it. For the past twelve years, any time I have been at the mercy of a horse, I could not manage it.”

“You managed it today. I am pleased for you, Alice Portman.”

Alice recalled the feel of him at her back on the horse, steady, solid, and calm. She grabbed her courage with both hands and locked her gaze with his. “Pleased enough to help me try again?”

“Of course.”

How easily he assented. “It might not go as well. In fact it probably won’t.”

His lips quirked up. “Or it might go better.”

“I would settle for being able to start, stop, and steer at a placid walk,” Alice said. “I would be thrilled with that, to be honest.”

And when was the last time she’d been thrilled with anything? Anything save her employer’s kisses?

* * *

“You look so serious.” Ethan frowned at Alice, wondering what went on inside her busy head. Her second venture in the riding arena, between tea and supper, had gone without incident, much to his relief. “Are you doing as the jockeys do at Newmarket and reliving each moment of your ride?”

She walked along beside him in silence for a moment, the evening sun finding red highlights in her hair. “Hardly that. I am contemplating the contrasts in my life.”

“This sounds weighty. Shall we pursue the topic while we stroll?” He offered his arm, and she took it, something that might have been a minor struggle between them only days ago. “Tell me about these contrasts in your life, Alice Portman.”

“When I lived at Sutcliffe,” Alice said as they reached a gravel walk that turned toward the stream, “we had such quiet. Days and days of quiet, nothing louder than Reese’s voice in conversation with my own.”

“It sounds Gothic.” Also like a waste of at least two women. “Were you happy there?”

“I enjoyed Reese and Pris,” Alice said, “but it was a bleak place. Most of the servants did not respect the lady of the house, which meant a great deal of work went undone. We managed our own mending, much of our own cooking and cleaning. If we wanted a bath, we carried the water, or it would not come up hot.”

“You lived as if you had no servants.” As if she deserved to have no servants. “Shall we sit? The evening grows pretty, and we are not at the end of this discussion.”

“We aren’t?” Alice settled on a bench at the base of a venerable oak. The tree was so large two people on the bench could both lean back against the trunk comfortably.

“We are not.” Ethan lowered himself beside her and wondered idly how many kisses the tree had witnessed. “The topic is contrast in the life of Miss Alice Portman.”

“So it is,” Alice said. “In any case, my life now is different from what it was for five years.”

“Different, how?” Ethan let his back rest against the oak and crossed his ankles. He did not take her hand, not when she was working up to confidences of some sort.