Duke Looks Like a Groomsman - Valerie Bowman Page 0,18

the word I prefer. And I’m quite serious, one of the reasons Clayton stuck me in the stables is so that I would be less noticeable.”

“Let me guess, the other reason he stuck you in the stables is because he was entirely certain you would never be able to perform the duties of either a competent footman or a decent valet?” She finished with an undaunted smile.

Rhys narrowed his eyes on her. Whatever else he disliked about her, she was astute. She’d been able to guess a great deal about their plan and the details surrounding it. He could only hope she was trustworthy. At least when it came to this. Because he had no other choice but to trust her to keep her word.

She tapped her cheek with the tip of the crop. “The guest list makes sense now, I suppose. Most of the guests are debutantes and their mothers. Chosen to ensure the majority of them wouldn’t know any of you, I presume.”

“Precisely.”

“I think you’re all mad,” she said, turning and walking back toward her mount. “I also think there’s no possibility you won’t be found out.”

Rhys blew out a deep breath. “Be that as it may, I’ve told you the truth. Will you promise to keep the secret for all three of us?”

“I’ve already promised,” Julianna replied, using the fence post to hoist herself easily upon her horse’s back.

Rhys breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” He let his chin fall to his chest momentarily. He was getting off easily. She’d promised to keep the secret and he could keep his winnings. Dare he hope she was actually a bit decent after all?

Julianna gathered the reins and turned the horse to face him. “I promised to keep your secret,” she said. “I never promised not to enjoy every moment of watching you try to pass yourself off as a servant. Including ordering you about myself.”

Chapter Eight

She was already having fun and she’d barely even begun. After Rhys accompanied Julianna back to the stables, she immediately began peppering him with demands to perform a variety of chores.

“Violet needs a rub down,” she pointed out, gesturing to her beloved horse that she’d brought with her.

“As you wish, my lady,” Rhys said, bowing. He left momentarily and returned carrying two buckets of water. One he placed in front of Violet to drink, the other he used with a sponge to rub down the horse. He talked quietly to Violet in soothing tones as he did so.

Julianna found herself wishing very much that she knew what he was saying to the mare. It sounded kinder than anything he’d said to her since he’d seen her yesterday. He finished by softly brushing Violet, including her lovely dark mane. He was adept with horses, she would give him that.

When he was finished, he stood to the side, bowed and said, “What do you think, my lady?”

Julianna thought she’d never wished so much to be a horse, but she was not about to say that out loud. Instead she lifted her chin and said, “Now Violet’s stall needs mucking.”

He arched a brow, then glanced down at the hay in the stall. “It looks clean to me, my lady. I mucked it this morning actually.”

She scoffed at that, highly doubting he knew how to muck a stall. She would challenge him to prove his boast was true. “Be that as it may, I’d like it mucked again, please.” She did her best to sound imperious.

Julianna watched from several paces away as Rhys pushed a wheelbarrow over to Violet’s stall, gathered a pitchfork from somewhere in the recesses of the stable, and set to his task with an enthusiasm she found quite surprising.

After only a few minutes, sweat dripped from his brow and his shirt became plastered to his broad chest, outlining his muscles and flat abdomen. Julianna plucked at the neckline of her riding habit. It was unseasonably warm today, wasn’t it?

Rhys didn’t stop, nor did he look up. He pitched fork after fork of hay into the barrow. The stall was cleaned in under a quarter of an hour. And perhaps most astonishing of all, he’d done it all with nary a complaint. He wheeled the dirty contents to another part of the stables, returning with a wheelbarrow full of fresh hay, which he then proceeded to dump into Violet’s stall and spread in a thick, clean layer using the pitchfork again.

When he was finished, he propped up the pitchfork and rested a gloved