Duke Looks Like a Groomsman - Valerie Bowman Page 0,28
head to the side. “I’ll be certain to tell Kendall to steer clear of you, then.” He took a breath, all trace of humor gone. “Oh, but you’re already betrothed, aren’t you?”
Chapter Eleven
Rhys spurred Alabaster over the next hilltop. He’d been riding hell-for-leather across the hilly terrain that comprised Clayton’s property for the better part of the last hour. It was time to let the fine horse take a break.
Rhys hadn’t been able to ride fast enough. He hadn’t been able to ride far enough to rid his thoughts of his unsatisfying conversation with Julianna at the lake this morning.
He’d mentioned her being betrothed and before Julianna had had a chance to reply, Mary had returned with her arms full of buttercups, and he’d had to go back to pretending to be a dutiful servant. He’d gathered the basket and the blanket and escorted the two young women back to the coach. Then he’d ridden behind on the running board while a thousand thoughts had raced through his mind. The same thoughts that were plaguing him now.
She knows the Duke of Worthington is the man who… Julianna had let that sentence trail off and when he’d pressed her on it, she’d said, is the man who once courted me. But Rhys knew. He knew she’d meant to say something else. Something that indicated she blamed him for their falling out. He’d long suspected she blamed him. But today he’d been certain of it.
She’d shook away the topic so casually, so quickly, as if she honestly believed she’d been in the right about the entire situation. Sometimes she seemed caring and thoughtful, like when she’d mentioned how sad a commentary on Society it was that none of the other guests had recognized Kendall in the dining room. But she was the same woman who’d pretended to be falling in love with him in order to marry the bachelor with the most esteemed title.
He refused to think about how she’d said she found him attractive. That did nothing but confuse matters. What she meant to say was she found his wealth and title attractive. She knew precisely who he really was.
He continued to walk Alabaster for several more minutes before rubbing him down with a towel from the saddlebag and tying him to the fence. This was the same stop he’d come to the first day here with Julianna. Damn it. Why did everything remind him of her? She hadn’t been in his thoughts for years. Well, months. Very well, perhaps weeks. But that was only because he’d seen her father at the tailor’s in London recently.
The man had barely acknowledged him. Montlake detested him. Not because Rhys had courted his daughter and failed to offer for her. Well, not only for that reason. No, Montlake was the type who scorned gambling and drinking, and well, those were Rhys’s two favorite pastimes. Montlake hated him for his wicked ways. No doubt he’d been nothing but pleased that Rhys’s courtship of his daughter had ended in naught.
That made two of them.
Rhys had just finished wrapping Alabaster’s leather reins around the fence post when the thunder of hooves behind him made him turn. Raising his hand above his eyes, he squinted across the sun-filled meadow. A single rider leaning low upon a horse, was headed directly toward him.
Soon Julianna’s form came into view. She was leaning forward and swiping at Violet’s hindquarters with her crop. Dust flew beneath the horse’s hooves and moments later, Rhys realized that she was riding…astride.
He waited, hands on hips, until Violet slowed to a stop in front of him as Julianna sat up, tugged at the reins, and called, “Whoa.”
“There you are,” she said next, smiling at him as if they hadn’t had an awkward exchange the last time they’d seen each other.
“You ride astride now?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
“I’ve ridden astride forever,” she replied jauntily, “I simply used to care what you thought of me and now I don’t.”
Despite himself, he respected her for that pert answer. “I was looking to be alone for a bit,” he ground out. “I’m certain one of the other groomsmen can help you this afternoon.”
“Not with this,” she replied, swinging one breeches-clad leg over the saddle and nimbly jumping to the ground. She landed on her booted feet and looked up at him. “I want to ask you something, Rhys.”
Both the urgency in her voice and the sight of her in the leg-hugging breeches made his pulse quicken. He