Read Online Taming the Duke by Jackie Manning - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jackie Manning
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the ball this Saturday, I’ll become a laughingstock.”
Mildred gave her a commanding look. Elizabeth shuddered under her scrutiny. After an uncomfortable pause, the dowager spoke. “I know my son better than you. We’ll do nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Elizabeth recognized the same stubbornness in the dowager’s calculating blue eyes that she had often seen in Dalton’s.
“Very well, your grace.” Elizabeth lowered her eyes and smiled demurely. Maybe you think that you’ll do nothing , she mused, but I know of something that will change your mind .
Through the natural blind of dense oak leaves, Dalton watched the magnificent stag lift its head from the stream and listen. How many times had Dalton and his brother, Drake, watched the herd as they came to drink at the waterfall? As boys, they had loved the pursuit of the hunt. He and Drake would race each other to see who would first spot their prey. But since the war and Drake’s death, Dalton had lost the stomach to kill any living thing. He even disliked having to read the monthly gamekeeper’s reports that tallied which of the weak trees the workers had cleared from the hunting fields.
The stag nibbled tender shoots from the low brambles. Dalton sighed. He would love to spend the entire afternoon here in the peaceful glen, but he had important work to do. He turned and strode toward the sorrel gelding nearby.
Indeed, the brief respite in the silent woods had restored his good humor. Hopefully, Lady Alicia was in a more receptive mood, too. He needed to talk to her. He had sketched some designs for a round pen that could easily be built away from the stable yard. If Alicia approved the plan, the high-fenced pen would allow her the freedom to work with Bashshar, while protected from the unwelcome stares of his mother’s guests.
When he approached the paddock, Dalton dismounted and walked toward the stable, handing the reins to a waiting groom. He was almost past thecorner of the pavilion when he recognized Bashshar’s loud whinny. He stopped and peered through the white-painted fence of the pavilion. Inside, in the center of the ring, Alicia stood like a statue, her arms at her sides. In one hand she held what looked like an old woolen scarf, hanging limply to the ground. A few feet away, Bashshar angrily pawed the earth.
Dalton watched with fascinated interest. She flicked the long scarf. Bashshar watched her warily as he moved along the opposite end of the enclosure, his bright eyes never wavering from her.
Dalton waited for Alicia to react again with the long scarf, to do anything; but instead, she remained immobile, facing the animal. Minutes passed, and Dalton finally realized that she was imitating Bashshar’s movements—while holding the power position of center stage.
Bashshar knew it and didn’t like it. He scratched the dirt, tossing his head in protest at this lovely woman who didn’t seem to be afraid of him. Bashshar refused to settle, his eyes warring with hers.
Whatever was going on, Dalton had no idea, but he couldn’t look away. He watched transfixed as the powerful stallion played into her hand. When the horse appeared ready to rear, Dalton pushed open the gate and rushed inside. “Alicia, back away!”
Bashshar shook his head wildly, then kicked his hind legs in the air.
Alicia stepped back, then whirled to face Dalton. Her face was a study of silent rage as she slapped her hands on her hips. She glanced over her shoulderat the black stallion. As though satisfied the horse was all right, she strode determinedly toward Dalton, then shot past him.
“Wh-where are you going?” he asked as she strode from the ring. He took off after her. When they had left the paddock, she turned around to lock the gate. When she had slid the bolt through the latch, she rounded on him.
“If I am to make any progress with your stallion, you must not interrupt me.”
“Interrupt? I was trying to save your life. See here, you don’t seem to
Mildred gave her a commanding look. Elizabeth shuddered under her scrutiny. After an uncomfortable pause, the dowager spoke. “I know my son better than you. We’ll do nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Elizabeth recognized the same stubbornness in the dowager’s calculating blue eyes that she had often seen in Dalton’s.
“Very well, your grace.” Elizabeth lowered her eyes and smiled demurely. Maybe you think that you’ll do nothing , she mused, but I know of something that will change your mind .
Through the natural blind of dense oak leaves, Dalton watched the magnificent stag lift its head from the stream and listen. How many times had Dalton and his brother, Drake, watched the herd as they came to drink at the waterfall? As boys, they had loved the pursuit of the hunt. He and Drake would race each other to see who would first spot their prey. But since the war and Drake’s death, Dalton had lost the stomach to kill any living thing. He even disliked having to read the monthly gamekeeper’s reports that tallied which of the weak trees the workers had cleared from the hunting fields.
The stag nibbled tender shoots from the low brambles. Dalton sighed. He would love to spend the entire afternoon here in the peaceful glen, but he had important work to do. He turned and strode toward the sorrel gelding nearby.
Indeed, the brief respite in the silent woods had restored his good humor. Hopefully, Lady Alicia was in a more receptive mood, too. He needed to talk to her. He had sketched some designs for a round pen that could easily be built away from the stable yard. If Alicia approved the plan, the high-fenced pen would allow her the freedom to work with Bashshar, while protected from the unwelcome stares of his mother’s guests.
When he approached the paddock, Dalton dismounted and walked toward the stable, handing the reins to a waiting groom. He was almost past thecorner of the pavilion when he recognized Bashshar’s loud whinny. He stopped and peered through the white-painted fence of the pavilion. Inside, in the center of the ring, Alicia stood like a statue, her arms at her sides. In one hand she held what looked like an old woolen scarf, hanging limply to the ground. A few feet away, Bashshar angrily pawed the earth.
Dalton watched with fascinated interest. She flicked the long scarf. Bashshar watched her warily as he moved along the opposite end of the enclosure, his bright eyes never wavering from her.
Dalton waited for Alicia to react again with the long scarf, to do anything; but instead, she remained immobile, facing the animal. Minutes passed, and Dalton finally realized that she was imitating Bashshar’s movements—while holding the power position of center stage.
Bashshar knew it and didn’t like it. He scratched the dirt, tossing his head in protest at this lovely woman who didn’t seem to be afraid of him. Bashshar refused to settle, his eyes warring with hers.
Whatever was going on, Dalton had no idea, but he couldn’t look away. He watched transfixed as the powerful stallion played into her hand. When the horse appeared ready to rear, Dalton pushed open the gate and rushed inside. “Alicia, back away!”
Bashshar shook his head wildly, then kicked his hind legs in the air.
Alicia stepped back, then whirled to face Dalton. Her face was a study of silent rage as she slapped her hands on her hips. She glanced over her shoulderat the black stallion. As though satisfied the horse was all right, she strode determinedly toward Dalton, then shot past him.
“Wh-where are you going?” he asked as she strode from the ring. He took off after her. When they had left the paddock, she turned around to lock the gate. When she had slid the bolt through the latch, she rounded on him.
“If I am to make any progress with your stallion, you must not interrupt me.”
“Interrupt? I was trying to save your life. See here, you don’t seem to
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