Cecily’s gaze flicked to one side and Zach recognised Bickling—Lord Vernon’s groom, whom he had met in Worcester—standing nearby. She was warning him to maintain the formalities in front of others, kindling a warm glow in his chest. She had not forgotten their conversation.
‘Good morning, my lady. I did not expect to see anyone up and about so early.’
‘I could not sleep once daylight came. I felt the need for exercise after two idle days so I thought I might ride around the estate. I can find no one to accompany me, however, even though I was told Leo and Dominic have already broken their fast.’
‘They are fishing, with Daniel.’ Zach pointed in the direction of the river. ‘I am happy to accompany you, if Pritchard can supply a horse.’
The offer slipped out before he could censor his words. He sensed Bickling’s uneasy stir, but ignored him.
‘That would be splendid. Oh, Bickling, do wipe that disapproving expression from your face. Mr Gray is a guest here. There is no impropriety.’
‘Milady, I was about to suggest I ride with you. It’s not proper, you going out unchaperoned.’
She laughed and the sound trickled through Zach, awakening the strongest urge to hear her laugh again and again.
‘Oh, Bickling! That is absurd. It is no more improper for me to ride out with Mr Gray than it is to ride out with only you as my escort. We shall not go far. Now, Lady Vernon said last night she was happy for me to ride her mare Polly, so please go and speak to Pritchard and ask him to saddle her and also one of Mr Markham’s horses for Mr Gray.’
Bickling stalked off, grumbling beneath his breath.
‘The Good Lord deliver me from protective men.’ Cecily smiled up at Zach, tiny laughter lines creasing the outer corners of her lovely eyes. ‘It is bad enough with two brothers and two nephews who all consider it their duty to monitor my every move without the servants joining in as well.’
‘He is only doing as he thinks best,’ Zach said. ‘I need to speak to Pritchard before we go; I promised Lady Vernon I’d look at her favourite mare. She’s gone lame.’
‘Oh, the poor thing. Of course you must see to her before we go, Zach.’
Pleasure flared at her use of his name.
‘I shan’t be long. From Lady Vernon’s description, I suspect the problem is in her back, not her legs. She might benefit from massage but she’ll need the area warmed and relaxed first and that will take a while.’
He was soon back, having examined the mare and given instructions to Pritchard to rug her up using a lightweight blanket over a thatch of straw to help relax her. Cecily was crouching down, attempting to coax Myrtle to her. She looked up at Zach’s approach.
‘Look at this poor dog,’ she said. ‘Do you think she’s a stray? How can she survive on only three legs?’
Myrtle lurched over to him and leaned against his leg, nudging him with her head. He bent to fondle her ear as Cecily stood upright.
‘She went straight to you. Is she yours?’
‘I care for her.’
‘Of course. As you told me, you do not keep animals. They are free to leave if they wish. That is correct, isn’t it?’
‘It is. Apart from Titan, that is.’
‘Titan?’
‘He pulls my wagon. I cannot allow him to wander off, or I would never be able to move on.’
‘And is that important to you? The ability to move on?’ She tilted her face to the sky. ‘It sounds idyllic and uncomplicated in this weather, but it must be less pleasant in the rain and in the winter.’
He shrugged. ‘It is what I have chosen.’
Bad choice of words. He knew it as soon as they left his mouth. Her eyes sharpened as she studied him.
‘Chosen? You make it sound as though you do have an alternative if you wish it.’
The clip-clop of hooves announced the arrival of their horses—a pretty chestnut mare for Lady Perfect and a bay gelding for him—and Myrtle, wary of horses, slunk out of the yard to hide behind the stone entrance pillar. Zach was grateful for the interruption, but he answered Lady Perfect’s comment anyway, hoping it would be enough to stop her probing further.
‘Everyone has an alternative.’
* * *
Cecily eyed Zach thoughtfully. Did his comment have some deeper meaning? Wondering what alternative he had to his Romany way of life, she settled her hat onto her head and turned her attention to Polly, looking her over with a knowledgeable eye as she smoothed her gloved hand down the gleaming chestnut neck. Bickling laced his fingers to provide a step for her to mount and she quickly settled in the side saddle, waiting while Zach mounted the bay.
His loose trousers and short boots looked decidedly odd as riding attire, accustomed as she was to breeches and shiny top boots, but the loose fit did not detract from his sculpted thighs as he settled in the saddle. She averted her gaze and diverted her thoughts from a sudden mental image of Zach’s muscular thighs clad in form-fitting breeches. An image that dried her mouth.
‘We shouldn’t be long, Bickling, so do not worry.’ And with that, she touched the mare with her heel and they clattered out of the yard, her seat secure even as Polly shied away from Myrtle, still hovering by the entrance.
‘I’ll be back soon, Myrtle,’ Zach said as he passed the dog, a brindled brown and white bull-terrier type, short-legged and stocky—the type of animal often used in dog fights.
Cecily suppressed a shudder at the thought—she loathed some of the so-called sports that even civilised men indulged in. Thankfully, her brothers did not enjoy dog fighting, cock fighting and the like, but... She cast a sidelong look at Zach as his horse ranged alongside hers as they followed a track that led away from the house, behind the stables. Did Romanys indulge in such sports?
‘How did she lose her leg?’
‘A snare. Set by a gamekeeper.’
‘Oh. I thought... I wondered...’
His dark brows lifted.
‘Well, she is the sort of dog used in dog fighting. I thought that might be how she was injured.’
His mouth settled into a tight line and she cursed herself for such clumsiness. He had demonstrated his love for animals in the short time she had known him and yet she had practically accused him of involvement in a horrid blood sport. How she wished she’d thought before opening her mouth.
‘Why do you call her Myrtle?’
‘Why not?’
Cecily tamped down the urge to snap at him for rejecting her olive branch. Her own mood was also a touch fragile this morning after a restless couple of nights, and she was tired and a little headachy with all the thoughts and—yes, alternatives—that had pounded relentlessly at her brain since their conversation in the moonlight. She had only reached a conclusion as this day dawned—a conclusion prompted partly by the memory of Zach’s kiss—and she had imagined telling Zach all about her plans for her future the next time she saw him. Her decision to go for a ride this early had in part been to clear her head, but she knew, deep down, that she also had hoped to see Zach. And that had worked better than she imagined, although now she was well on her way to quarrelling with him and that would only ruin their ride.
Before she could say anything to smooth the conversation, Zach spoke.
‘I call her Myrtle for the plant. When I found her, there was a lady who lived in a cottage on that estate who helped. She grew herbs and medicinal plants in her glasshouse and she made a poultice of crushed myrtle leaves to help heal the wound after we amputated her leg.’
‘Thank