Free The Deception by Joan Wolf Page A

had at one time served as the dairy and the cookhouse and that now, with the family no longer in any regular residence, were filled with odds and ends of furniture that were no longer needed in the house. The path itself was flanked by turf, winter brown now, but in spring it would be richly green.
    The stable buildings were constructed of the same stone as the house. There was the carriage house, which at the moment contained only a simple country cart, and the barn. The barn held twelve box stalls, all of which looked out on a cobbled central yard. Five of the double Dutch doors were open at the top to allow their occupants air and sunshine; four of the stills belonged to Lambourn’s equine residents and one to Harry’s horse. I started toward the newcomer’s stall, curious to see what he was riding.
    The open door revealed a bright chestnut Thoroughbred gelding, who was happily munching on a pile of hay. I regarded him critically. “What a nice horse,” I said to Harry, who was standing beside me. “He looks as if he has smooth gaits.”
    Harry looked at me in surprise. “They are smooth. How did you know that?”
    “One can often tell by the way the shoulder is set.”
    The surprise on Harry’s face slowly turned to something else. It was a change I had seen dozens of times before. I will never understand why men refuse to think that women are capable of judging a horse.
    “Let me show you Elsa,” I said, and we moved along to the mare’s stall. She was finishing up her own lunch hay, but when she heard my voice she glanced over her shoulder. She didn’t nicker—Elsa thought nickering was undignified—but she moved with queenly graciousness to the stall door, where she accepted a lump of sugar and allowed me to rub the white star on her forehead.
    Harry’s mouth was hanging open, and I smiled. The last few months had seen a dramatic change in Elsa’s appearance. Her neck had a lovely crest, her back had filled in, and her quarters were starting to muscle up nicely. In another year she would be magnificent.
    “How old is this mare?” Harry demanded.
    “Sixteen,” I said.
    “That’s what I thought. What have you done to her?”
    “I’ve been riding her.”
    He looked at my skirt, this time openly. “You don’t use a sidesaddle?”
    I shook my head. “I learned to ride astride, and Papa said it would be a shame to make me change.”
    Willie’s voice came from behind us. “Would you like me to saddle her up, my lady, so you can show Lord Henry how she goes?” He sounded so much like a proud father that I had to smile. Both of the grooms at Lambourn really cared about the horses in their charge.
    “I’d like to see her go,” Harry said. We stood together in the bright cold sunshine and watched while Willie saddled Elsa. On the far side of the barn there were three large fenced paddocks, and I had made a riding ring in one of them by spreading wood shavings over the frozen ground. This is where we took Elsa. The two men watched as I fitted my foot into the stirrup and swung up into the saddle.
    I have been riding horses in front of my father’s customers for almost all my life, so it didn’t make me at all nervous to ride now in front of Harry. He was impressed. He should have been. Elsa was forward and light and absolutely elegant.
    “Divorce Adrian and marry me,” Harry said when we came to a perfectly square halt in front of him.
    I laughed.
    “Where did you learn to ride like that?”
    “My father. He attended the French cavalry school at Saumur when he was a young man, so he was well grounded in classical equitation.”
    Harry nodded. “You don’t use an English hunting saddle, I see.”
    “Papa abhorred the hunting saddle,” I said frankly. “He said it is responsible for the English being the worst riders in the entire civilized world. He got this old French military saddle for me about five years ago. I wouldn’t part with it for anything on earth.”
    Harry grinned. “Your