Page 44 of The Boxing Baroness

“I’m going to want to run once we are inside the park,” she warned him as they neared the gates.

“Of course.”

His pleasant acceptance was annoying. It was not easy to keep insulting somebody when they would not rise to the bait. She eyed his mount. “That is a lovely animal,” she said grudgingly.

“Yes, Cassio is one of the first pleasure horses to come out of a stud I acquired several years ago.”

“Cassio?” She laughed. “Interesting choice of name. I trust you aren’t planning to name any of your other horses Iago?”

He patted the stallion’s neck. “Probably not.”

“Have you only recently begun breeding horses?”

“I’ve only acquired this particular farm recently. It was given over to breeding racehorses, but I have no interest in racing, so I am taking the stud in a different direction.”

“An aristocrat who isn’t interested in racing?” she mocked. “I didn’t think that was allowed.”

He turned to face her. “Do you always classify people so rigidly, Marianne?”

She experienced an annoying fluttering low in her belly at the sound of her name on his tongue.

“We are here,” she said, ignoring his question. “It’s time to run.”

Chapter 11

By the fifth day, Marianne was beginning to have a little respect for the Duke of Staunton. He might have lived the life of an entitled aristocrat, but he was not going to break easily.

By the eighth day Marianne had begun to suspect that the duke would not be put off by a constant stream of menial, pointless, or disgusting jobs.

By the end of the second week, she had all but given up trying to break his will. It simply took too much effort. Besides, when she could make herself forget who he really was for a few minutes, he was actually an excellent trainer—not to mention a fine boxer, himself—and had improved her performance in more than a few areas.

They hadn’t become friendly, of course, but she had stopped sniping at him. Well, at least she’d cut the number of snipes in half.

One morning at the beginning of the third week Marianne showed up at the livery stable to find the duke waiting for her on a new horse—this one a gorgeous silvery-gray gelding. Beside him, saddled and ready, was Cassio.

“Is somebody else joining us?” she asked, peering into the dimness of the stables and looking for the lad who worked the early morning.

“No, I thought you might enjoy riding him.”

Marianne spun around. “Me?”

The duke nodded.

Marianne looked at Cassio, who looked back at her with, she would have sworn, a haughty, skeptical equine sneer—as if the magnificent stallion couldn’t believe his master would dream of loaning him out to such a plebian.

She turned back to the duke. “I couldn’t.”

“You are worried you will not be able to handle him?”

“Of course I’m not worried about that!”

The faint smirk on his lips told her he’d been taunting her and she’d snapped at the bait.

Well. Who knew His Grace had a sense of humor?

“What I meant to say,” she explained, “is that the animal is too valuable. What if I damaged him? I’d never be able to repay you.”

“Damage him? How?”