Page 45 of The Boxing Baroness

“I don’t know—what if he threw a splint or I ran him into a rabbit hole?”

Both blond brows went up. “A rabbit hole on the Row?”

She threw him a look of pure exasperation. “You know what I mean, Your Grace.”

“I didn’t peg you for a coward, Marianne.”

Marianne snorted. “Does that sort of taunt work on your two friends, Your Grace?”

“I loan out my mounts all the time and most of the people I loan them to are not half the rider you are.”

Marianne was momently rendered speechless by his unexpected compliment.

“I’ve made my offer clear—the decision is up to you. If you don’t wish to ride him, Emmett”—he gestured to the groom holding his reins—“can ride him back to my stable.”

She slowly exhaled. “Oh, well, there’s no need to put Emmett to extra work,” she protested disingenuously. “But if anything happens—”

He looked painfully bored as he inspected the handle of his crop.

Marianne stroked Cassio’s neck, looking him in the eye. “You will have an easy morning with me—no hulking brute to haul around.”

Emmett coughed and glanced away, but not before Marianne saw the smile on his face.

Marianne mounted and took the reins from the groom. “Thank you, Emmett,” she said, smiling down at the man. Goodness! It was amazing how much higher up she felt, even though Cassio couldn’t be more than a hand and a half higher than Reggie.

“Ready?” the duke asked.

They rode out at a sedate pace and Marianne was immediately aware of the difference between Reggie and the duke’s horse.

“Well, blast,” she muttered after a minute or so of gliding along on Cassio. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be satisfied with poor Reggie after this.”

“Yes, Cassio is a gem.”

Marianne gestured to the horse he was riding. “Is this another of your new horses?”

“No, Bay Rum didn’t come out of the new stud; I’ve had him a good ten years at least. He has been here in London for the past year. When I leave, I shall send him home to enjoy the country.” He patted the horse’s neck with an affection that surprised her, coming from such a cold, unemotional man.

“Where is your home?” she asked.

“Derbyshire.”

“Pretty.”

“You’ve been there?”

“There is no law to keep people of my kind out of the provinces.”

Marianne immediately regretted her unpleasant response—especially since he’d gone out of his way to please her with the loan of his horse.

“Marianne. Must we—”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

His eyebrows jumped in obvious surprise.

“What? You don’t think I can apologize when I’ve been rude?”

“It has not been my experience.”