Page 6 of The Boxing Baroness

Certainly, the Duke of Staunton would have lost interest in her long before then.

Chapter 2

Marianne tossed a coin to the bleary-eyed stable lad before taking Reginald’s reins and mounting the gelding without the aid of a block—something she wouldn’t be able to do if she were dressed in a constricting riding habit rather than boots and breeches.

Once she was comfortably astride, she urged the gray gelding out of the livery stable’s small courtyard. Jack would have preferred that she run behind a horse, rather than ride one, but she despised running and couldn’t bear doing it every day; in her opinion, taking a jaunt in the park was a good compromise.

Her uncle had refused to buy her a decent mount, insisting that any old hack would do, so Marianne had purchased Reggie herself. She’d paid more than she should for the gelding, but he was exceedingly well-trained and comfortable with both regular and sidesaddles.

By the time they reached the entrance to Hyde Park, Reggie’s body was tense with anticipation and Marianne had finally woken up.

“Are you ready for a run, Reggie?”

His sensitive ears flickered, and he snorted as if he knew what she was asking.

“Let’s go!”

Reggie’s powerful body surged forward, and he channeled his awesome strength with breathtaking grace.

It really was like flying, and she couldn’t help her joyous laughter as they soared through the cool morning air, just her and Reggie, the only two creatures alive in—

Marianne yelped as a horse and rider thundered past so close that their knees almost brushed.

Reggie’s stride stuttered and he veered off to the right, but he quickly recovered.

She eyed the duo’s departure with an angry glare. “Go get them, Reg.”

Although the wind whipped away her words, Reggie read the determination in her body and threw his heart into the race, hurtling ahead. Just as they began to nip at their competitor’s heels, the pair abruptly pulled up.

Marianne blinked to clear the blurry chill from her eyes and abruptly reined in, so caught up in the race that she’d not realized they’d reached the end of the Row. By the time they’d slowed to a trot, the other rider had guided his mount to the edge of the wide path and was walking the big gray stallion back and forth.

Marianne’s plan to guide Reggie in the opposite direction, and thereby avoid a meeting, was foiled when the man called out, “Good morning, Miss Simpson.”

She jolted at the sound of the deep, cultured voice and reluctantly turned her mount.

A fair-haired, pale-eyed, glorious god stared down at her from his horse, which was a good hand-and-a-half taller than Reggie.

His aristocratic, sculpted features were fixed in a haughty expression she imagined was his resting face. His eyes, the color of which she’d not been able to see from the boxing ring, were a pale green that looked as chilly as a killing frost on a new blade of grass. Right now, they glinted with an icy hostility that was enough to make her shiver.

He nudged his mount forward. “You are Miss Marianne Simpson, if I am not mistaken.”

“You know I am,” she retorted. “And you are the Duke of Staunton.”

His pale gaze slid over her body slowly, insolently. It was a look she had endured countless times, even before her notorious ex-lover had publicly cast her aside. The nostrils of Staunton’s fine nose quivered and pinched—as if he were smelling something foul.

Instead of wilting beneath his harsh glare, Marianne conducted her own inspection. She was unsurprised by the classical perfection of his face and figure. He was, after all, Lord Flawless: flawless in both person and deportment.

It irked her to admit that the word suited him—at least when it came to his face and body. He wasn’t just handsome; he was flawlessly beautiful in an entirely masculine way.

“You are a difficult woman to speak to, Miss Simpson.”

She shifted in her saddle. “Oh?”

“As I’m sure you know, I was at your uncle’s establishment last night and asked to see you.”

“Unfortunately, I am not receptive to men mooning outside the theater door.”

The fair skin over his high cheekbones darkened at her insulting words. “I also sent you two written messages, Miss Simpson, over the past week.”