Page 72 of Kathryn

You’re more delighted about who you are going riding with.

That was true, too.

It seemed that Becky wasn’t the only woman in the house who’d lost her sense over a reserved, haughty, unfathomable man.

Chapter Eighteen

Gerrit did not honestly expect his wife to be ready in a quarter of an hour and was surprised when she arrived with three minutes to spare.

“You did not think I could do it, did you?” she asked, smirking up at him and slapping her whip against her palm.

He felt a rare twinge of amusement at her challenging look. “No.”

She laughed and Gerrit tried not to enjoy the sound too much.

Burrell, his stable master, led Kathryn’s new mount into the courtyard, and Gerrit took the animal’s reins and presented the horse to his wife. “This is Robin, Your Grace.”

Kathryn’s eyes glowed as she approached the chestnut. “He is exquisite,” she cooed, offering her slender gloved hand to the fidgeting gelding.

Gerrit felt a burst of pleasure at her approval—almost enough to override his unease at having a chestnut horse in his stables. Like his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather before him, Gerrit had always purchased Friesians and always in their traditional color of black. But when he’d approached Burrell about a mount for Kathryn, the stablemaster had mentioned seeing a rare chestnut Friesian at the breeder Gerrit favored. Gerrit had known upon sight that this was the horse for Kathryn. Not only was Robin extraordinarily beautiful, but the gelding had a sweet temperament with a touch of mischief in his eyes. Perfect for his mistress.

It was just a shame the breeder had not had two chestnuts. He decided the pang of discomfort he felt owning just one chestnut was easily offset by his wife’s obvious pleasure. Of course that was a thought that also left him feeling uneasy. Since when did he care so much about her likes or dislikes?

Kathryn stroked and fussed over the animal and cut Gerrit a shy look. “I love him. Thank you. He has the most unusual reddish chestnut coat I have ever seen.”

Gerrit thought so, too. Indeed, with her standing beside the animal he was amazed at how similar in color the gelding’s long, rippling mane was to her lovely hair.

“The breeder said he has only ever seen two chestnut Friesians in all his years. Most are black, although you will see the occasional bay or gray.”

Her brilliant green eyes turned to him, softer than he’d ever seen them before. “Well, he certainly is lovely. Thank you,” she said again.

Any unease at having a sole chestnut horse in his stables—or wanting to please his wife—drained away at her obvious happiness at his gift.

“Come. I will help you mount,” he said, the strange emotions in his chest making him sound abrupt and causing her to flinch, her glorious eyes shuttering.

Damnation. Would he ever learn how to speak to her without uttering commands or snarling?

Gerrit slid his hands around her slender waist and easily lifted her into the saddle. While she fastened her train he lengthened the stirrup. “How is that?” he asked, looking up and meeting her now-cool gaze.

“Perhaps one more.”

He lowered the stirrup by another notch.

“That is good,” she said before he could ask.

He mounted Centurion and they rode in silence as they left the courtyard. Gerrit knew that he would need to be the one to speak first after he’d been so curt back at the stables.

Christ but he hated small talk.

He glanced at her. “Your seat is excellent.”

He’d not meant to sound condescending but judging by her slight smirk and the way her cool green gaze flickered over him he’d obviously failed.

Heat pooled in Gerrit’s groin—not a desirable reaction when one was astride a horse—as she studied him with a lingering thoroughness.

“As is yours,” she finally said, and then turned to face forward.

He snorted softly and adjusted himself. He deserved that.