Page 6 of How to Win a Duke’s Heart

Her temperament was so overbearing, he quite forgot how delicate of form she was. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. What she lacked in height, she made up for in sheer doggedness and temerity. Oddly, he admired those qualities in his female relatives, but in Miss Slater, they rubbed raw as thistle prickles on his bare arse.

The instant her booted feet touched the ground, she removed her hand from his with such alacrity, he might’ve had leprosy or offensive body odor.

Annoyed despite himself, Evan clasped his hands behind his back.

Many women would’ve used their wiles to find an excuse to extend the moment. Evan knew his worth. Aye, he was Scots, and his coffers were nearly empty, but he was an eligible duke nonetheless.

Women had been angling to become his wife from the moment he’d inherited the title. Leah Wesleyan had no qualms about her blatant interest in becoming the next Duchess of Waycross. She eyed him with the concentration and prowess of a feral cat stalking a nestling, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

Evan had little interest in silly women with no thought in their heads besides the latest frippery they’d purchased or the juiciest gossip they’d heard of late. He’d resisted marrying an heiress to fill the duchy’s empty coffers. He’d much prefer to restore the estate to prosperity by his own merit.

Miss Slater tucked her parasol under one arm and adjusted her reticule as she examined her surroundings. She fairly vibrated with excitement, and he almost smiled at her contagious enthusiasm. She reminded him of himself…once upon a time.

“The pair of you are very much alike in many ways.”

Slater’s words from a few minutes earlier played through Evan’s mind. Perhaps there was more truth in that statement than either he or Miss Sophronie Slater realized.

Or wanted to admit.

At least Evan could credit her with a rational brain. She was almost as obsessed with equines as he—her only redeeming quality. From half-closed eyelids, he observed her.

Azure eyes alight with interest, she gazed about, her attention landing here and there before darting to something else. Evan recognized the instant she spotted a few of the gleaming racehorses being led by their jockeys toward the track.

Her pink mouth parted on a soft, delighted, “Oh.”

He well understood her fascination. As a young lad, he’d been entranced with horseflesh. As an adult, struggling for the past five years to make a successful go of breeding and racing to support his extended family and extensive estate, he’d become less sentimental and more unrepentantly logical.

“The first heat doesna begin for almost an hour. Would ye care to visit the stables for a few minutes?” Evan asked. “We shall have to take care no’ to intrude upon the jockeys and owners, but I can direct ye to the two horses I am considerin’ purchasin’.”

“Indeed,” Slater said with a smile and twinkle in his eye. “There’s nothing like a race day, is there?”

Evan glanced around as if seeing his surroundings for the first time.

He used to enjoy this—looked forward to a race as eagerly as a Scottish lad or lass unwrapping their Hogmanay gifts or an English child their Christmastide presents. Now, however, so much depended on whether he made the best selection of studs and broodmares… Och, the joy had been stolen from what he’d once been most passionate about.

When one had several mouths to feed and had become the sole means of support for numerous people, that rather put a damper on frivolous betting and casual breeding he’d dabbled in when he’d been the spare and not the heir. His deceased father and elder brother had nearly bankrupted the dukedom, leaving him to pick up the shattered remnants and glue the jagged pieces back together.

Evan would be damned if he’d be as irresponsible, negligent, or reckless as those two had been. He had duties. Responsibilities. Obligations. His own needs and wants were secondary to preserving the duchy.

What was more, he had limited funds to build the stock he prayed would enable him to make a name for himself in breeding and racing circles. The horses and stables were his means of reversing the failing estate he’d inherited. By damn, he’d not give up until he’d exhausted every resource or avenue to achieve his goal.

Hence, he’d swallowed his pride and asked George Slater for his opinion on the studs. The man might be an American, but he knew horses. The man was likely the most knowledgeable about horseflesh of all Evan's acquaintances.

Honestly, he welcomed Slater’s expertise.

His daughter’s all too easily given viewpoints Evan could well do without.

If Evan failed to make a go of his breeding ventures within the next couple of years, he’d have to seriously consider marrying an heiress.

Leah Wesleyan’s wide eyes and porcelain features intruded.

Aye, Leah was beautiful and an heiress. She knew exactly how a lady of quality ought to conduct herself. She was also coldly calculating and self-centered.

Slater extended his arm toward Miss Slater. “Shall we, my dear?”

“Oh, yes.” She gave him a sunny smile, revealing her slightly crooked front teeth. Their minor imperfection didn’t detract from her pixyish prettiness. Her eyes flashing with eagerness, she looped her hand through her father’s elbow.

A little chap holding a toy top waved at her.