She called out something and with a laugh raced away, riding fast and furious with a grace and skill few women had. And giving Cal Rutherford—no mean rider himself—a run for his money.

Lord, but the girl could ride—astride or sidesaddle, she outrode them all.

Hart hung back at a distance, watching her, observing her interaction with her guardian. She usually rode out with all her family, Sinc had said, but Lady Rose had left London with her long-lost husband. Lady Lily too had gone to the country with her husband.

Georgiana had been quite alone when he’d first come across her in Gloucestershire, five years before. Quite frighteningly alone, he’d realized in retrospect, with nobody to care for her or protect her, except for the dubious protection of the local squire who’d told the locals not to interfere with her.

According to Sinc’s sister, she hadn’t even known she had family.

She had family now.

He watched her racing her uncle, winning the race—lord, but that stallion was fleet—and throwing back her head and laughing at something he said. She seemed to laugh easily, with family, with friends. Though not with him. Never with him.

She and her uncle walked their mounts quietly for a time, seeming to be discussing something serious. Was she telling her uncle about the night before? And if so, what was she saying? He hoped her uncle was backing Lady Salter.

She leaned over and pinched a few leaves off a bush, crushing them between her hands and smelling them as she talked to her uncle. Did she realize how sensual she was or was that a discovery that still lay ahead of her? Of them.

Her zest for life—her enjoyment of small, simple things—fascinated him.

Hart was solitary by nature. He had few friends. He’d learned young that most people wanted to be friends with a duke or the heir of a duke, not so much with Hart himself. Who Hart was, what he thought, what opinions he had were almost immaterial. They wanted the duke, not Hart.

She most emphatically didn’t want the duke. But last night she’d kissed Hart in a way that had rocked him to his foundations. She’d kissed Hart, not the duke—he could tell the difference.

He sat quietly on his horse, watching her, feeling a little like a voyeur; unable to take his eyes off her, unable to make himself leave.

He would have joined them, except he wasn’t yet ready to talk to her guardian. He needed to get everything in place first.

Chapter Nine

It is always incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always imagines a woman to be ready for any body who asks her.

—JANE AUSTEN, EMMA