“Hardly,” she teased, her lips curving into a wicked smirk that shot straight to his groin. “I dressed like a man and took their money that way.”

Rhystan couldn’t help it; he laughed. “Minx.”

“I prefer ‘impresario,’” she tossed back. “I rode until I took a bad fall a few years ago that weakened my spine. The doctors said I would never ride again, and yet here I am. Though I confess, I’m not as hell-for-leather as I used to be.”

Rhystan wasn’t surprised in the least. She’d always been dauntless. The girl he knew would never let something as life-altering as an injured spine slow her down, nor would she let anyone tell her she couldn’t do anything. His mouth bowed into a reluctant smile.

“Why is that?” he asked.

“I’m physically capable of it,” she said. “But the mind, you see, once it has known pain and associated that pain with an event or action, it doesn’t forget. If I go too fast, my instinct is to slow to a safer speed, which makes me lose the competitive edge. Fear is a rather powerful thing to conquer.”

Rhystan had the sudden thought that she was no longer speaking of racing. Though her face remained composed, he could feel the thoughtful weight of her sidelong glance. “So you’re afraid of taking another fall?”

“Aren’t we all a bit fearful of pain, Your Grace? Falling or otherwise?”

“You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life.”

He did not attempt to hide the depth of his esteem. Why would he? He’d always valued her mettle…her spirit. Sarani’s gaze swung to his as she faltered, her horse veering sharply as her hands jerked on the reins.

Deviltry tugged at him. “Besides, you seem to be falling for me quite happily. Most women do, you know. It’s inevitable.”

The horse jolted to an ungraceful stop.

“Good gracious, your arrogance is astounding.” Splotches of color skimmed her cheeks, but she kept her expression calm when she started moving again and regarded him haughtily over one shoulder. “I’m not ‘most women,’ Your Grace.”

“No, you’re not.” He grinned, clicking at his horse to speed up to match her increased gait as she angled her horse away from him. Her cheeks were blazing now, making an indistinct rush of pleasure gather in his chest. God, she was lovely. “Are you blushing, my lady? My word, the boatswains would argue that London Town has made you soft, cabin boy.”

She shot him an arch look. “We are not on your ship now, Duke.”

“I’m well aware of that,” he said. “Would that we were, however.”