Awakening His Duchess (15 page)

Her ears pricked forward.

Etienne squeezed his hand. “Is that your horse?”

“Daisy was mine when I was your age. She’s a good horse.”

Behind her a sleek hunter was led out.

Beau bent and lifted his son onto the mounting block. “Hold
out the apple.”

Etienne held out the wedge, and Daisy nuzzled his hand. The
other horse, not to be outdone, strained at his lead.

Etienne flinched, but Beau held the boy’s arm steady. He
didn’t know if Yvette had communicated her fear to him, but he wasn’t taking
chances the boy would startle the horse. Not that Daisy was likely to do
anything untoward.

Daisy nickered and then took the apple with a great deal of
snuffling at the boy’s tiny fingers.

“You mustn’t be scared because a horse will figure if you’re
frightened there must be danger. They’d never think of themselves as
dangerous.” Stroking Daisy’s muzzle he let the boy get used to the horse, all
the while keeping a calming arm around his son.

Etienne turned toward him, his eyes wide. Eyes that were
like looking in a mirror. “Maman says they are dangerous.”

Beau struggled to find the right answer. He didn’t want to
negate everything Yvette said because the boy didn’t know him and his trust
hadn’t been earned yet. Although Etienne had slipped his hand in Beau’s when he
held out his, he knew not to think it a milestone. Likely their destination had
made all the difference over yester-evening when Etienne hadn’t been willing to
take his hand.

“They can be dangerous. They can go fast so if one falls off
it can be quite a tumble. They are big and they can do damage if they step on a
person or if they are scared and kick. But most horses would never
intentionally hurt anyone.”

Etienne’s face scrunched then brightened. “Like Maman says I
cannot touch a butterfly’s wings. Only let it land on my hand if it will
because I will hurt it if I try to catch it even though I don’t mean to?”

“Yes, like that. But horses are gentle animals for the most
part. Many a horse has run until his heart gives out just because his master
asked him to. There never was a more loyal creature.”

Horses were easy to understand, unlike women. How could a
woman like Yvette be so good at teaching their son gentleness and care for
God’s creatures when she had treated him so callously?

Etienne put his small hand on Daisy’s nose and rubbed. He
twisted to look at Beau. The precious boy was his. The wonder of it slammed
into his chest every time Etienne looked at him, but with each look of his
tilted blue eyes Beau was reminded of Yvette too.

“For now you should only ride a horse that is deemed safe
for you, but as you get older and more skilled we’ll put you on hunters.”

Etienne nodded.

“Shall we put you on her back?”

Etienne’s head bobbed up and down eagerly as if words had
deserted him. Yet at the same time he pushed closer to Beau.

“No need to be frightened. I’m right here. And the groom
will keep her on her lead line at first.” He gave a nod to the groom who walked
Daisy in a circle, bringing her around to stand beside the mounting block.

Beau placed the boy’s foot in the stirrup and helped him
swing up on Daisy’s back. He instructed his son on how to hold the reins as the
groom adjusted the stirrups to Etienne.

The boy hung onto the pommel, his knuckles turning white at
the same time his excitement made him bounce in the saddle. Daisy turned her
head as if wondering what strange thing she must endure now. Beau gave her neck
a reassuring pat.

“We’re just going to walk her around the yard a bit. I’ll be
right beside you.” Beau nodded to the groom who tugged the lead line.

Daisy plodded forward while Beau kept one hand on the boy’s
back, just in case. They circled the courtyard while Beau kept up a steady
stream of instructions, encouragement, and praise. He slipped his hand down to
the saddle and then to Daisy’s rump as Etienne gained confidence.

“Can I go faster?”

“Not today, Etienne. You must learn to walk first before you
learn to run.”
And I won’t have your mother thinking I’m behaving recklessly
with our child.
Her concerns had to be at least dealt with, even if they
were ridiculous. He understood, not her fear of horses, but the need to protect
Etienne from any and all dangers. Even to protect him from the animosity
between his mother and father. As soon as possible he had to let Yvette know he
was acknowledging the marriage. “If you are ready, I’ll mount my horse and
we’ll take a ride down to the lane.”

“I’m ever so ready.” Etienne bounced on the saddle.

Daisy twitched her tail.

Relieved the hunter wasn’t so tall he’d have to use the
mounting block, too, Beau moved to his horse. Fortunately his weak right leg
was the one he needed to throw over the horse. He seated himself without looking
like the broken man he was.

Etienne’s head jerked and he yelled, “Maman, look at me. I’m
riding a horse.”

Damn, he’d hoped to avoid her a bit longer yet.

“Don’t let loose of the reins, Etienne,” Beau warned.
Reluctantly he looked past his son to gauge if they could make it to the drive
before Yvette reached them, but she was striding toward them determinedly and
wearing a riding habit that fit her like a glove. The yellow material molded
her every curve. Even the stock that should have been looped into a frothy
confection under her chin was flattened against the upper curve of her breasts,
leaving little to the imagination.

And if he’d had any thought that time or motherhood had
adversely affected her figure, it was put to death. No, it would seem time had
made her lush in all the right places. Places that drew his eyes, the rounded
fullness of her breasts, the narrow waist, the flair of womanly curves about
her hips. Her thighs struck the tightly fitted skirt, were molded by it, then
faded back in a rhythm that made his throat dry.

He swallowed hard.

She stomped up to the edge of the cobbles. “May I join you?”

He wasn’t expecting her to want to ride with them. Why had
she objected so strenuously to Etienne’s riding if she rode herself? He leaned
forward and patted his mount’s neck, reassuring the horse before his tension
made it uneasy. “As you can see,
my lady,
Etienne is perfectly safe.”

“I see.” Her gaze shifted to Etienne and then swiftly back.
She blinked.

He cleared his throat, forced his gaze to her face, and
refused to let it drift lower. Twin furrows dug into the space between her
eyebrows as if he’d confused her. He thought he’d answered the question. She
could only be addressed as
my lady
if
he acknowledged her as his wife.

“I would still like to join you.” Her dark eyes flashed. Her
curving lips pressed together—was the woman curvy everywhere? Beau shoved away
the thought and then wrestled back the memories of her hand against his chest,
kneading and caressing. She was sleeping in his suite. Surely she would have
protested the move if she had no intention of allowing him the rights of a
husband. He stared straight ahead.

She and his father might think sex the best way to establish
herself as his wife, but he wasn’t easy with the idea. If his lungs seized
during intimacies... It was humiliating enough that he’d begged her to stay
with him.

“Saddle a horse for Lady Arrington,” Beau told the groom. He
wouldn’t look toward her. “We will just take a slow walk down the drive. You
can catch us if you wish.”

Even though he was trying not to look at her, he didn’t miss
her mouth dropping open. So she probably hadn’t expected his acceptance without
a fight, but he couldn’t deny his son. Didn’t want to deny him when after last
night it was clear Etienne might be the only child he’d ever know.

He gestured to the groom to hand him the lead line to Daisy.
He’d intended for the groom to accompany them, but decided against it. Even in
her younger years it was hard to get Daisy to trot, let alone canter or gallop,
and he wanted away from Yvette until he had time to get control of his wayward
urges.

If his father had put the thought in his head—he had the
heir, now he needed a spare and a third just in case—he ought to strangle the
old man. At the same time keeping his head pointed in the opposite direction
was taking every ounce of self-control he’d learned as a slave. He didn’t need
to undress Yvette with his eyes. A gentleman didn’t ogle his wife no matter how
beautiful she was.

He shook his head trying to rid himself of the bouncing
thoughts. Closing his eyes for half a second, he reminded himself Etienne
needed all his attention even though he was taking to riding like a duck to
water.

Nudging his horse forward he clucked to Daisy and gave her a
tap with his crop. She ambled into a slow walk. Etienne’s blue eyes twinkled.
Beau resisted looking back at Yvette. If he didn’t look at her, he’d be all
right.

They were a ways down the mile drive when he wondered if
Yvette was coming or not. He twisted back toward the stable block, went a
little farther and glanced back again.

“You don’t need to keep looking back. Maman won’t follow us.
She doesn’t ride,” said Etienne. “She says no one rides but the poor who ride
donkeys.”

“That was in Saint-Domingue. It is different here.” Beau
studied his son. If she didn’t ride then why in the hell had she asked to join
them? The relief from knowing she wasn’t going to ride with them deflated him.

They ambled along in silence. Beau trained his attention on
his son, watching for a miscue to the horse. Not that it would matter to Daisy,
she probably wouldn’t walk any faster if he took a stick to her. His own horse
nickered and tossed his head as if impatient with the slow pace.

“Why did everyone lie to me and say you were dead?” His
son’s blue eyes lit on his face with a degree of skepticism.

“They thought I was.”

Etienne’s face scrunched.

“Watch the horse’s shoulder. You want to rock with the
horse’s movement.”

The boy’s expression tightened, but he turned his attention
to Daisy.

Beau sighed. He wouldn’t gain the relationship he wanted
with his son if he shut him out. “Do you remember the vodou men from your
birthplace?”

Etienne shuddered. “I remember the drums.”

The call to revolution. He’d welcomed the drums. As much as he
didn’t like the dark religion, he’d understood the vodou ceremonies had been
used to pass the information and coordinate the revolution efforts. The drums
signaled freedom to Beau, but to Etienne they had meant the destruction of his
home.

“A vodou man poisoned me to look dead. Even Danvers thought
I was dead. I was even buried. But when I woke up I kicked my way out.” If not
for the storm and the deserting workers, he wouldn’t have been able to free
himself from the grave. But it wasn’t exactly the truth; he’d been very awake
when he was being buried.

“But where were you after that?”

Beau didn’t want to give his son too much information, but
he wouldn’t lie either. “I worked on a sugar plantation.”

“Like my pere?”

Beau’s jaw tightened, but he fought his response. The man
Yvette married after him was the only father his son had known, so it wouldn’t
behoove him to disparage the man. “Not like him. I worked in the cane fields.”

His own father was embarrassed by his low employment. Had
Etienne been here long enough to absorb the distinctions between gentlemanly
pursuits and menial labor? Or have an opinion about it? Not that Beau was
ashamed of working like the basest of men. Ashamed of being tricked and forced
into it, perhaps, but the labor itself had been honest. He’d even taken pride
in becoming good at chopping the endless stalks, working as hard and fast as
any slave—except when his lungs seized or his leg gave out.

“White men don’t work the cane.” Etienne’s brows folded
together and he glared.

Beau shook off a startled response. His son thought he was
lying.

“As far as I know I was the only one. I assure you, I would
have much preferred to be anywhere else, but I was chained most of the time.”

“Why?”

Beau’s neck tightened. “I assume so I wouldn’t run off.” He
didn’t want to talk about this any longer. “How are you liking riding so far?”

“I want to go faster.”

“I don’t think Daisy will go faster, but I’ll talk to the
stable master to see what other horses we can put you on in the future.” He
also wanted to learn about his oldest brother’s accident so he could at least
address Yvette’s worries. Likely it had been one of those freak occurrences
that happen once in a lifetime.

The horse Beau rode tossed his head as if he were in
agreement that the pace was too slow. Beau patted the sleek neck. “I’ll give
you a run in a bit,” he told the animal.

But the animal refused to quiet. Soon the rapid hoofbeats
coming from behind explained his mount’s jitters. Beau whipped around.

A sleek black hunter thundered toward them, a yellow figure
clinging to its back. Yvette sawed on the reins so hard the horse slammed its
head back. The front hooves came off the ground and churned the air. She
squealed, her face white and stark.

Yvette slid and grabbed at the hunter’s mane and the saddle.
Beau’s heart gave one heavy thud in his chest. The horse landed on all fours.
Then it tried to spin, unseating her even more.

Damn. She was about to fall off, and her ham-handed sawing
on the reins was only agitating her mount.

“Hold up,” Beau said sharply to Etienne, as he spun his
horse and kicked it into a gallop back up the drive.

As he neared her, she had the horse stopped although it
sidled uneasily toward the sloping berm.

She pulled herself back into her saddle. One of the reins
dangled. Her mouth worked as if she were issuing low reassurances.

She futilely reached for the leather strap while her horse
danced toward less solid footing. Not that he expected the horse to topple, but
Yvette might very well lose her seat again.