Chapter 1

Frederick pushed his mount to a canter. The woodland flowed by in a series of sun-blessed greens. The path was wide here and well-worn from the long grass that grew beneath the trees. For a moment he allowed himself the simple pleasure of enjoying the breeze that kissed his face.

How long since I did nothing except ride? And when I have ridden, how long has it been since that ride was for no purpose other than enjoying the countryside?

The answer was too long. Too long spent administering the business of his estates. Too long spent amid his easels and paints.

A man should take some time for himself.

The woods petered out at the brow of a hill. Before him stretched the countryside of East Sussex. He was looking south, towards the distant coast. Somewhere to his left would be Pevensey Bay, further left still, along the coast would be Hastings and his own estate of Valhurst. He reined the horse in and sat for a moment, looking out over the quiet, checkered landscape of fields, meadows, and woods, taking a deep breath of air.

His thoughts strayed to the work that needed to be done at Valhurst. The urge to paint, to produce something of value. Recreation was not something Frederick found easy. He sighed.

That is the burden of a Dukedom. To be a good Duke, one must give oneself to the people and the land. I am a conservator, just as my father taught me. Even the art is something of an indulgence.

Something caught his eye, moving quickly across a meadow below. He shaded the sun from his eyes and realized that he was looking at a woman riding. Oddly, she seemed to be riding astride her mount, not side-saddle as women were supposed to. As he watched, the animal leaped an obstacle and the woman let out a whoop. Dark brown hair streamed behind her and she seemed to be wearing breeches.

Upon my soul. I do believe that is exactly what she's wearing. Not a dress but a man's attire. Now there's a hell of a thing.

Intrigued, he nudged his mount to a walk, calculating a route that appeared to intercept the woman's path. She was riding up a slope now towards him. Frederick came to a stone wall, bordering the field at its highest point. He followed it to a three-bar wooden gate, weather-marked and aged. He waited there as the woman angled her steed for the same spot. As she reached the gate, he dismounted and untied the thick rope that had been used to hold the gate shut.

"Good afternoon!" the woman said, red-cheeked and bright-eyed. "And thank you."

She had a tumble of dark hair, flowing loosely to her shoulders in bouncing curls. Her eyes were hazel. Frederick noted a stray leaf wedged between the buttons of her coat, another in the curls of her hair. A smudge of bark or moss adhered to a freckled cheek just beneath her left eye.

"You are welcome, madame," Frederick said. "And a good afternoon to you too. That was a fine jump."

"Oh, that was all Hettie here." The woman smiled, patting her horse's neck. "We came to a ditch and Hettie decided she could clear it."

"And clearly outran your companions," Frederick said as he closed and retied the gate, the woman having ridden through.

"What companions?" she said.

"You are surely not out riding alone?" Frederick asked, genuinely surprised.

"I surely am, though I am returning home if that makes you feel better."

It was said with a mischievous smile that Frederick found himself returning. It was impossible not to.

"Do you disapprove?" she asked.

"It is not for me to approve or disapprove of your actions," Frederick said. "I think merely of the safety of a young woman, riding alone in the middle of the countryside."

"This is Sussex," the woman replied with a grin. "How dangerous can it be?"

Frederick did not like the casual attitude.

Doesn't she know there could be brigands, former soldiers, or other vagrants on these roads? Perhaps she genuinely does not. If so, it is my duty to be her escort.

"For you, any potential danger is magnified because of your sex. May I ask where home is?"

"Perhaps I should not say, as you are a stranger and as you have just been warning me of the perils for a lone female."

There was a playful smile on the young woman's face which told Frederick that she wasn't taking him seriously. He returned the smile thinly, gritting his teeth but hiding the fact behind closed lips.

"Quite right. I am Frederick Smith, Thirteenth Duke of Valhurst. That is some dozen miles or so to the east of here. And yourself?"

She didn't answer but instead sat her horse, gazing out over the spread of countryside before them. She was quite exquisitely pretty, with round cheeks that held a rosy hue and eyes that seemed to sparkle. Rosebud lips seemed to adopt a smile as their natural expression. Frederick looked away when he caught himself staring. The breeches she wore ended at tall riding boots which showed a well-shaped calf. Her garments were quite scandalous, showing off the shape of her legs.

"I came from all the way over there. Do you see the woods on the horizon at the foot of that hill? Came across country and at one point was chased by a man I believe mistook me for a poacher."

She laughed but Frederick was shocked.

"It was quite the chase for a time. I was forced to cut right across country."

"Did he catch you? Is that why you look so…"

He tailed off realizing there was no polite way of finishing the sentence. But he was genuinely concerned. Game keepers could be brutal to those they believed were intending to poach.

"Like I've been dragged through a hedge backward?" the woman laughed. "No, he did not catch me. But, yes, the chase is the reason. Ah well, one does not ride in the country and expect to look ready for a ball. More like a bath!"

"That is why England possesses roads, madame," Frederick said. "So that gentlemen and women do not need to appear disheveled. You are lucky to have escaped, nonetheless."

"Not luck, Your Grace. I was the better horseman, horsewoman I should say."

In Frederick's experience, that was an unusual thing. He did not know any woman who would not take a carriage rather than a horse. Men were far more common as riders than women and even then, women rode side-saddle to accommodate their clothing, a significant hindrance.

"I note you do not ride side-saddle. That will have helped you to outrun a man on horseback, certainly."

"It helps, but I can beat any horsemen, even riding side-saddle as convention dictates I should."

Her manner was almost confrontational, the sting taken out by her impish smile.

A very direct young lady indeed.

Frederick found himself warming to her. She was remarkably different from any woman of his association in the past. Certainly different to the women making up the Ton, who formed Frederick's primary society.

Refreshingly different. Though reckless in the extreme.

"You do not believe me, Your Grace?" she asked.

"That you could out-ride a skilled horseman while riding side-saddle? No, frankly I do not," Frederick said.

"Very well. Let us put it to the test. I propose a race. Through these woods to the Longbridge road on the other side. That is about a mile or so, I believe."

Frederick had to stop himself from gaping. The young woman promptly swung a leg up and over the cantle of her saddle so that she was sitting side-saddle. The glimpse that briefly gave Frederick of her legs in a position that no man other than a husband should be allowed to see, took his breath away. He composed himself.

"I will not take advantage," he demurred.

"Meaning you consider me to be boastful and foolish?" the woman challenged.

"Far from it. Mistaken is all," Frederick replied.

"You're on. Keep up, Your Grace, if you can."

She flicked the reins and clicked her tongue. The horse responded immediately, taking a couple of steps before accelerating into a canter. Frederick whirled his own mount and dug in his heels. The horse leaped to a gallop and, after a quick look over her shoulder, the young woman urged her own steed to the same speed. The race was on.