Catherine rolled her eyes as she looked away from the duke, aware of how the light was beginning to fade. She had been out with Beauchamp this afternoon already, only for the duke to have been called away to greet his mother who had appeared unexpected. Catherine had returned to her duties, not expecting to see the duke again until the following day, but he had surprised her by appearing at the stables late in the day, when she had been considering retiring to bed.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she muttered, keeping her frustrations as hidden as she could. The other stable hands would have gone to their own beds by now and only a few staff would still be in the house, ready to ensure the duke had everything he needed when it came time for him to retire. Her body was sore and aching in places from the hard work that came from being in the position of stable hand, which was not something that she expected the duke to understand.
Her scalp itched furiously again as she wheeled Beauchamp around, aware of just how much she longed to let her hair free. How good it would feel if it could blow wildly in the wind as she rode instead of being confined to the tight pins that she had become so used to putting her tresses in. Glancing all about her, she suddenly had a thought.
“Whatever is keeping you?” the duke said, sounding irritated. “Come now, Miss Leighton. We do not have all evening!”
Catherine bit back a retort that said that, yes, in fact, they did have all evening for she had nothing else to attend to, and the duke himself appeared to have nothing else to detain him either, attempting to put a small smile on her face.
“If you would give me a moment please, Your Grace,” she murmured, tugging the cap and then the wig from her head and wincing as some of the pins went with it. Carefully setting the cap in her lap and looping the reins over her wrist, she reached up and began to pull her pins out one at a time, setting them in the cap until finally, her tresses fell down about her shoulders. A long sigh of relief rolled from her lips, making Beauchamp snort with evident understanding that she now felt a good deal better than before. Rolling up the cap, she secured it closed with a final pin and then urged Beauchamp a little closer to the duke.
“If you would be so kind as to place this on the ground nearby, so that I might pick it up on my return, I should be grateful,” she said, handing her cap to the duke and finding herself a little surprised by the look of astonishment in his eyes. “Forgive me, it can be most uncomfortable to keep one’s hair in such a fashion, and since it is growing late, I did not think that anyone would notice me.”
The duke licked his lips but said nothing, reaching up to take the cap from her. Their fingers brushed, and Catherine felt a jolt shoot up into her heart, although the duke appeared not to react in any way. A little embarrassed, Catherine raked her fingers through her hair, letting her tresses fall a little more naturally. It was more than a relief to have her hair so freed. Glancing down at the duke, she saw the strange look in his eyes but did not allow herself to think of it for long. Perhaps he was just a little surprised at her boldness.
“Your Grace, I am now prepared,” she told him, moving Beauchamp back to the starting line and making ready to crouch over the saddle. Catherine noticed it seemed to take the duke a few moments to gather himself. Glancing at him, she saw how he raised his hand and looked up at her, making sure she was prepared, before dropping it like a stone. Squeezing her heels into Beauchamp’s side, Catherine bent low as Beauchamp took off like an arrow from a bow, just as he had done every single time before. There was no need to urge him to go faster, no requirement for her to beat him with a crop or the like, for he already had the desire to run as fast and as far as he could. It was only when they reached the end that she turned Beauchamp around and, in a gentle trot, rode back towards the duke.
For whatever reason, the duke now appeared to be a little lost as to what he was going to say to her. He cleared his throat a good three times before he was able to say anything, with his eyes darting from one place to the next instead of up into her face. It was all a little odd.
And then, her stomach dropped to the ground. Was she not doing as well as he had hoped? Was this the reason for his uncertainty? “I-I can do it again,” she found herself saying, her words tumbling over each other. “If that was not good enough, then I would beg of you to allow me another opportunity, Your Grace.”
“You did very well, Miss Leighton,” the duke said quickly, passing a hand over his eyes for a moment and confusing her all the more. “My apologies. I have been putting you through your paces rather hard, I think.” Another small smile, which was vague and not at all in her direction, came across his face. “It is only because the race is less than a fortnight away and it is only now that I have found the jockey Beauchamp needs.”
Catherine frowned, resisting the urge to state that the only reason the duke had taken so long to find the correct jockey was because he had refused to give her the opportunity until earlier that day. She could not quite understand why he had a large dung stain on his shirt nor why he was not wearing a coat, but the joy of what he had told her had overcome all such questions. However, looking at him now, Catherine realized that he was still uncertain about whether or not he had done the right thing.
“I will not fail you, Your Grace,” she told him, wanting to give him some sort of reassurance. “You must see how well Beauchamp and I work together.”
The duke sighed and nodded, running one hand through his hair. “Ind
eed,” he admitted, a trifle more heavily than she had hoped. “I will not pretend that it does not feel rather wrong to have a woman riding in the Gold Cup, but at the very least, no one need know that such a thing will be.” He shrugged, and Catherine felt a sting stab at her heart. “To everyone watching, you shall simply be Mr. Leighton.”
“Mr. Leighton,” Catherine repeated, trying to tell herself that it did not matter whether or not the ton knew that a woman had won the Gold Cup, if such a thing was to happen. The only thing that she needed to consider was that she was being given the opportunity to fulfill her dream, regardless of whether she was known to others as her true self or not.
“We shall have to practice each day, as we have done today,” the duke continued, clearly unaware of her internal struggles. “The evening suits you best, I think?” He tipped his face up to hers, and despite herself, Catherine felt a sudden tugging of her heart.
“I shall be ready to practice whenever it suits Your Grace,” she murmured, angry with herself for feeling anything other than respect for the duke. She had no reason to notice the alluring darkness of his eyes, made all the more so by the fading of the light all around them. Nor did she need to notice his stature, nor his strong jaw nor thick mane of hair. That would only complicate matters.
“You appear to be a little more at ease this evening, I will say,” the duke murmured, coming over to her and holding up his arms, evidently expecting her to dismount. “Mayhap it is because you are free to be as you really are.”
Catherine swallowed suddenly, feeling a twist of nervousness rise up in her as she swung one leg over and leaned down to brace herself against the duke’s upper arms. He helped her down with ease, his hands about her waist as he set her down on the ground again.
“I do not know what it is about you, Miss Leighton, but you appear to be a good deal freer with your hair as it ought to be,” he said softly, his hands lingering for just a moment too long. “Mayhap we should practice each evening so that you can be as you are now.”
Trying to break the strange tension that had caught her in its snare, Catherine let out a small, breathy laugh. “Just so long as you do not expect me to return to my fine gowns and slippers, Your Grace,” she replied, a little surprised when the duke laughed heartily. “I do not think I could become used to riding side saddle again.”
Again, the duke grinned, but his eyes were filled with interest as he grasped Beauchamp’s reins and began to make his way slowly towards the stables, evidently expecting Catherine to fall into step beside him.
“Your parents do not approve of you wishing to ride astride, I should imagine,” he said, making Catherine snort in a most unladylike fashion. “No?” He chuckled whilst Catherine’s face flooded with color at her embarrassing reaction.
“No, indeed, my mother is greatly disapproving,” Catherine admitted, not quite able to look up at the duke. “But, then again, none in my family can understand my love of horses, nor of my insistence that I be permitted to ride as a gentleman does.” Sighing, Catherine tried not to let the pang of guilt over leaving her mother’s townhouse in such a clandestine manner take hold of her. “They do not understand me at all, I fear.”
“That is sorrowful indeed,” the duke agreed softly. “But it is to be expected. Do you not recall my reaction when I first realized the truth of you?”
Catherine laughed, seeing how the duke smiled back at her. “I do,” she admitted, her lips lingering in their upward curve. “But you have, henceforth, behaved in a very different manner from they. You have given me opportunities they would never permit.”
The duke’s smile faded, and he appeared concerned. “I am aware that you come from a respected family,” he said, sending a jolt of worry through her. “Tell me, do they know of your presence here? Or did you leave them without warning?”
Hesitating, Catherine dared a glance up into his face and saw no judgement there, only curiosity.