Like other gentlemen of the ton, he knew just enough about women’s clothing to realize the dark green skirt and coat had gone out of fashion last Season. However, she’d changed the buttons from bright brass to a more stylish black.

Unlike many gentlemen, Jasper cared little about fashion. He trusted his tailor to keep him in style. He knew what he liked when he saw it.

He liked Annabel in green. He also appreciated what she’d done with her hair. It flowed from under her plain, dark hat and over one shoulder, less a tumble of curls and more a steady stream that was neither fully blonde nor brown.

She dithered in the doorway, tapping her riding cane against her skirt, until she caught his eye. He waited until she’d stepped inside before he approached.

“Good morning, Miss Pearce.”

“Good morning, your lordship.” She looked past him and into the stable. “I seem to be the first to arrive.”

Society women had been known to dawdle in their carriages outside parties, out-waiting one another for the privilege of being last, of having the most eyes on them. Jasper didn’t think Annabel’s early arrival was accidental.

“The horses don’t mind the clock.” He offered his arm. “Come see if you approve of your mount.”

She took his elbow. Her gloves, from what he could tell by the fingertips, were new and well made. “What if I wish to choose my own?”

“If you disagree with my choice, you are welcome to make your own.”

They walked down the row, veering from one side to the other so she could stroke a wide forelock or a velvety nose. “You have a fine stable, Lord Ramsbury.”

“To be fair, many of them belong to houseguests. Men rarely travel without their best hunter.” He swept his hand along the opposite wall. “And most of the others were purchased by grandfather.”

“He did value a well-stocked stable.”

Women only knew such things from their fathers or from looking in account books. From what Jasper knew of Baron Chilworth, horses weren’t his weakness of choice. Kit was right—Annabel had been reading Grandfather’s ledgers. “I suppose he was famous for his excesses.”

“Most gentlemen are.” Annabel, her ear pink under her hat, led him to the other side of the stable. “Here’s a handsome man.”

The roan tossed his inky mane and snorted a hello before stretching his neck toward Jasper. More precisely, toward his pocket.

“No you don’t, Ceff.” Jasper chuckled as he ruffled the big horse’s forelock. “You’ve had your treats already today.”

“Ceff?” Annabel glanced up.

“Ceffylglas.” The light fell over the stallion’s gleaming back. “It’s Welsh for ‘blue horse.’”

Her laugh took years from her face. “You’re joking.”

“Not in the least.” Jasper relented and reached into his pocket for another carrot. “But, to my credit, I didn’t name him. The breeder did.” He offered the carrot to Ceff.

“The breeder is Welsh?” Annabel raised her hand to stroke Ceff’s neck but dropped it when he shied away.

The tightness in her voice pricked a string in Jasper’s gut. If she was suspicious of Wales, then Spencer likely was as well.

“My favorite breeder is outside Cardiff.” He kept his eyes on Ceff, holding him steady as the stable hands saddled him. “A wise old gent Kit introduced me to.” Jasper slipped the bridle over the horse’s ears himself, careful to settle the bit and reins just as Ceff liked them. “Why?”

“I suppose I expect Welsh horses to be ponies,” Annabel said in the casual way his mother did when she wanted to gather information without tipping her hand.

“Then you may be disappointed in my choice for you.” Jasper turned her to the other wall and led her two stalls down.

The delicate black mare danced patterns in the straw under her feet. Her coat shone like dark silk, and her mane fell in a graceful sweep. Her wide, dark eyes sparkled.

“What’s her name?” Annabel propped her cane against the stall’s door, then released him to shuck her glove.

Jasper dropped a carrot into her palm. “Ysbryd Du. Dark spirit.”

Annabel fed the carrot to the mare with one hand and caught her other glove in her teeth to tug it free.

The honest excitement in her unguarded action tightened Jasper’s skin in unexpected places. It worsened when he circled her wrist and pulled her hand closer. “Let me.” It was a soft leather, tight enough that he had to pull one finger at a time. They were fully clothed, in the daylight, in the stables, but he’d had the same sensation stripping a woman out of her corset in candlelight. He forced a smile as he released her. “Can’t have you ruining them.”

“My teeth or the gloves?” Annabel turned back to the horse and stroked her wide forehead. “She is lovely, your lordship. But far too fine for me.”

“Nonsense.” Jasper waved away her complaint, hoping his irritation would go with it. It shouldn’t bother him that she denied herself pleasure in the name of propriety and others’ expectations. “She deserves to be ridden by someone who appreciates her.”

Laughter filtered in from outside, and the stable hands’ boots thudded against the hard-packed earthen floor. The rest of the party was arriving.

The shutters closed over Annabel’s eyes, and Jasper caught the nearest servant. “Help Miss Pearce onto the mare.” He shot Annabel a glare. “This mare only.”

He strode to the door to greet everyone else as the grooms led out their horses. Kit was already swinging into the saddle atop his giant pewter-gray stallion.

“Lord Ramsbury.” Charlotte Bainbridge beckoned him to where she was standing next to a bay mare just her size. “The stable boy said you’d chosen this lovely mount just for me. I’m delighted with her. Thank you.”

Every head in the paddock turned to stare, even the horses. “You are quite welcome, Miss Bainbridge. Cricket will give you a pleasant ride this morning.”

“Will you do me the honor of riding with me?” she asked. “Your estate is so large, I fear getting lost.”

“Would that I could.” Jasper sighed to give his words feeling. “However, I’ll be near the rear of the party, ensuring everyone stays on the path.” He looked past her to the other gentlemen in the party. “Lord Raines or Lord Wareham would be fine partners for you.”

Hearing his name, Raines nudged his chestnut gelding in front of Wareham’s palomino. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Bainbridge. Perhaps you can keep the ride interesting.”

Jasper ground his teeth into a smile. The young viscount had grumbled about hunting all last evening—specifically not doing it. “We’ll hunt later in the month, once everyone is accustomed to the fields.”

“I, for one, am glad of a gentle ride.” Fiona ambled up on the gray she always rode during her visits. The almost silver mare had been christened Fairy by Jasper’s sister Jane. Fiona’s black habit was severe both in cut and in color. She could have passed for a nun on her way to church if not for her smile. “My bones are still rattling from the carriage.”

The women in the group stayed silent and looked anywhere but at Fiona, torn between their own comfort and agreeing with a scandal-ridden miss their mothers had warned them to stay clear of.

Hooves clopped behind them, two distinct patterns. Jasper didn’t turn. He knew Ceff’s steps in his sleep, and he suspected the source of the others. The young ladies’ widened stares told him he was correct. Even the chaperones in the carriage were stunned when they recognized Annabel.

Jasper held his smile until his back was turned, then he strode to his horse and swung into the saddle. He nodded to the horse master who was serving as their guide. “Ready when you are, Martin.”

They trailed out of the paddock and into the field. Kit came back to join him, and Fiona flanked his other side. After a few minutes, Jasper looked back to find Annabel trying to keep in step with the carriage, whose occupants were ignoring her. Horse and rider both looked miserable. “She’ll do better if you give her her head a bit, Miss Pearce. Come join us.”

“Please do!” Fiona called. “I’d be grateful for someone who can talk of fashion and music rather than Parliament and war.”

Annabel coaxed Ysbryd Du into a trot and joined Fiona. Jasper fell back with Kit.

“She’s had a go at the figures in Grandfather’s ledger.”