CHAPTER 2.

I need air. Summoning Marie, my maid, I donned a burgundy riding habit, my brown hair tightly wrapped in a bun. Marie was a stout woman, ruddy faced and tolerated no nonsense. She saw no reason for me to ever complain as I was the lady and she the servant. No confidence was shared between us. She merely dressed me, emptied my chamber pots and moved to the next task.

My riding coat was heavy and formed a wide skirt over my legs so I could ride properly. Even so it was a warm autumn day, knowing there were no visitors intended I undid the top two buttons, allowing the air to my chest.

Side saddle when guests were here, keeping my legs demurely together. I ride like a man whenever I get the chance. Easier to take on the jumps over the streams and backs.

I walk briskly, my boots crunching into the gravel drive. Heading into the stables, the warm scent of hay is comforting, a world away from the musty rooms of Tarrick Hall. Amber, my pretty honey-coloured mare whinnied merrily to see me. As I petted her nose and enjoyed her nuzzles I heard a gruff voice.

"Excuse me ma'am are you allowed in here?"

I spun round and found my eyes meeting the greenest glare I'd ever seen. Almost as green as my husband's eyes narrowed as we quickly sized each other up.

"I think you should be introducing yourself seeing you are the stranger here."

"How am I the stranger, I've never met you before!" he replied with a smirk, his eyes not leaving mine for a second.

"I'm the Duchess of Tarrick," I said archly, waiting for her to apologise and offer his hand.

"No first name then?" seemingly unfazed as he turned around to the saddle rack grabbing one of the black leathers.

"Not to you there isn't no. My saddle is the brown embroidered one at the top by the way."

Not breaking stride he continued carrying the saddle and headed towards Figaro, a huge black stallion few dared to ride.

"I never said this saddle was for you petal," unable to stop a rumble of amusement escaping his chest as my mouth hung open at his rudeness. His voice was gruff and masculine yet he had yet to say a serious word to me.

"Petal? I swear I shall grab my riding crop!"

"Now now your ladyship, you're one for striking the staff then?"

"You aren't staff. You should address me as Your Grace. Not that it will matter for long anyway, when I have you removed!" I snapped back. Irritated as I was, the usually impatient Figaro accepted his bridle and bit from this man’s hands.

Under his beige, cotton work shirt his wide shoulders were twice that of Edmund. Tall, with shoulders displaying muscles I didn't know possible, he lifted the heavy saddle like a sheet of paper.

In silence he completed the saddling. Brushing Figaro’s coat thoroughly between each hitching, giving occasional soft approving clicks with his tongue, I was mesmerised. His hair was light brown, smartly cropped with a square jaw. His face seemed to be permanently set in a grin as his eyes flicked back to mine. Green, more like jewels than the grass. A deep emerald sheen that refused to break away.

"Well? Is it to be a flogging or an apology?"

"An apology! Are you mad?" I spluttered, feeling the heat rising on my face. He rolled up his shirt sleeves. Thick leather braces held up his pants, a gap where they rode up over his huge chest muscles to his trim waist. His forearms were tanned and solid.

"Not at all. You appear flustered though, and your coat" he coolly replied, unfazed as he rolled the second sleeve whilst I hurriedly fixed the bosom I was accidentally displaying.

My honeymoon flashed before me. The limp, insipid pale husband I travelled with versus the marble statue of muscle before me. I'd seen so many masculine figures in galleries, yet in the flesh this strange, baffling man made my heart race with frustration as I failed to land a blow in this verbal sparring.

“I am not flustered,” I replied, adding an extra haughty tone, my head tipping up in superiority. “I merely wish for you to do your job and saddle my horse this instant.”

"I would be delighted to saddle your horse. But you never said please, as a well mannered lady should, you know," and this time his green-eyed smirk was unbearable. His lilting voice was laced with mockery. "Unless you really are intending to give me a flogging," he added, his eyebrow cocked, daring me to respond.

Not knowing what else to do I strode past him and grabbed my heavy saddle from the wall myself. Fuming with rage, my pulse racing, I knew now the tables had turned. His eyes bore into my shape as I bent and fastened buckles.

My bare neck prickles. I've never been spoken to so rudely in my life. How dare he!

"I can tell you're unimpressed with my manner," he drawled. Walking around Amber, checking the stirrups as her hooves clipped the stone floor. A horse between us our eyes met again as I rose to standing.

"Utterly. Who are you even saddling Figaro for? My husband doesn't ride."

"Me," he chirped merrily as I gasped in surprise.

"I assure you, I do not give permission for that at all!"

As I mounted Amber, hooking my foot into the stirrups before swinging my other leg over, I watched incredulously as he followed suit. He swiftly sat atop the huge, tempestuous Figaro, his black coat shining proudly.

"Good job your husband did then isn’t it, your Grace," and with that he trotted smugly out of the stable. I watched his direction before ensuring I took a completely different path.

Even after an hour of galloping and jumping my frustration remained. I never even heard his name! Jeremiah the currently injured stablehand was the epitome of politeness. Did being a Duchess count for nothing? What a man!

Every action of mine was quicker, more decisive. As if arguing with the foolish clot had ignited a fire beneath me. I was no longer content to sit in the parlour and watch the afternoon sun change the colours of my walls. I replayed his words, wondering what responses I should have delivered instead.

I was so tormented that for the first time in years I was early for the evening dinner. I couldn’t stand Marie’s fidgeting with my hair, her thick fingers irritating me with every tug. Changed from my riding habit back into my sweeping navy blue, low cut dress I walked into our dining room.

The semi-corset dug in painfully to ensure I displayed the right shape as I was announced into the room. Everything appeared the same as normal. The usual miserable tapestries on the wall. Bleak scenes of battles. Dark wooden dining table with its legs as thick as oak trees. Silver platters and glass decanters covered the table as I noticed a third place setting.

“Ah, what a surprise,” Edmund declared, using a silver topped cane to support his figure. I walked towards him and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, “your Grace, have you had a pleasant day?”

“I have indeed. Have you given more thought to what I said this morning.”

“To…to the means of me producing an heir?” my voice dropped to a whisper, afraid that even through the walls servants would somehow hear. “With another?”

“Exactly that. I expect you to agree, you don’t really have a choice in the matter anyway but for the sake of good manners let me introduce you to our Mr James Fitzwilliam.”

With a tap of his cane the door to the side opened again and the sandy-haired, green eyed lout from this morning sauntered into the room. He wore a dark brown formal jacket over the top of his shirt, a smile barely concealed on his face as my mouth dropped in shock. Edmund stood quietly, clearly enjoying my confusion and humiliation.

I stood silently as the strangers eyes quickly locked on mine, I felt my world collapsing upon itself. The man is to dine with us, has Edmund no shame!

He quickly approached Edmund, his huge, solid hand taking Edmund's greyer, wrinklier fingers in a firm handshake. “Good evening, Your Grace. If it is acceptable, I generally go by Fitz, James is my fathers and older brothers' names in society.”

“Of course. Fitz, I would like to introduce you to the Duchess of Tarrick. Vanessa?”

“Your Grace,” he responded, offering me his hand with the slightest bow. Clearly he had manners and some polish behind him, he just chose not to use them earlier today.

I won’t be made a fool of. Maybe a few days ago I would have dolefully submitted and accepted Edmund’s plan, but that hateful row has awoken a side of me I thought banished after marriage. I want to resist, I want to challenge for my life. For a kernel of happiness that is mine to enjoy outside of this wretched manor.

“Excuse me,” I whispered, backing slowly away from the two confused men, both staring at me with their perfectly green eyes. He wasn’t here for the horses. James Fitzwilliam is here to take me to bed and take my honour.

His emerald eyes are Edmunds guarantee nobody will question any heir such a vile act may produce.