Crown Jewels (Off-Limits Romance #1)(42)

“They’re both mine. And Sara’s. I have a crew of people overseeing the breeding. Sara is everyone’s grandmum. I guess that makes me the weird uncle.”

I laugh. “Yeah—you’re not the dad, I guess.”

“Definitely not. So Eeyore is a little lazy, needs to be pushed sometimes. But he’s got a steady temper. And he’s fast. Peg is fast for an Arabian, but I think Eey is a nose faster.”

We lead the horses out of the barn, and Liam watches while I mount Eeyore before climbing up on Pegasus.

As soon as I’m up on Eeyore, I start feeling queasy and a little dizzy.

You can do this, Lucy. At the beach, just tell him.

I tell myself he won’t freak out too much. He won’t lash out at me or say mean things.

Remember how he was that night. How nice he was.

When I was a kid, I thought well-bred men would never hurt a woman. Bryce changed all that. I suck a big breath back, noting that we’re walking now. We’re moving through a vibrant field. The woods frame us in, not a forest, more like lots of smaller groves. I hear birds caw, the clomp of the horses’ shoes on mud and fluffy grass. Liam, I realize with a start, is riding slightly behind me.

I turn back to him.

“What are you doing back there?”

“Watching you.” He grins.

“Does my riding meet your standards?”

He smirks. “That’s not what I’m watching.”

I feel my face heat up.

“Are you blushing, Lucy Rhodes?”

“I’m embarrassed for you.”

He laughs. “For me? And why’s that?”

“You’re so…forward.”

“Did you just call me ‘forward’?” He’s grinning.

“Maybe. That’s a Lucille-ism.”

He gets another good chuckle out of that.

“How did you know my clothes size, anyway?”

“How do you think?”

“I’m going to guess it’s not your good eye.”

He puts a hand to his thick chest, as if I’ve wounded him.

“Did you ask someone?”

He smiles. “I have a friend at Balmain. The fashion house.”

“Which location?”

“Paris.”

“I was there a few years back.”

“I heard,” he says.

“Who’s your friend there?”

“Olivier.” He says it almost ruefully.

“Rousteing?”

He nods.

Olivier Rousteing is the head of the French fashion house, which is notable in part because he’s only about our age. “How did you meet him?”

“At a party a couple years back.”

“Is he nice?”

“Yeah. Driven.”

He comes up so we’re riding side-by-side and points at a shady grove ahead of us. “The beach is through those trees and down a little trail.”

Liam lets me go first, which I don’t mind, because I’m not nervous about traversing the rocky shore on horseback.

The beach is gorgeous, with amber and almost black grains of sand. The shore is strewn with big, brown-black boulders. The ocean crashes to the sand in frantic waves, sending up a spray that makes the air taste salty.

If I squint, I think I can see an island out ahead of here.

“Sheep Island,” Liam offers.

“Lots of sheep?”

“No sheep. Not anymore. Generations ago, if the island—Gael—was under threat, the family would be shuttled there and hidden with the sheep. Woman and children, anyway.”

“What happened to the sheep?”

“The families who raised them—or rather, one family—they moved inland.”

“So it’s deserted now?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s really neat. How much history your family has.” I feel light-headed as I think about the relevance of my statement. I know I should tell him. Tell him now!

I wonder how many mistresses other princes and kings had. I wonder if any of them got knocked up. I wonder what he’ll say when I tell him.

“Lucy?”

His horse moves closer to mine, and his hand grazes my arm. “Hey—you okay?”

I nod, gasping. Damn me, I can’t breathe.

“You want to get down off that horse?”

I get my breath and shut my eyes, shaking my head. Damnit. What the hell is wrong with me?

I hold my hand out, a signal that I’m okay and just need a minute. I’m still worried I might pass out when I feel a brush of something heavy at my left side, then a weight behind me, then an arm around my waist.

“Lucy… Lucy, Lucy…” His voice beside my ear is soft and gentle. Deep and low.

His arm around my waist is heavy and secure. He wraps his other arm around my shoulders, locking me against him.

“It’s okay…”

I feel his chin against my shoulder, feel his forehead brush against my hair as his arms gently squeeze.

For one long second, everything inside me bucks against him and the waves of horror rise. Then it feels so good that I can’t fight him. My muscles slacken and I relax against him, letting myself give in to the careful, whispered words and strong strokes of his hands along my arm and hip.