Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(16)

Kathleen hadn’t been able to make herself return to the stables since Theo’s death. She didn’t blame Asad in the least for what had happened, but she was afraid of what she might feel when she saw him. She had failed Asad, just as she had failed Theo, and she didn’t know when – or how – she could ever come to terms with any of it.

Realizing that they were riding through the stable’s main arch, Kathleen closed her eyes briefly and felt her stomach turn to ice. She clamped her lips together and managed to keep silent. With every breath, she took in the familiar scents of horses and bedding and feed, the comforting smells of her childhood.

Devon stopped the dray and dismounted first, while a pair of stable hands approached.

“Spend extra time caring for his feet, lads,” came Mr. Bloom’s genial voice. “This kind of weather brings thrush.” He looked up Kathleen, his manner changing. “Milady. ’Tis gradely to see thee here again.”

Their gazes met. Kathleen expected a hint of accusation in his eyes, after the way she had avoided the stables and abandoned Asad. But there was only friendliness and concern. She smiled tremulously. “It’s good to see you too, Mr. Bloom.”

As she dismounted, Kathleen was surprised to find Devon assisting her. His hands fit at her waist to ease her descent. She turned to face him, and he removed the hat carefully from her head.

Handing the dripping felt object to the stable master, Devon said, “Thank you for the loan of your hat, Mr. Bloom.”

“I’m glad tha managed to find Lady Trenear in all that rain and wuthering.” Noticing that Kathleen’s gaze had flickered to the row of stalls, Bloom commented, “Asad is in fine fettle, milady. These past weeks, he’s been the best-behaved lad i’ the stable. Reckon he’d be pleased wi’ a word or two from thee.”

Kathleen’s heart thumped erratically. The stable floor seemed to move beneath her feet. She nodded jerkily. “I – I suppose I could see him for a moment.”

To her astonishment, she felt Devon’s fingers slide beneath her jaw, gently urging her to look up at him. His face was wet, his lashes spiked, the dripping locks of his hair as shiny as ribbons. “Perhaps later,” he said to Mr. Bloom, his intent gaze remaining on Kathleen. “We don’t want Lady Trenear to catch a chill.”

“Aye, reckon not,” the stable master said hastily.

Kathleen swallowed hard and tore her gaze from Devon’s. She was shaking deep inside, dull panic rising. “I want to see him,” she whispered.

Wordlessly Devon followed as she went to the row of stalls. She heard Mr. Bloom giving directions to the stable hands about seeing to the dray. “No faffin’ about, lads! Gi’ the horse a good rubdown an’ warm mash.”

Asad waited in one of the end stalls, watching alertly as Kathleen approached. His head lifted, his ears perking forward in recognition. He was a compact gelding with powerful hindquarters, an elegant conformation that afforded both speed and endurance. His coloring was a shade of chestnut so light it appeared golden, his mane and tail flaxen. “There’s my boy,” Kathleen exclaimed gently, reaching out to him with her palm upward. Asad sniffed at her hand and gave her a welcoming nicker. Lowering his finely modeled head, he moved to the front of the stall. She stroked his nose and forehead, and he reacted with pure gladness, blowing softly and nudging closer.

“I shouldn’t have waited so long to see you,” she said, overcome with remorse. Clumsily she leaned to kiss the space between the horse’s eyes. She felt him nibble delicately at the shoulder of her dress, trying to groom her. A crooked grin twisted her lips. Pushing his head away, she scratched his satiny neck in the way she knew he liked. “I shouldn’t have left you alone, my poor boy.” Her fingers tangled in his white-blond mane.

She felt the weight of his head come to rest on her shoulder. The trusting gesture caused her throat to cinch around a quick breath. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered. “It was mine. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry —”

Her throat had cinched painfully tight. No matter how hard she swallowed, the sharp constriction wouldn’t dissolve. It was cutting off her breath. Her arms loosened from Asad’s neck, and she turned away. Wheezing, staggering, she crashed into the hard wall of Devon’s chest.

He gripped her elbows, steadying her. “What is it?” She could scarcely hear his voice over her frantic heartbeat.

She shook her head, struggling not to feel, not to give in.

“Tell me.” Devon gave her a soft, urgent shake.

No words would come. Only a raw breath that fractured into coughing sobs. The pressure in her throat released with startling suddenness, and her eyes filled with liquid fire. She shoved at Devon in blind desperation. God, no, please… She was losing control in the most humiliating circumstances imaginable, with the last person in the world she would ever want to witness it.

Devon’s arm clamped around her shoulders. Ignoring her efforts to twist away, he guided her past the stalls.

“Milor’?” Mr. Bloom asked in mild alarm. “Wha’ does the lass need?”

“Privacy,” Devon said curtly. “Where can I take her?”

“The saddle room,” the stable master said, pointing to the arched opening beyond the stalls.

Devon half pushed, half carried Kathleen into the windowless room lined with match-boarded walls. She grappled with him, flailing like a drowning woman. He said her name repeatedly, patiently, his arms tightening to contain her. The more she struggled, the more firmly he held her, until she was gathered against his chest in a nerveless bundle. Trying to swallow back the shuddering sounds that came from her throat only made them worse.