Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(22)

“Outside?” She had never slept a night outside.

His lips quirked. “What’s the matter, Duchess? Never slept beneath the stars before?”

“No.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dragging over her face with a thoroughness that made her chest suddenly tight. He did that. Looked at her as no one had. As though he saw her, truly saw her and not the cold veneer she presented.

“Well.” His eyes held hers for a long moment before she looked away, focusing her attention on the dark waters moving swiftly at their feet. “There’s a first time for everything.” He chuckled, the sound running through her, slow and warming as tea going down.

“I suppose you sleep outdoors often?”

“Often enough. Texas is a big place.”

She looked at him again. “And what do you do in Texas?”

“Corn, beans, potatoes.” He lifted his good shoulder in a shrug. “Depends what I think will sell well the following year.”

“You’re a farmer?” She reassessed him. He didn’t fit with her idea of a farmer. She never imagined farmers to be expert marksmen.

“I s’pose you could call me that. I do whatever I can to survive…if I’m lucky I make a little money in the process. I ranch. Tend livestock. Cattle. Hogs.”

“Hogs?” she echoed, wrinkling her nose.

Laughter shook his voice. “They’re easy to care for and bring a nice purse at market. As large as they are, they’re unlikely to be carried off by scavengers and Indians.”

“Indians?

His well-carved lips twisted. “They’re not just myth.”

She lifted her gaze from the water and studied the hard cut of his profile, handsome and sharp as carved marble. A man that lived in savage lands. With savages. She had never seen his like. Never imagined such a man existed. Her heart beat harder and she forced her gaze away, pulling cool, bracing air into her lungs. “Of course,” she murmured.

She watched beneath her lashes as he moved to check the cinch on his saddle, marveling at the life he led. Her father would never have deigned to speak to such a man—a man who worked for a living. He would have considered Griffin Shaw beneath his regard. Weak. Unimportant.

And yet she could not help but see him as anything other than strong. Her gaze flicked over the broad expanse of back. An impressive specimen. A man with strength and honor. Rare characteristics, indeed.

“And you prefer that sort of existence?” she heard herself say.

“What sort of existence do you mean?” he asked, clearly not understanding as he moved around to the other side of the horse.

She wet her lips. “The sort where you work for a living. Where you must stand vigilant against Indians?”

He burst forth with a sudden rich chuckle. The skin at her nape tingled in the most bothersome way at the sound.

“For most of the world, there’s no choice in the matter. Preference has nothing to do with it.” He glanced at her over the top of his horse, a single dark eyebrow quirked. “It’s a grueling life, I admit. The frontier’s not for everyone. But it’s the only life I’ve known, and I can’t say I would want the sort you’ve led.” His eyes gleamed down at her without a hint of apology. “I suppose that surprises you? Makes me seem a primitive?”

She opened her mouth to deny the suggestion, but then snapped her lips shut. Yes, she supposed that did make him somewhat primitive. A man who preferred sweat and hardship over a life of leisure and comfort. Certainly not a gentleman.

Then his other words penetrated. “You know nothing about the sort of life I’ve led.”

“No.” He nodded once, a hard shake of his dark head. “I don’t.” Dropping both hands on his saddle, he leaned forward. “But I imagine being born with a sense of entitlement, knowing only a life of pampered privilege, makes it especially hard when you fall.” His words hung in the air, part question, part statement, resonating inside her in a way that made her shift uneasily where she stood.

She gave a small nod. Swallowing, she stared starkly at the rippling water, thinking her biggest challenge had not been the loss of wealth. Not the dearth of pretty dresses or jewels. Not the lack of food whenever she desired…

None of that bothered her. Not as much as the loss of her self-respect. Which is precisely what she lost when she acted with the cold calculation her father had taught her.

“Where I come from,” he continued, “men are not born to prestige and wealth. A man must earn any success to be had in life.” He moved to her horse then, checking the cinch as well.

She watched him for some moments, wondering if her father had ever once left the walls of their home to inspect their property, to oversee the fields or inquire after his tenants. He always entrusted such matters to his steward. Griffin Shaw’s notions would have confounded him.

This man was a different breed. She wondered what duty was to him…and somehow doubted it had anything to do with propriety and societal expectations—everything she had been brought up to value.

“Ready?” he asked.

Her body protested at the idea of getting back atop her mount so soon. Rather than complain, she tightened her jaw and brushed her hands on her skirts.

“Ready,” she answered, her eyes meeting his.

His gaze followed her stiff movements. “If you need some more time—”