Surrender To Me by Sophie Jordan Page A

her life, that Astrid, the Duchess of Derring, did not exist.

    They rode in silence, their pace slow as they left the village far behind and delved deeply into heavy mists. The drawing rooms of the ton fell even farther behind. Another world. One she felt in no hurry to see again.

    They made their way through mountainous landscape, climbing and descending steep inclines, during which she was heartily glad to be riding astride and not sidesaddle.

    She suppressed her misgivings over the fact that she was riding into a wilderness with a stranger. Trust him. She allowed the whisper to weave through her head, as unrelenting as the wind whistling off the deep crags around them.

    They stopped midmorning, leaving the winding road behind and following the sound of rushing water to a nearby brook. The waters raced cold and fast as they guided their horses to drink.

    “How are you faring?” he asked, the first words he had spoken since he bustled her from the stables.

    She nodded, accepting a corked flask of water from him and taking a sip. “How far are we from Edinburgh?”

    He glanced at the horizon, blue eyes narrowing as he studied the sun over the treetops. “According to my map and the stable master I consulted back in Dubhlagen, we’ll probably reach there tomorrow.”

    “Is there another village along the way?”

    He shook his head. “We’ll bed down outdoors.”

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

    She wet