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—”
“That’s unnecessary,” she assured, gathering a fistful of her horse’s mane and bouncing on the balls of her feet, preparing to mount, determined that she not appear weak and frail, someone he must cater to over the next day. He had done enough already. She’d not have him think her totally helpless. A female in need of rescuing, totally dependent on a man to coddle her.
His voice scraped the air, sending unwelcome tingles along her spine as he helped her swing atop her mount. “As you say, Duchess.”
She suppressed a flash of annoyance at his mocking form of address, watching him swing himself up in one fluid motion, his muscles bunching and flexing beneath his clothing. Nothing in his movements hinted at any stiffness or soreness.
Both mounted, she followed him across the brook, frowning as she thought over their conversation. She couldn’t recall talking so freely with a man before. Especially a man she had known for such a short duration.
Drawing a thin breath through her nostrils, she let the cold air fill her with a familiar chill, ice in her veins, cold, numbing. Chasing away all feelings, freezing them dead.
Chapter 9
G riffin eyed the
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—”
“That’s unnecessary,” she assured, gathering a fistful of her horse’s mane and bouncing on the balls of her feet, preparing to mount, determined that she not appear weak and frail, someone he must cater to over the next day. He had done enough already. She’d not have him think her totally helpless. A female in need of rescuing, totally dependent on a man to coddle her.
His voice scraped the air, sending unwelcome tingles along her spine as he helped her swing atop her mount. “As you say, Duchess.”
She suppressed a flash of annoyance at his mocking form of address, watching him swing himself up in one fluid motion, his muscles bunching and flexing beneath his clothing. Nothing in his movements hinted at any stiffness or soreness.
Both mounted, she followed him across the brook, frowning as she thought over their conversation. She couldn’t recall talking so freely with a man before. Especially a man she had known for such a short duration.
Drawing a thin breath through her nostrils, she let the cold air fill her with a familiar chill, ice in her veins, cold, numbing. Chasing away all feelings, freezing them dead.
Chapter 9
G riffin eyed the
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