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the next, almost gentle.
    "You'll be tasting nothing but dirt if you don't have someone to teach you how to ride," he said. "I've already wasted a morning, and I can't spare more. Tait can show you."
    "Right. Tait, I'm sure, would be far kind--ah--more patient working with a novice." After that utterance, he seemed even less pleased.
    "I'll fetch him." He strode over to his horse and lifted himself smoothly into the saddle.
    "Listen." He peered down at her, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. "I don't want you to do anything until Tait gets here."
    Playing to the image he obviously had of her, she answered him in the softest, most frivolously female voice she could manage. "Absolutely, Mr. Dalton, sir."
    She realized almost instantly she’d taken the wrong tack, he was not a man to treat lightly. She hastily turned her back to him, pretending to concentrate on the horse. A shiver chased up her spine as she heard his boots hit the dirt with a thud.
    "Seems you’re not taking me seriously." With one restraining hand on her wrist, he leaned over and snatched up her hat, which she’d lost while flying over the horse. Spinning her around, he placed it firmly on her head and fastened the bonnet strings below her chin. A tad too tightly, in her opinion.
    The brims of their hats met as he leaned in low. "It’s pretty damn hard to tell one piece of land from the next, so don’t even think of wandering off on your own. Tait is going to keep an eye on you."
    He circled around her and she assumed he was done lecturing her, but his hands took hold of her waist, hauling her against his long, hard frame. His hair slipped over her shoulder, his lips so close she could feel their feather-light movement against her ear.
    "Don’t get it into your head to defy me. Understand?"
    All she could do was nod weakly in response.
    # # #
    Oliver clambered on to the bed, and Lacey found herself rolling down the slope he'd created. The dog's fur tickled her face, and she squinted into the semi-darkness trying to reacquaint herself with her new surroundings. She was finding it hard to shake off the nagging loneliness. Unfortunately, she felt sure Grady's return would do nothing to fill this emptiness.
    She opened her wardrobe and ran her hand over the soft fabric of her riding habit. A week of riding sidesaddle and she was more than ready to dispense with it. She wanted the control of riding astride. From the drawer, she took the neat pile of old clothes she'd acquired from the basement.
    Tait's adolescent trousers fit easily over her slim hips. She twisted around, trying to get a good look at her rear end. The pants conformed to her contours a little snugly. She refused to let it bother her. The pants were just too comfortable. But it was Slade's shirt, worn soft as chamois from use, that gave her pause. She had only herself to blame. She should have taken one of Grady's shirts instead, after all, Dora had specifically pointed them out.
    Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she was unable to help herself. She took a whiff of the shirt, wanting to see if the essence of the man still lingered. Disappointed, she found that only a faint trace of soap clung to the fabric. She knotted the shirttail neatly at her waist and rolled up the sleeves. After plaiting her hair into a thick braid, she donned the floppy felt hat, tying the bonnet strings beneath her chin. The only vanity she allowed herself was a pair of small diamond earrings.
    Lacey stepped into the kitchen, marveling at the gray morning light that bathed the room. She couldn't remember ever rising before the hour of ten when she lived with her father in London.
    "Morning, Dora," she said as she took a handful of dough and began rolling it out. She smiled to herself. She'd never expected to find pleasure in such a simple act.
    Lacey held up her attempt at a biscuit and compared it to Dora's perfect, fluffy, white circles. Even though they'd used the same can to cut the dough, Lacey had managed