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day, eyes downcast.
    Logan reached for his horse’s reins. “How does the young stallion train?”
    “Another day and he’ll be fit to ride, sir.” Jeremy kept his eyes averted.
    Logan smiled, realising the young man was avoiding meeting his direct gaze – and the sight of his swollen face. Logan sighed, not sure how to respond to a servant who would rather face seventy-plus stone of horse attached to angry hooves rather than be audience to the effects of the latest display of discourtesy by Lord Davenport’s… unusual guest. Logan sighed again.
    Taking his seat astride his horse, Logan looked about. “Where is Miss Tyme’s mount?”
    The groomsman pulled at the lock of hair falling over one eye, obviously nervous. “Miss Tyme asked me to deliver a message, Lord Davenport—‘I can ride alone’.” He stepped back.
    Logan clenched his jaw. “Which way?”
    “West, sir.”
    At this news, Byron turned around, leaving this ride to his friend to manage solo.
    Logan watched Byron walk back into the house, shaking his head.
    “Yes, I know,” Logan shouted after his friend as he turned his horse around. “I met my match in this one…”

    Logan rode hard, scanning the horizon for a sign Esme had passed this way, eventually spying her horse grazing some distance off the path. He feared the horse had unseated her—even his well-trained, beautiful hunters on occasion unhorsed inexperienced riders. Logan scanned the ground as he closed in on her mount, worried.
    “Esme!” His baritone echoed, rolling back to him.
    Esme popped up from a field of lavender.
    Had she just waved at him? Logan felt his jaw clench in spite of his efforts not to.
    Logan dismounted, reaching Esme in three long strides.
      “I knew you’d find me.”
    “Why do you persist in these children’s games?”
    Esme sprawled out, Logan watching her inhale the heady scent of the lavender field. “I needed some fresh air.” She patted the ground next to her. “When did you last take ten minutes to enjoy all of this beauty around you, Logan? Hunting defenceless creatures does not count.”
    Nonplussed, Logan sank down beside her. “When did you last spend ten minutes at peace yourself, Miss Tyme?”
    “Touché. How about, for the next ten minutes, we’re just Esme and Logan, a couple of people enjoying a beautiful day?”
      The sun warmed their skin, the fragrance of the lavender filling the air, mingling with the scent of Logan’s cologne.
    Logan watched her face for a few minutes, bemused. Yes, there is much beauty here , he thought. He stretched out to his full length, his fingers brushing hers. Neither moved, letting their hands rest together on the warm earth.
    The sound of approaching horses interrupted their shared reverie. Logan rose to his feet, desiring nothing more than to stay but a while longer—yet he also wanted to leave Esme in peace, thinking she was asleep after the crowded events of the past twenty-four hours. He raised her fingers to his lips, catching himself off-guard with the impulsive action, then mounted his horse and rode out to meet the small group before they stumbled across Esme.
      Logan glanced back as Esme sat up, watching her lift her fingers to her face, inhaling the scent of him where his mouth had lingered on her skin. He turned his attention back to the intruding riders, unsettled by the emotions Esme stirred in him.

    When Logan stopped by Esme’s room to escort her to supper, Betsy made excuses on her behalf, fooling no one.
    Byron refrained from his usual sardonic wit and Logan’s jaw set, no distraction across the long evening improving his foul mood.
    Esme remained in her room, alone, the floodgates bursting. Betsy, at a loss in the face of Esme’s tears, left her to her solitude, checking in with hesitant knocks as the evening shadows lengthened.

    Byron looked out of his window at the ground below. He started to leave his chamber in search of his host, but changed his mind and called instead