Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

The hunger in Warren’s eyes set Madeline aflame.

“Warren! Hey, Waaaarren! You back here?”

Warren shoved away from her, snatching up the bridle he dropped and crossing the room in two strides. “In here!” he called out, just as a stable hand ducked his head inside.

“Hey, there you are. I—whoa—milady, I…” He was a lanky, red-haired lad of around seventeen. He doffed his wool cap when he took in Madeline standing in the dark. “What are you…”

His gaze darted between them, but Warren didn’t turn around, too busy hanging up the tack. “She was looking for Hugh,” he supplied. “The duchess said she could come see the new colt.”

The redhead seemed to relax, his face bursting into a freckled smile. “Oh, he’s a real beauty, milady,” he said, replacing his hat. “Mr. Burke is that pleased with him. Born only just this morning, eh Warren?” He stepped out of the doorway, gesturing for her to follow him. “Warren here helped deliver the little chap.”

Madeline glanced at Warren’s back, wishing he would turn around, needing to see his face. When he didn’t turn, she followed the stable hand out of the tack stall.

“He’s right down here,” he called in a false whisper, pointing over the door of a stall.

Madeline tipped up on her toes to peer over the door. “Oh, my—” She raised a hand over her mouth, gazing in at the most precious chestnut colt, standing on wobbly legs next to his snow-white mother. “Oh, he’s gorgeous,” she cooed.

And he really was—tall and leggy, with a wide blaze of white down his face and four white stockings reaching high above each knee.

“Will he turn white too?” she asked.

“Hmm, hard to say,” said the lad. “Warren what do you think?”

She stilled as she felt Warren press in close behind her. “I doubt it,” he replied. “The stallion is a chestnut too.”

“You helped deliver him?” She dared to look over her shoulder, needing to see…something. A gesture, an expression.

Warren was looking down at her, his mask of indifference firmly set in place. But not the eyes. Thank heavens, he let his eyes say what his mouth couldn’t. He was burning, same as her. He was a living flame.

She let out a relived breath and his hand brushed ever so lightly against her side.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Warren is a natural,” said the stable lad. “He’s delivered all sorts. Sheep and horses, even the pigs.”

“They get twisted up sometimes,” Warren muttered. “The lads sometimes need a strong extra hand to help pull them out.”

Madeline tried not to picture it. There was nothing she liked less than imagining Warren’s beautiful hands pulling a baby horse forth out of its mother’s womb. She blinked the thought away, turning her attention back to the happy little miracle.

“I see you’ve found my newest champion!” Burke called down the aisle.

She jolted, not missing the way Warren inched away from her. She glanced over her shoulder at the gentleman. He’d obviously found a different morning coat to wear. He was sporting a heavy great coat now too, and he carried one for her.

Madeline put her own mask back in place. “Yes,” she called back. “The gentlemen were just showing me. He’s so lovely, Burke.”

Burke was on them in a few strides, holding out the bright pink pelisse and a fur stole dyed peacock blue. She shrugged into the clothes gratefully, wrapping the fur around her shoulders. She didn’t miss the way Warren’s dark eyes narrowed as Burke smoothed his hands over her shoulders, giving them a squeeze. She dropped her gaze to the ground.

“His father is as fine a hunt horse as they come,” said Burke. “I’m hoping that in a few years he could be ready for the hunt himself. Maybe by the times he’s ten or so, and Little G is ready to start training for the hunt, they’ll be a finely matched pair.”

“You would let her ride?” she replied.

“‘Course,” he said with a laugh. “All good country ladies should know how to ride and hunt and shoot. Did the viscount never teach you?”

Madeline shook her head, avoiding Warren’s inquisitive look. “No. He umm…he didn’t think it proper,” she admitted quietly. “My life was all but restricted to Town.” It felt strange to admit that fact to these men. “Up until I left, my life was lived within the four walls of London’s best drawing rooms. Occasionally, I walked a back garden.”

“Sounds nice,” said the young stable hand, forcing a smile.

“It was awful, actually,” she replied, keeping her eyes on the pretty little colt now nursing from his tired mama. “Being told what to wear, how to sit, what to eat, how to occupy my own time. Repeating this every single hour of every day for the whole of my life.”

Next to her, Warren was impossibly still. While behind her, Burke cleared his throat. “Well, we’re certainly glad to have you, Madeline. Speaking of, I’ve been given strict instructions to return you to the house. Rosalie is adamant that the two of you sketch this morning while James takes his meeting with Bray.”

Madeline spun around. “Mr. Bray is here?”

Why did she suddenly feel guilty? What she did with Warren wasn’t wrong, right? She needed to see Charles again. She needed to see them both. They needed to talk about this and come to some kind of arrangement at last. She couldn’t stand this not knowing. If Warren’s current stiffness was any indication, he was feeling the same.

“Aye, he arrived shortly after the constable,” Burke replied. “Gave James the perfect excuse to speed that meeting along,” he added with a laugh. “Come, I’ll lead you back. Warren, Mathers, a good morning to you both.”

Madeline found she had no choice but to take the arm Burke offered and let him lead her away from Warren.

And Warren had no choice but to stand there and let him.