I was just about to slip when I was grabbed by the waist and placed into the safety of his lap. Completely numbed by the waves of shock, I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He gently shook me by my shoulders whilst trying to gain my attention but was met only with silence. At last, the neighing and twitching stallion awoke me from my panic induced stupor and I realized I was wrapped around Baxter like a snake.

“I… I apologize,” I quickly released my deathly grip on him.

“A-Ashlyn?” His head snapped down to mine the second he realized I am indeed alive and sane. “W-What happened? You s-said you c-could ride!”

His attempts of scolding were rather filled with worry than outrage.

“I do.” I sighed. “But not like this,” I admitted, averting my gaze with embarrassment.

Baxter’s expression was absolutely bewildered. “H-How on e-earth do y-you ride t-then?”

“On man’s saddle in breeches,” I admitted sheepishly.

I fully expected him to be repulsed, instead I could hardly believe my ears when I heard him snort. “U-unbelievable,” my husband muttered quietly. “W-why didn’t you t-tell me in the f-first place? You c-could have b-been killed!” His almost amused expression was yet again wiped off, replaced by the otherwise uncommon traces of sternness.

“I don’t know. How does the Lady tell a gentleman she rides about wearing men’s trousers?” I almost barked at him.

His face reddened at my outburst and he once again looked toward the ground.

“I am sorry. That was uncalled for,” I sighed in desperation. “You saved me yet again. I believe this was the fourth time now.”

We silently rode back toward the garden, with his one hand firmly wrapped around my waist and the other gripping Nyx by her reins.

“N-no more h-horses. At l-least not in L-London,” he shook his head with disapproval. “I a-am almost afraid t-to ask of your o-other secret talents.”

I joined him as he started to unsaddle the horses. “You are right to be,” I mused while picking up a brush. Nyx seemed as though she has forgiven me for the ungraceful handling since she appeared to enjoy the treatement. “What do you do besides your business, books and horses?” I inquired Baxter, genuinely interested in what his answer would be.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I w-work on m-my estate. F-Field crops and l-livestock requires a l-lot of hard l-labor. I h-have employees, b-but I l-like tend to m-my land a-and raise a-animals myself,” he clarified whilst he carefully gazed at me as if expecting to see an outrage on my face.

Instead, I only offered him a brief nod. “I used to help my father on our estate, so I’d be delighted to join you. If you want my help that is.”

He stopped short, staring at me with stunned expression on his face.

“I am no weak lady, Your Grace,” I mused. “I grew up on a farm and liked it. On the other hand, my sister Jane always preferred London. She was always more of an artistic soul, dreaming of dresses and balls. She is like my mother in that way.”

He still stood there - puzzled - gawking at me.

“Baxter? Are you alright?” I nibbled on my lower lip before I decided to step closer to him.

He still stared when I did so, but then hastily shook his head. “Y-Yes. You s-surprised me, that i-is all.”

“Baxter?” I gently touched the sleeve of his dark riding coat. “Hopefully not in a bad way?”

“No,” he whispered in return. “M-Most definitely n-not in a b-bad way.”

The man suddenly appeared very anxious again. He shifted from one foot to the other. “D-Did you k-know that F-Friesians can b-be born in c-chestnut color?”

“No I-”

“B-But black coats a-are considered s-superior quality,” he ignored me, once again plunging into one of his illustrious and fervent sermons. “They r-represent power and b-bravery.

“Oh.” I opened my mouth, but was not given a chance to partake in the conversation.

“Different p-pigments a-are considered to be evidence of c-crossbreeding. Horses l-like that a-are impossible to sell as they a-are not accepted as b-breeding stock,” he went on.

It was as though an ever-expanding balloon suddenly erupted inside my chest. “Baxter!” I called out loudly.

The resonating tone of my voice made him wince.

His wildly flickering irises strangely reminded me of a nervous horse. The predictable pattern of his behaviour seemed familiar enough now that I could point out its origin. Whenever he felt trapped, signs of neuroticism bubbled up to the surface and pushed his mind in overdrive.

“Why do you do that? Whenever you’re tense, you talk about either horses or weather.”

Baxter must’ve been surprised that I caught on, since he stopped fidgeting at once. “Yes,” he exhaled loudly. “F-Forgive me. I tend t-to do that w-when I am n-nervous.”

I patently waited for him to collect his thoughts. The shifting emotions on his face were like a garden, scattered with deep-coloured blossoms. At last, his eyes met mine as thought he made peace with his turbulent psyche. “In fact, I... I d-despise weather!” The corners of his mouth turned upward.

I could not deny that I wasn’t taken aback by his admission. “If you despise it, then why talk about it?”

“W-When I was y-younger I d-didn’t know h-how to properly c-communicate w-with people, so my g-governess told m-me to p-pick two main s-subjects and l-learn them well. I a-already k-knew a lot a-about horses,” he explained. “And my g-governess knew a l-lot about w-weather.”

The explanation of the mystery behind Baxter Read’s eccentricity was so simple and obvious, if only one cared enough to solve the puzzle.

“Your Grace?”

His reluctant gaze was a mixture of worry and unease.

“From now on we’ll work to change that - no more horses and weather.”

His eyes sparkled as he chuckled softly. “No m-more horses and w-weather. C-cross my h-heart.”