“Oh. Sorry, sir. Umm.” The boy glanced to the side of the stable, looked at Gyles, then at the basket. “Umm…”

“Who’s that for?” Gyles indicated the basket.

“Miss said to fetch it right away.”

Miss who? Gyles nearly asked, but how many misses could there be at Rawlings Hall. “Here. Give it to me. I’ll take it to her while you get my horse. Where is she?”

The lad handed over the basket; it was empty. “In the orchard.” He nodded to the side of the stable.

Gyles set out, then glanced back. “If I haven’t returned by the time you have the horse ready, just leave it tethered to the door. I’m sure you have other work to do.”

“Aye, sir.” The boy touched his forelock, then disappeared into the stable.

A slow smile curving his lips, Gyles walked into the orchard.

Pausing, he looked around; the orchard stretched for some distance, full of apple and plum trees, all laden with fruit as yet unripe. Then he saw the horse-a huge bay gelding at least seventeen hands high with a massive chest and a rump to be wary of-standing, saddled, reins trailing, chomping grass.

He started toward it and heard her voice.

“My, what a pretty boy you are.”

The smoky, sultry voice oozed seduction.

“Come, let me stroke you-let me run my fingers over your head. Ooooh, that’s a good boy.”

The voice continued, murmuring, cajoling, whispering terms of endearment, invitations to surrender.

Gyles’s face hardened. He strode forward, scanning the long grass, looking for the vixen in green and the lad she was seducing…

She stopped talking; Gyles strode faster. He reached the apple tree beside which the bay stood. He searched the surrounding grass, but couldn’t see a soul.