‘I’ve learned to be patient with her—to know when to accommodate her tantrums and when to rein her in.’ Stepping forward, he slid a finger between Storm’s eyes. ‘We’ve learned to trust each other, but she knows who her master is.’
She couldn’t be jealous of a horse! And she certainly had no use for all that ‘master’ nonsense. So why, when Bastien continued to caress Storm, did she experience a pang of envy?
‘Come, I’ll introduce you to your horse.’
Ana followed, her sense of disquiet increasing as Bastien paused to greet each horse, his voice calm and soothing. Even the fiercest thoroughbred whickered with pleasure.
At the last stall the most beautiful horse she’d ever seen waited. Unlike the other horses, which had shades of grey, this horse was pure white.
‘His name is Rebelle,’ Bastien said softly. He stroked the animal’s neck, then inspected his hooves before instructing the stable hand to saddle him up. His own horse he saddled himself.
They took a path into the woods behind the château, where the smell of earth and dewed vegetation permeated the air. Grasping the reins, Ana tried not to stare at the powerful figure Bastien cut astride his horse, but the wide breadth of his shoulders beneath his tan riding jacket and the powerful thighs that gripped his horse’s flanks continually drew her eyes.
Realising she was in danger of losing the task she’d set herself, she cast around in her mind for something to say to ease the tight knot burning in her belly.
&nbs
p; Leaning forward, she patted her horse’s long neck. ‘Does his name mean what I think it does?’
‘Rebel? Yes, he arrived prematurely. He was sick and never had a chance to bond with his mother. When she rejected him we thought he wasn’t going to make it, but he defied all the odds.’
Inexplicably, a lump lodged in her throat. Ana gave him another pat. ‘You’d be amazed how many children make it despite a parent’s rejection.’
Too late, she felt Bastien’s keen gaze. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on her slip. Her hope was dashed.
‘You speak from experience.’ It was more a statement than a question.
‘I’m sure you’ve guessed Lily isn’t exactly the motherly type,’ she said breezily, hoping he’d drop the subject.
‘How close are you?’ he pressed.
‘One phone call every three months and a card at Christmas—that close.’ Pain darted through her chest and she rubbed at the spot.
He frowned. ‘So why does she manage your career?’
‘Believe it or not, she’s an astute businesswoman when the occasion demands it. As a former model herself, her insight into the business has come in handy on occasion.’
Expecting a censorious reply, she glanced at Bastien and saw him nod thoughtfully.
‘Have you been in touch with her lately?’
‘She called yesterday to offer advice on how to manage my predicament, as it happens.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘And what did that entail?’
‘She told me not to get emotionally involved with you.’ And for once Ana intended to take her mother’s advice.
He drew his horse to a halt. ‘And your response was...?’ he rasped.
‘To say there was little risk of that happening.’
A look crossed his face—part displeasure, part relief. Then he blinked his expression back into neutral. ‘Did she offer up any thoughts as who might have planted the drugs?’
Her head snapped up. ‘No—why would she?’
‘As you said, she has more experience in the modelling world than you do. I’d have thought she’d be fighting to prove your innocence, even if only professionally?’
‘Like I said, we don’t have the closest relationship. And, no, it’s not perfect, but as we both know life rarely ever is.’ Digging her heels into Rebelle’s side, she set off at a trot.