“Lord Austen, I know my brother’s horses,
and your animal is not familiar.” She hoped to steer the conversation in another direction. Her stomach quivered, uneasy.
“Solomon is mine. He is an Arabian and strong-willed like his master. It takes a firm hand to control him, but he flies like the wind.”
“Your pride is evident.” Serena gestured toward her horse. “My mare is Sheba. She is also high-spirited. We are a good match as well. Perhaps we should consider mating?”
Had she actually said that? Nerve endings tingled, warmth flooded her.
Lord Austen arched a brow. “Were you referring to our mounts, or do I dare hope you meant their owners?” His suggestion was wicked.