Chapter 11
Eleven
The short ride over from Charlie’s to Hyde Park is filled with a discussion on show jumping.
“I competed in it on and off as a teenager, but it’s never something I intended to pursue professionally. After I took a bad tumble last year, I had to give it all up while I was healing. I’m only just getting back into riding now,” I tell Eric.
“I’m so sorry. I remember hearing about your injury in the news,” he says.
“That’s in the past now. I’m just glad it’s fully healed.
” What I don’t add is that I’m still in the process of getting back to being able to take long, enjoyable rides for pleasure.
Forget the jumping. I shift my attention back to him.
“Eddie’s told me that you have to learn how to do a few basic jumps near the end of phase one of the cavalry’s riding course. ”
“Yes.” Eric groans. “It’s the week that we all dreaded. Our bums were sore for a solid two weeks from all the falling.”
“That’s rough,” I sympathize. “I didn’t learn to jump until I had a few years of experience under my belt, and I still found it challenging. I can’t imagine learning to jump after only four weeks.”
“There’s a reason it’s considered the military’s toughest course.”
“It makes me see things from a whole new perspective.” According to my brother, many of the lads who take the course have no experience with horses. They only have a matter of weeks to learn everything from the ground up. It’s definitely one of those situations where you either sink or swim.
The car pulls into a spot near the Hyde Park stables off Bayswater Road.
I climb out and stretch, ignoring the dull ache in my spine.
It’s a feeling I’ve gotten used to. Eric slides out from his seat at the same time as Art.
That’s when I notice their attire for the first time and forget all about my physical discomfort.
My mouth goes dry. Both Eric and Art have changed into black riding breeches.
Heat sears my body as I drink it all in.
I didn’t realize how attractive I’d find both men in the form-fitting trousers.
They’re intended to fit like a second skin and leave little to the imagination.
Now I know, this is my gateway drug. Where Eric has long, lean legs, Art’s are brimming with muscle.
It’s like comparing a footballer to a hockey player.
“Here’s the keys, Angela. I’ll text you when we are heading back.” Art pops open the boot to grab his helmet.
His voice brings me back to reality.
“Take your time.” Angela leans against the car. “I’ll just be reading my tablet near the Serpentine.”
“Understood.” He closes the boot, tucking the helmet under his arm.
“Have fun kids,” she teases.
I need to stop staring at the blokes. I hope my face isn’t too beet-red. I clear my throat. “Right. Uh, I’m guessing that Amanda arranged to have my groom bring over one of Eddie’s horses for you, Eric. Just to warn you, they can be a little spirited.”
He puffs out his chest. “That’s no problem for me. I can handle anything you throw at me.”
I almost miss it, but I swear I hear Art mutter under his breath, “We’ll see about that.”
I wonder if something happened between Art and Eric when I was with Angela. My eyes dart to Eric. He’s relaxed and chatting about how the cavalry exercise their horses on the track we’re about to ride. He knows it well. I doubt he’s heard anything Art may have said.
My security guard, on the other hand, is moody. His jaw is clenched and he’s carrying his shoulders high. Maybe a ride is just what he needs to relax. I know it does wonders to help me clear my head when I’m stressed.
As we reach the stables, the scents of hay, leather, and horses hit my nostrils. I’m home. From the stall closest to the door, a dapple mare has stuck its head out as far as it will go and neighs as if she’s shouting at me to hurry up and get on with greeting her.
“Athena.” I jog over and rest my head against her muzzle. It’s coarse and wet. The horse butts her head right back against me. “How’s my girl? I hope you didn’t make any trouble on the way over.” I find the soft spot on the side of her neck, just above her front leg, and scratch it.
“She’s been no trouble at all,” Danny, my groom, responds, placing down a bucket of water.
“Oy, Danny. It’s good to see you.” I hug the man tightly. He has been working in the royal stables for as long as I can remember. He’s the one who taught me how to ride.
“The feeling is mutual, Princess.”
I release him. Art clears his throat. I’ve already forgotten about the men I’ve brought with me. Oops. I make myself an inch smaller. “This is Art and that’s Eric. They’ll be riding with me today.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Danny appraises them before returning his attention to me. “In addition to Athena, I brought Sefton and Poseidon with me.”
Hearing his name, Sefton, my bay gelding, pokes his head out a few stalls down to see what’s going on. He blows out air in jealousy, wanting his turn with me.
“I’ll come see you in a moment, boy,” I reassure my horse. “Brilliant, thank you, Danny. I’d like Art to have Sefton and for Eric to ride Poseidon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is Poseidon that massive black-and-white fellow down at the end?” Eric asks.
“Indeed, he is. He’s in a right mood though,” Danny says. On cue, he stomps his hoof impatiently on the ground.
“I’ve dealt with moody mounts. Leave him to me; I’ll show him who’s boss.” Eric claps his hands together.
His words rub me the wrong way. Horses aren’t supposed to be shown who’s boss. They’re not creatures who can be forced to do anything. They’ll win every time if you challenge them. It’s about building a trusting relationship and rapport with your mount.
Danny furrows his brow, not liking Eric’s boast either. “If you two will come with me, I’ll show you where the tack is. Your Highness, I left Athena’s gear near her stall.”
“Thanks, I see it. I’ll take care of kitting her out after I greet Sefton.”
The men follow Danny while I head over to my brown beauty.
The gelding neighs softly when I open the stall door.
I scratch the sensitive skin under his jaw.
“I need you to be your charming, handsome self today for a good friend of mine. His name is Art. Do you think you can do that for me? I’ll bring you some apples next time if you do,” I whisper.
I helped raise Sefton from the day he was born from my aunt’s favorite dam. I can still vividly remember helping Danny bottle-feed him every two hours when his mum wasn’t able to produce enough milk. He’s my big baby, and we’ve always shared a close bond. Sefton can read my moods well.
Art clears his throat. I glance over my shoulder.
He’s holding the bridle, saddle blanket, and saddle all with one arm.
Those are heavy! His arms must be ultra strong.
I notice his sleeves have been rolled up to the three-quarter mark.
My throat goes dry. Compared to Eric, he’s much tanner and brimming with muscle.
“What if I offered him an apple?” he says softly. He joins me inside and carefully places the tack on the ground, approaching us with slow, even steps. He holds up a hand for Sefton and allows him to sniff it.
“You’ll be his best mate for life if you do.”
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produces a green apple. Like a puppy who has wide eyes for a tennis ball, Sefton’s eyes immediately go to the sweet treat. Art holds his palm flat at hip level. Not wasting any time, my greedy horse gobbles up the apple in two bites.
When he starts sniffing around for more, Art holds up his hands. “That’s it for now.”
Sefton blows out air, then nuzzles his head against Art’s chest. My heart warms. It’s one of the most precious things I’ve ever seen. My two favorite boys.
Wait. I freeze. No. Art’s not a boy. I mean, he is . . . but he’s more of a man than a boy. And he isn’t mine. He’s the security officer who’s here to protect me. Nothing more.
“I need to get over to Athena. Otherwise, she might think I’ve abandoned her. She’s just as processive of me as Sefton. I’ll, er, see you in a few.”
Not waiting for an answer after making my excuses, I flee the stall for the safety of Athena’s.
I remind myself that I’m on a date with Eric!
My thoughts need to center on him. Not on Art.
I agreed to this date. I need to see it through and be fair to him.
Clearing my mind, I busy myself with locating Athena’s curry comb, and begin brushing her in soothing, rhythmic strokes.
We mount up and take a long scenic loop through Hyde Park. Our plan is to eventually end up riding on Rotten Row, one of the most exclusive riding tracks in London.
It’s a beautiful afternoon. The sun is out and warming our backs with its radiant rays. It’s probably about twenty-five degrees Celsius, and luckily, there’s little humidity. Eric is directly across from me, while Art is trailing us.
I’ve let Eric do most of the chatting so far, and try to push myself to contribute to the conversation every so often. In all honesty, I’m starting to find that he is a little too talkative. When I ride, I enjoy soaking in my surroundings and listening to the sounds of nature. Not idle chatter.
“ . . . I was hesitant to go see Mrs. Doubtfire on the West End, but actually, the cast did a stand-up job and measured up to the film. At least in my opinion. Is that a show you’ve seen?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Oh, well if you do, the bloke in the lead role was fantastic. He was believable as . . .”
I enjoy seeing an occasional show on the West End, but it’s not something I can usually do on a whim. Being in a very public space means I have to have a full security team. All my movements require advance planning, and like a dance, have to be carefully choreographed.
“ . . . we could go and see it on a future date if you’re game for it,” Eric suggests.