Chapter Twenty-Five
OK, perhaps loads is a slight fib.
I used to have lessons when I was younger, but I gave them up when my affections suddenly switched from Prancer the pony to Bruce in seventh grade. Which means I was . . . Wow, was I only thirteen?
Doubt prickles, but I quickly dismiss it.
That isn’t that long ago. OK, so it’s sixteen years, and I know that’s technically more than half my life, but time speeds up when you get older so you can’t count it like that.
And anyway, I’m sure it’s just like riding a bicycle.
It will all come flooding back to me just as soon as I get back in the saddle.
‘Would you like me to help you mount?’ Mr Darcy politely holds out his hand.
‘Thanks, but I’m fine. I can manage,’ I reply, smiling confidently.
Obviously he’s not used to modern-day women doing things for themselves, I think, feeling all capable and independent as I turn to Lightning.
Only up close, she seems much bigger than before.
And for some strange reason those stirrups seem much shorter than I remember.
My eyes travel upwards. Wow, you really need to be flexible to get your leg up there, don’t you?
I feel a wobble of doubt, but I quickly brush it away.
I do yoga. No problem.
Throwing back my shoulders, I take a deep breath, hitch up my dress and with one seamless move hoist my stiletto into the stirrup.
‘Urrrgggghhhh.’
Grunting loudly, I pull myself up onto the saddle and swing my other leg across.
Except I hadn’t realised just how that joint has affected my balance.
With one leg in the air, the other foot suddenly twirls round in the stirrup, twisting my ankle.
A sharp pain shoots up my leg and for a moment it’s touch and go as I clutch on to Lightning’s mane, legs akimbo, butt in the air.
Fortunately, however, I think I do a really good job of regaining it and before you know it I’ve slid my other foot over and am sitting upright.
There. Easy peasy.
Smiling triumphantly, I glance over at Mr Darcy. He looks stunned. I feel a beat of pride. It’s as I thought. He’s obviously really impressed. In fact, he’s almost speechless.
‘Do . . . um . . . women not ride side-saddle in America?’ he enquires, stumbling over his words.
‘Oh, no, we ride Western-style like the men,’ I say. Smiling modestly, I try getting comfy in my saddle which I suddenly realise isn’t like the ones back home. That’s funny, I can feel a draught.
I glance down and notice my dress has ridden up and is now sort of concertinaed round the tops of my legs in bunches of chocolate satin. At the same time I realise Mr Darcy is staring agog at my naked thighs.
Oops. Tipsily I tug down the hem. ‘Ready,’ I trill happily, looping my fingers round the reins, just like I remembered. See, I knew it. It’s all coming back to me.
‘Um . . . splendid,’ he stammers. Gosh, what’s wrong with him? He seems a bit dazed. I wonder if he had a few drinks too beforehand?
But if he did, it hasn’t affected his balance, I notice, as he unties Thunder and mounts him with the slick ease of a professional rider.
‘This way,’ he’s saying now and, clicking his tongue, he jabs his boots into his horse’s flanks and trots ahead.
I do exactly the same and feel a tingle of excitement as Lightning dutifully follows. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden, but like I said, it’s just like riding a bike. Only much more romantic.
After a few minutes we go through a gate and out into open countryside.
Wow, isn’t this great? Smiling happily to myself, I sneak a sideways peek at Mr Darcy, who’s riding alongside me.
Erect in his saddle, his strong shoulders thrown back, his jaw clenched, his eyes looking directly ahead, he might as well have ‘I am the sexiest man you have ever seen’ written on his forehead. I feel an ache in my groin.
And no, it’s got nothing to do with the hard leather saddle.
‘The castle is over on that hill,’ he announces, gesturing ahead of us. ‘You won’t be able to see it yet, as it’s hidden by the woods.’
Woods? A castle? God, it’s like something out of a fairy tale.
‘Oh, great,’ I reply, trying to keep my voice level, as if this kind of thing happens to me every day in New York.
We pause for a moment and then Mr Darcy breaks into a brisk trot. Lightning follows suit without me having to do a thing. I feel a glow of satisfaction. Jigging up and down, I grip harder on to the reins. This really is amazing. I’d forgotten just what a buzz you get from riding.
Mr Darcy picks up the pace. His white shirt billows out behind him, and I wipe my eyes to see better.
They’re beginning to water a bit now because of the wind, but luckily I’ve used waterproof mascara.
I take a deep lungful of cold night air, enjoying the sensation of it rushing through my nasal passages.
Wow, this really clears your head, doesn’t it?
Before, I was feeling a bit woolly, but now I feel so clear and focused and—
A dew drop from my nose falls on my sleeve.
Oh. Euggh.
I sniff hard and refocus. It’s so great being in the great outdoors. Maybe I should think about quitting the city and moving to the country. It can’t be good for your health, all that pollution and stress and—
Gosh, I’m really quite sniffly. I sniff harder, but it’s no good.
I need a tissue to blow it. I wonder if Mr Darcy has one .
. . I feel in his pockets. But nothing. Hmmm.
The wind is blowing harder now and my nose is .
. . well, running would be one way of describing it, streaming would be another.
Shit. And I’ve got nothing to wipe it on.
Unless . . . a thought stirs. I’ve got Mr Darcy’s silk scarf in my little sequinned purse.
Immediately I catch myself.
Honestly, what am I thinking? I can’t go and blow my snotty nose on that, can I? It’s got that lovely sexy cologne smell of his. It’s a keepsake.
And yet my nose seems to have suddenly turned into what my grandmother used to call the ‘candle factory’. And I’m on this big full-on romantic date. I can’t very well get to the castle with two big snotty candles hanging from my nostrils, now, can I?
I tug out the slip of white silk and blow hard. My nose makes a noise like a trumpet, but fortunately the wind’s blowing the other way so Mr Darcy doesn’t hear.
‘Isn’t this incredible?’ hollers Mr Darcy from ahead.
‘Amazing,’ I yell back, quickly scrunching up the snotty scarf and shoving it back in my purse. Never mind. I’ll just have to wash it later.
We’re cantering across the fields now, up towards the woods, and as the ground rushes beneath me I experience a whoosh of freedom.
We pick up even more speed and suddenly, before I know it, Lightning has broken effortlessly into a gallop.
Rushing through the darkness, hooves thundering, I feel as if I’m flying.
I feel alive. Euphoric. Exhilarated.
In agony.
Ouch! I wince in pain as I jig up and down in the saddle.
Whose bright idea was it to go bra-less?
My boobs are bouncing around like a couple of eager puppies here!
Holding the reins with one hand, I try cradling them in the crook of my arm.
I don’t have big boobs, but every woman needs more support than sequinned spaghetti straps.
Squashing them into my arm, I grimace at every thudding hoof. Galloping across fields with the wind in your hair and a floaty dress always looks so fab in movies – it’s one of those big, romantic fantasies – and yet here I am, getting chafed nipples, I think despairingly.
Thankfully, after a few moments we reach the woods and Mr Darcy slows down as we begin weaving our way through the trees. Relieved, I do the same. Letting go of my breasts I quickly smooth down my tangled hair, which has come undone in the wind.
‘There it is.’
I pause from unbuttoning Darcy’s coat in an attempt to appear a bit sexier and look up. Before me is the castle. It’s so amazing I’m rendered speechless.
‘It was commissioned by Ralph Allen to improve the view of his townhouse, and from a distance it appears to be the genuine article. However, it is in fact merely an impressive facade,’ he continues, as we come to a standstill.
‘It’s like a prop from a movie,’ I gasp, before I realise what I’m saying.
‘A what?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ I say, quickly brushing it aside. I don’t want to spoil the mood by getting bogged down in explanation, and instead we remain quietly side by side on our horses, both gazing up at the ‘impressive facade’.
Well, actually, I tell a lie. I’m peeking at him.
‘Still rather magnificent, though, don’t you think?’ he says after a moment, his eyes never leaving the castle. Not that he should be looking at me, I’m just saying.
‘Yeah,’ I manage quietly. ‘Yeah, it is.’
But I’d still much rather be gazing at you, I think, getting that jittery feeling again as it registers that we’re here, alone, just the two of us .
. . and what with the moonlight, it’s all very seductive.
My eyes trace the sharp silhouette of his cheekbone, the proud arch of his nose, his strong, confident mouth—
He turns to look at me. His dark eyes lock with mine and I feel another spasm in my groin.
Oh, God, this is it. This is the part where he kisses me.
My heart is hammering so loudly in my chest I’m surprised he can’t hear it, and as he leans towards me I close my eyes in delicious anticipation. I can feel his warm breath close against my neck. Smell his cologne. Feel his lips . . .
‘O, Rose, thou art sick!’
I jolt slightly, startled by Mr Darcy’s voice in my ear.
‘The invisible worm . . .’
Invisible worm? I feel a jerk of confusion. What on earth’s he going on about?
‘. . . That flies in the night, In the howling storm . . .’
Oh, now I get it, I realise, recognising the words from the time I reorganised the poetry section at McKenzie’s: it’s a poem by William Blake.
Furtively I open one eye, just a tiny little bit, and sneak a peek at Mr Darcy. He’s right there, only inches away, staring at me intensely.
Drawing a deep breath, he continues: ‘. . . Has found out thy bed, Of crimson joy . . .’
He’s reciting poetry to me.
Oh, my God, he’s so passionate I don’t know where to look! Heroes are always doing this in novels, but I’ve never heard of it happening in real life before. It’s incredible.
Except . . .
I don’t want to sound ungrateful. What woman wouldn’t want Mr Darcy reciting poetry to them, in that gorgeous cut-glass accent of his, beside a moonlit castle, on New Year’s Eve?
‘. . . And his dark secret love . . .’
But to be honest, I’d rather have that kiss.
An icy chill whips off the turrets and I shiver.
Now we’ve stopped riding, I’m fast realising just how cold it is.
I try wiggling my toes, but they’re so numb I can’t feel them any more.
Unlike the rest of me. My whole body is aching.
My butt, my boobs, my ankle. As if on cue, it twinges.
No doubt by tomorrow that’s going to be black and blue and the size of a cantaloupe.
‘. . . Does thy life destroy,’ finishes Mr Darcy with a dramatic flourish.
God, it’s all a bit heavy, isn’t it?
Irritation bites. I’ve come all the way out here, on a horse, in the freezing cold, and I don’t even get one little kiss? So what am I supposed to do now? Applaud? Swoon? Or—
My thoughts are silenced as Mr Darcy suddenly pulls me close.
Oh, OK. I take it back. So that’s what happens now.
All my life I’ve dreamed about being kissed by Mr Darcy, and now it’s actually coming true .
. . Closing my eyes, I lift my face to his expectantly.
Everything seems to slow down. I angle my body against his, but the satin of my dress is slippery in the saddle, and as his lips brush against mine I have to dig my heels against Lightning’s ribcage to keep my balance.
Oh, my God. So this is it. The kiss. Finally.
‘Arggghhhhh!’ I shriek.
Suddenly, without warning, Lightning lets out a loud whinny and rears up on her back legs.
‘Arggghhhh.’
Instead of a passionate embrace, I’m now being thrown backwards into the air. Clutching at the reins, I hang on for dear life as Mr Darcy’s coat slips from my shoulders.
Holy shit!
That moment in the air feels like for ever until – thwack – all four hooves hit the floor and I’m propelled forwards again. Relief floods my body. Oh, thank God, thank God, thank—
It lasts all of about two seconds.
Then she bolts.
‘Hold on!’ shouts Mr Darcy.
‘Argghhhh . . .’
That’s all I can do. Shriek at the top of my lungs in sheer terror.
‘Whoah, easy girl.’ Masterfully he swings his horse round and tries to grab the reins, but Lightning rears up again, knocking him off his horse with sheer brute force.
‘Mr Darcy,’ I scream with horror as he crashes onto the muddy ground.
‘Emily,’ he gasps, winded by the fall.
I glance back. I can hear him shouting something else, but as Lightning charges off his voice is whipped away by the wind and disappears into the night.
‘Help!’ I scream at the top of my lungs as we plunge deep into the woods and I’m thrown around in the saddle. ‘Help!’ I yell again. But it’s hopeless. There’s no Mr Darcy to rescue me.
And now we’re galloping out of the woods and across pitch-black fields.
The moon seems to have disappeared behind a cloud and I can’t see a thing, just dark shapes in the distance.
Dark, scary shapes that loom out at me like monsters.
My stomach jumps into my chest. What’s that over there?
Brushing underneath branches of trees, I crouch down low, but it’s too late.
Whack.
I feel a sharp blow to my forehead. Then it all goes black.