1. Georgina #2
He leans back against the trunk, laughing, and I settle beside him with my shoulder against his. For a while we argue over how much bread I’ve already eaten and whether the shady half of the blanket belongs to the person who requested the picnic or the person who carried it.
There’s nowhere I need him to be except here. I can reach for him without catching him on his way somewhere else, and when his hand settles over mine, I turn my palm up and let our fingers fit together.
“You still haven’t learned.” I tip my face toward his. “Calling me princess and telling me to keep up. Still arrogant, huh?”
Max draws my hand into his lap, looking far too pleased with himself. “You were the one who challenged me.”
“You asked if I was lost.” I poke his chest with our joined hands. “On a path I’d been riding since I was a girl.”
“You looked like you needed assistance.”
“I looked like someone enjoying her morning.”
His laugh is warm against my temple as he kisses it. “Until I arrived.”
I can still remember the cold of that morning, my fingers stiff around the reins and how pleased I was to have the woods to myself.
The mare tosses her head as we come out of the trees, and I loosen my fingers on the reins, letting her stretch.
“I know…” I lean forward to rub her neck. “They’re going to notice we’re missing soon.”
She has considerably less interest in my mother’s breakfast arrangements than I do. Sensible creature.
I shouldn’t have stayed out this long. I promised the groom I’d have her back before the household woke, which had seemed perfectly reasonable when I slipped down the stairs with my boots in my hand.
Then the woods were quiet, the paths were empty, and nobody wanted anything from me except the horse beneath me.
How was I supposed to give that up after twenty minutes?
Suddenly, a hoof strikes stone somewhere ahead. I straighten as a gray appears around the bend, carrying a man who looks entirely too comfortable interrupting my morning.
He brings his horse to a walk before we reach each other. Dark hair, broad shoulders, one hand resting easily above the saddle. His gaze passes over the mare, my boots, the braid slipping loose over my shoulder.
Then he smiles.
I distrust it immediately.
“Lost?” He draws level with me, leaving enough space between the horses that my mare merely flicks an ear in his direction.
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you?”
His smile widens, which is irritating. That wasn’t encouragement.
“I asked first.” He glances toward the narrower track behind me. “That path gets rough farther in.”
“Yes. I was there.” I settle the reins between my fingers. “Recently.”
He looks at the mare again, then back at me. “On your own?”
What an extraordinary morning. I’ve escaped one person who thinks I need supervising and found another in the woods.
“She came with me.” I pat the mare’s neck. “We’ve been managing quite well between us.”
He laughs, and I wish he hadn’t. It’s a good laugh. Low and surprised, with none of the politeness men usually put on when they realize I’m not going to be agreeable.
“I meant without someone to show you the way.” He shifts in the saddle as his gray steps sideways, settling him with a quiet movement of his hand.
I notice it despite myself. He sits well. Better than well, actually, which is unfortunate for the opinion I’m forming of him.
“I know the way.” I glance past him toward the open stretch beyond the trees. “You’re standing in it.”
He moves the gray aside, but only enough to make a point of his courtesy. “Then I’ll let you get back. Someone must be wondering where you are.”
My fingers tighten before I can stop them. He notices. Of course he does.
“There it is.” His eyes brighten. “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”
“I’m beginning to feel the same way about you.” I ask the mare forward, intending to leave him with that.
He turns his horse alongside mine.
“I’m heading this way.” He gestures toward the broad track that runs along the edge of the woods. “Unless you’d rather I went first.”
“Why would I rather that?” I look across at him, already knowing I’m going to dislike the answer.
“So you can take your time.” He says it pleasantly, as though offering to hold a door.
I stop the mare.
He brings the gray to a halt too, and now there’s something waiting in his expression. He knows he’s annoying me. Worse, he’s enjoying it.
I should go home. I should leave this arrogant stranger exactly where I found him and be upstairs before my mother starts issuing instructions.
Instead, I point down the track.
“Do you see the stone bridge?” Beyond it, the path bends toward the estate, but the stretch between us and the bridge is wide and clear. “We stop before the crossing. First past the ash tree wins.”
He looks toward it, then at my borrowed mare. “You want to race me?”
“No, I want to take my time.” I give him the pleasant smile he deserves. “Do try to listen.”
His laugh comes again, fuller this time, and something inconvenient happens beneath my ribs.
“All right.” He gathers his reins and looks down the track once more, checking the ground. “But don’t look at me like that afterward.”
“Like what?” I adjust my seat as the mare feels the change in me and lifts her head.
“Like losing was my fault.” He brings the gray level with us, his grin making me want to win for reasons that have very little to do with horses. “Try to keep up with me, princess.”
Princess.
Oh, I am going to enjoy this.
“Whenever you’re ready.” I look straight ahead, refusing to give him another smile.
He gives the signal, and the gray surges forward.
For a few strides, he has me. His horse is powerful, covering the ground with an ease that tells me neither of them is accustomed to being caught. I hear the stranger laugh once, carried back on the morning air.
Then the mare finds her rhythm.
I know her. I know the impatient pull of her when she wants more rein, the little hesitation she gives before settling into her stride. I’ve borrowed her on enough stolen mornings to know that fighting her wastes both our time.
So I let her run.
The trees begin to slip past faster. Cold air catches in my throat, and the loose end of my braid strikes my back. There’s nothing to explain here. Nothing to apologize for. I know where to put my hands, how to move with her, how to give her room without asking for more than she can manage.
We draw level.
He turns his head, and I see the exact moment his amusement changes.
There you are. Paying attention at last.
The path bends gently around an old oak. I take the inside line, keeping the mare balanced through it, and when the track straightens again, we’re ahead.
Not by much.
The gray’s hoofbeats stay close. He isn’t laughing now, and I’m glad. I don’t want a victory he can explain away as generosity because he was clearly underestimating me just moments ago. I have to keep his ego in check.
“Come on,” I murmur, low against the mare’s neck, and she gives me the last of what I ask.
We pass the ash tree half a length ahead.
I sit back and ease her down well before the bridge, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. The stranger brings his gray alongside as we slow to a walk.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
I look at him, trying not to appear as pleased with myself as I am.
It’s difficult. I’m extremely pleased.
“Was that slow enough for you?” I run a hand down the mare’s neck, feeling the heat beneath her coat.
He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze moves from my hands to my face, and the easy grin is gone.
I brace for the excuse. The unfamiliar path, the bend, the horse. Men have explained my own victories to me before, usually at considerable length.
Instead, he lets out a breath.
“You were made for this.” He says it quietly, watching me as though he’s only just understood what he’s looking at.
My hand stills on the mare’s neck.
I don’t have an answer ready for that.
My mother calls riding an indulgence when she’s feeling generous and a disgrace when she isn’t. There is always something more suitable I should be doing, some better use for my time, some version of her eldest daughter who doesn’t come home smelling of horses.
This man watched me ride once.
He looks impressed. Not indulgent, not surprised that I stayed on.
Impressed.
I have to look away before he sees how much it matters.
“You ride quite well yourself.” I straighten the reins with unnecessary care. “For an amateur.”
He laughs, dropping his head for a moment, and when he looks up again, the expression on his face is worse than the grin.
Interested. Thoroughly, unmistakably interested.
“An amateur…” He brings the gray a little closer, still leaving the horses room. “You’re going to make me work for a compliment, aren’t you?”
“I just gave you one.” I lift my chin. “Try to accept it gracefully.”
“Would you like another go?” He nods toward the track behind us. “Since I clearly need the practice.”
I nearly say yes.
Then the estate clock carries through the trees.
My stomach drops.
“No.” I turn toward the bridge, calculating the distance home, the time it will take to settle the mare, the stairs I’ll have to climb without being seen. “I have to go.”
“Now?” He follows my glance, amusement returning. “Someone really is wondering where you are.”
“Enjoy your morning.” I gather the reins, refusing to answer that. “I intend to enjoy the rest of mine without unsolicited directions.”
“You haven’t told me your name.” He moves the gray aside as I turn the mare toward home.
“Then you’ll have something to think about while you recover.” I can’t help the smile that escapes this time. “Goodbye, slowpoke.”
I give the mare her head before he can ask again.
“When can I see you?!” His voice follows me over the bridge.
I don’t look back. I’m smiling far too much to risk it.
Fortunately, I make it back without getting caught. I rush to be presentable and ease back to my suffocating reality. By the time my mother calls me downstairs, I’ve decided I imagined most of his appeal.