Blackstone’s attention turned to his wheeling mount, his face grim. Violet regretted pushing him into the absurd position. The best thing to do was to get it over with. The track was clear. The men’s eyes swung to her. She lifted her arm and let her glove drop.
The prince’s mount leapt forward. Blackstone’s knees tightened around Oberon, and the horse bucked wildly. Blackstone lifted his seat but the horse continued its wild plunging, arching his back and spinning in the air, then rising up on his hind legs, his haunches lowered almost to the ground. If Blackstone hung on, they would go over backwards. Violet watched him release his hold and let the animal fling him off. For a brief instant he flew upward then landed in the path of the rearing horse. Violet held her breath. Blackstone rolled away as the horse’s legs came down with a jarring thud. The trembling horse snorted and blew, muscles rippling under the smooth black skin as Blackstone came to his feet.
Dripping mud, he caught up Oberon’s dragging reins and began soothing the distressed animal with his hands. As the prince cantered back along the Row, Violet urged the rest of the party to catch up to them.
The prince was splattered with mud from his toes to his thighs. His grin stretched his moustache even further. He dismounted and took over with Oberon, consoling the horse, saying, “You cannot win without me, can you, Oberon? Miss Hammersley, such a frown. Did you fear for us?”
She hardly knew what she answered. For a moment her whirling thoughts were consumed by Blackstone. He had let himself be thrown, and she had feared to see him crushed by Oberon’s hooves. And now she was unreasonably happy to see him mud-caked and frowning. He stripped the ruined coat from his back. His hat had tumbled away. One cheek bore a dirt smudge. He looked absurdly young and utterly alive.
The prince supplied his own answer for the question she’d forgotten. “Ah, no, you are worried about your brother. But he is a trickster, you know, always disappearing on us and showing up to laugh at us when we do not expect him. He got away from us three times, you know. There is a lady, perhaps. In Spain, he went to see a lady.”
Violet almost missed the remark with her gaze still on Blackstone.
Got away from us
. It was what the prince had said earlier, except for the one odd phrase.
“You gave us all a fright,” she said to him as Blackstone came up to her. “What caused Oberon to spook that way?”
“Worried, my love?”
“I would hate to see that magnificent animal suffer a fall.”
He took her gloved hand in his and opened it, dropping a kiss on her wrist. As he lifted his mouth from her hand, he closed her fist around a short sharp object. It pricked her palm through the leather. A thorn.
“From Oberon’s saddlecloth.”
She did not have to wonder any longer that Oberon had tried so desperately to throw his rider. As soon as Blackstone’s weight had settled in the saddle, the thorn must have dug painfully into the horse’s sensitive back.
Violet rode beside the prince on their return from the park. She could not say what the topic of conversation was. She had stopped thinking about Frank, her mind returning to the moment when it looked as if Blackstone would be crushed. When they reached the house, Blackstone excused himself and sought her father. That was when Violet first missed her glove. She thought Cahul had picked it up from the track. She still had the thorn, dark brown, thin, an inch long, round and straight as a needle. She did not recognize it as an English thorn.
Chapter Nine
“She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished.��
—Jane Austen,
Pride and Prejudice
Miranda Kirby smiled at the gentleman examining the jars of ointments and salves. He was as fashionable as she could wish. From the excellent cut and fine wool of his dove gray coat, she could guess his tailor’s name and the
The prince’s mount leapt forward. Blackstone’s knees tightened around Oberon, and the horse bucked wildly. Blackstone lifted his seat but the horse continued its wild plunging, arching his back and spinning in the air, then rising up on his hind legs, his haunches lowered almost to the ground. If Blackstone hung on, they would go over backwards. Violet watched him release his hold and let the animal fling him off. For a brief instant he flew upward then landed in the path of the rearing horse. Violet held her breath. Blackstone rolled away as the horse’s legs came down with a jarring thud. The trembling horse snorted and blew, muscles rippling under the smooth black skin as Blackstone came to his feet.
Dripping mud, he caught up Oberon’s dragging reins and began soothing the distressed animal with his hands. As the prince cantered back along the Row, Violet urged the rest of the party to catch up to them.
The prince was splattered with mud from his toes to his thighs. His grin stretched his moustache even further. He dismounted and took over with Oberon, consoling the horse, saying, “You cannot win without me, can you, Oberon? Miss Hammersley, such a frown. Did you fear for us?”
She hardly knew what she answered. For a moment her whirling thoughts were consumed by Blackstone. He had let himself be thrown, and she had feared to see him crushed by Oberon’s hooves. And now she was unreasonably happy to see him mud-caked and frowning. He stripped the ruined coat from his back. His hat had tumbled away. One cheek bore a dirt smudge. He looked absurdly young and utterly alive.
The prince supplied his own answer for the question she’d forgotten. “Ah, no, you are worried about your brother. But he is a trickster, you know, always disappearing on us and showing up to laugh at us when we do not expect him. He got away from us three times, you know. There is a lady, perhaps. In Spain, he went to see a lady.”
Violet almost missed the remark with her gaze still on Blackstone.
Got away from us
. It was what the prince had said earlier, except for the one odd phrase.
“You gave us all a fright,” she said to him as Blackstone came up to her. “What caused Oberon to spook that way?”
“Worried, my love?”
“I would hate to see that magnificent animal suffer a fall.”
He took her gloved hand in his and opened it, dropping a kiss on her wrist. As he lifted his mouth from her hand, he closed her fist around a short sharp object. It pricked her palm through the leather. A thorn.
“From Oberon’s saddlecloth.”
She did not have to wonder any longer that Oberon had tried so desperately to throw his rider. As soon as Blackstone’s weight had settled in the saddle, the thorn must have dug painfully into the horse’s sensitive back.
Violet rode beside the prince on their return from the park. She could not say what the topic of conversation was. She had stopped thinking about Frank, her mind returning to the moment when it looked as if Blackstone would be crushed. When they reached the house, Blackstone excused himself and sought her father. That was when Violet first missed her glove. She thought Cahul had picked it up from the track. She still had the thorn, dark brown, thin, an inch long, round and straight as a needle. She did not recognize it as an English thorn.
Chapter Nine
“She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished.��
—Jane Austen,
Pride and Prejudice
Miranda Kirby smiled at the gentleman examining the jars of ointments and salves. He was as fashionable as she could wish. From the excellent cut and fine wool of his dove gray coat, she could guess his tailor’s name and the
Similar Books
