associate of Rob’s at the ribbons. The housekeeper entered the coach, a black cloak covering her from collar to toes, a black coalscuttle bonnet concealing most of the rest of her.
When the carriage pulled up at a livery stable behind Cavendish Square, an establishment also owned by a friend of Rob’s in his earlier days, an elegant young woman stepped out. There was no question that this was a lady, not with her noble bearing and obviously expensive green velvet riding habit in the latest military style, which she filled to admiration since the habit’s alterations.
She wore a veil over her face, attached to a shallow-crowned beaver hat with green feathers at the side; only the tiniest hint of silver-blond curls peeked out beneath the brim. Just in case there was any doubt of the Fair Incognita’s status, the biggest, brawniest groom in the stable bowed low, assisted the lady onto the back of her prancing mare, and followed her down to Oxford Street and hence to Hyde Park. The fraternity of the road was a loyal bunch, or Rob would never have let Annalise out of his sight.
Miss Avery had a glorious ride, feeling freer than she had in ages. It was almost as if she could outride her problems, just gallop away on Seraphina and leave all of the distress and uncertainty behind. Nothing could destroy her sense of release this morning, not even the gentlemen just returning home from an evening’s carousal who were stopped dead in their wobbly tracks by the vision of a goddess flying past on her Arabian mare. They may have been tempted to try to stop her, to talk to her, but the fellow riding behind on a rangy bay looked like he’d be more at home on a gibbet than on a jaunt in the park. If Clarence’s scarred face and thick arms were not discouragement enough, the pistol tucked in his waistband was. The wastrels doffed their hats and reverently watched her ride away.
One fellow was not so polite, or so wise. A sporting mad young buck out exercising his stallion decided to make a race of it with the veiled equestrienne. He tried to pull ahead on his barely controlled mount so he could cut her off and force her to a halt and an introduction before any of the other early morning riders got to her. Ignoring the warning from the lady’s groom, he made a grab for her reins, shouting suggestive offers at the same time.
Annalise could not have been more disgusted if one of the park pigeons had left its calling card on her shoulder. She reached over and brought her riding crop down on the scoundrel’s gloved hand, then, when he pulled back, down on his horse’s flank. At the same time a pistol shot rang out. The unruly stallion snorted, lifted all four feet off the ground, did an about-face, and departed a few days early for the Newmarket meets. His rider didn’t make it as far as the park gate. He stood, rubbing the part of him that had landed hardest and contemplating the bullet hole in his hat. He made one last try as Annalise rode past: “You could kiss it and make it better, sweetheart!”
At least no one could see the scarlet color creeping into her cheeks. Her pleasure in the day had been stolen by the insufferable coxcomb, however, another male with as much control of his passions as over his horse. Men! Faugh!
She returned home by Rob’s prescribed circuitous routes, confirmed in the righteousness of her plans.
*
The earl’s problem was not getting Lady Moira Campbell alone; it was putting the fiery redhead off long enough to send a message to Laurel Street to make sure the place was ready.
“I don’t think this afternoon is the proper time to discuss your new carriage, my lady. My mother frowns on discussions of horseflesh over tea. Why don’t we wait for after Mrs. Hamilton’s card party tomorrow evening? That should break up early, so we’ll have ample time to make sure I know what you want.”
“I like my horses big and dark and not too tame,” the lady murmured. The dark-haired earl stirred his
When the carriage pulled up at a livery stable behind Cavendish Square, an establishment also owned by a friend of Rob’s in his earlier days, an elegant young woman stepped out. There was no question that this was a lady, not with her noble bearing and obviously expensive green velvet riding habit in the latest military style, which she filled to admiration since the habit’s alterations.
She wore a veil over her face, attached to a shallow-crowned beaver hat with green feathers at the side; only the tiniest hint of silver-blond curls peeked out beneath the brim. Just in case there was any doubt of the Fair Incognita’s status, the biggest, brawniest groom in the stable bowed low, assisted the lady onto the back of her prancing mare, and followed her down to Oxford Street and hence to Hyde Park. The fraternity of the road was a loyal bunch, or Rob would never have let Annalise out of his sight.
Miss Avery had a glorious ride, feeling freer than she had in ages. It was almost as if she could outride her problems, just gallop away on Seraphina and leave all of the distress and uncertainty behind. Nothing could destroy her sense of release this morning, not even the gentlemen just returning home from an evening’s carousal who were stopped dead in their wobbly tracks by the vision of a goddess flying past on her Arabian mare. They may have been tempted to try to stop her, to talk to her, but the fellow riding behind on a rangy bay looked like he’d be more at home on a gibbet than on a jaunt in the park. If Clarence’s scarred face and thick arms were not discouragement enough, the pistol tucked in his waistband was. The wastrels doffed their hats and reverently watched her ride away.
One fellow was not so polite, or so wise. A sporting mad young buck out exercising his stallion decided to make a race of it with the veiled equestrienne. He tried to pull ahead on his barely controlled mount so he could cut her off and force her to a halt and an introduction before any of the other early morning riders got to her. Ignoring the warning from the lady’s groom, he made a grab for her reins, shouting suggestive offers at the same time.
Annalise could not have been more disgusted if one of the park pigeons had left its calling card on her shoulder. She reached over and brought her riding crop down on the scoundrel’s gloved hand, then, when he pulled back, down on his horse’s flank. At the same time a pistol shot rang out. The unruly stallion snorted, lifted all four feet off the ground, did an about-face, and departed a few days early for the Newmarket meets. His rider didn’t make it as far as the park gate. He stood, rubbing the part of him that had landed hardest and contemplating the bullet hole in his hat. He made one last try as Annalise rode past: “You could kiss it and make it better, sweetheart!”
At least no one could see the scarlet color creeping into her cheeks. Her pleasure in the day had been stolen by the insufferable coxcomb, however, another male with as much control of his passions as over his horse. Men! Faugh!
She returned home by Rob’s prescribed circuitous routes, confirmed in the righteousness of her plans.
*
The earl’s problem was not getting Lady Moira Campbell alone; it was putting the fiery redhead off long enough to send a message to Laurel Street to make sure the place was ready.
“I don’t think this afternoon is the proper time to discuss your new carriage, my lady. My mother frowns on discussions of horseflesh over tea. Why don’t we wait for after Mrs. Hamilton’s card party tomorrow evening? That should break up early, so we’ll have ample time to make sure I know what you want.”
“I like my horses big and dark and not too tame,” the lady murmured. The dark-haired earl stirred his
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