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“A race!”
“Why not?”
Miranda chuckled. “Are you certain you wish to race me, Simon? I am an expert horsewoman, you know.”
“Ah, a challenge I cannot refuse.”
The earlier gentle breeze strengthened. “How far do we ride?” she asked securing her hat firmly atop her curls.
“Until that sad uncertainty I see in your eyes melts away. Feel the sun on your skin, the wind on your cheeks, the power of the horse underneath you, and leave your cares behind you.”
Miranda stared at him for a long silent moment. “Then let’s race.”
He encircled her waist from behind and assisted her onto her horse. She flushed at the intimate proximity. His eyes darkened with the knowledge, causing her heartbeat to intensify. He mounted his stallion, and they cantered away. They did not speak, just rode with the wind.
The earth shook with the power of their horses, and she laughed in exhilaration at the magnificent speed and grace of the animals. Simon did not hold back, he urged his horse ahead of hers with such grace and elegance he stole her breath. Like her, he did not use a whip, but bent low over his horse, speaking encouraging words to urge him to greater speed. Joy pumped through her veins, and her heartbeat quickened as they sped past the rolling countryside, a blur of greens and the bright splash of flowers and roses.
The steady sounds of hoof beats thumping the ground in a thrilling rhythm urged her to encourage her horse to move faster. They cut the corner at breakneck speed, and delight pulsed through her veins. The power of his stallion outdistanced hers, but she did not care, and soon they came to a stop.
“Simon, we must do this again tomorrow! That was so very exhilarating. I declare I am unable to ride with such freedom in Hyde Park.”
“I thought you would enjoy the wind on your face.”
A wild desire to leap from the horse and kiss him darted through her. Unable to help herself, her fingers drifted to her lips and ghosted over them remembering the firm pressure of his mouth on hers, the evocative taste of his tongue sliding against hers. Flushing at her thoughts, she glanced away. She jumped from the horse without his assistance, and he arched an admiring brow. He dismounted with effortless grace, and holding onto the horse’s reins, they began to stroll without any particular goal in mind.
A soft, misting rain began to fall, and she tilted her face to the sky briefly. “We should return inside,” she said softly, smoothing a stray wisp of a curl from her temple.
When he made no reply, she glanced at him and faltered. He stared at her with a question in his gaze. The sudden tension in him was palpable, and his eyes darkened with dangerous heat. A surge of heightened awareness went through her.
"You are breathtaking, and I do not refer to your beauty. You are so much more.”
She stood still, her hands at her sides curled into fists to keep from touching him. Something deep within her belly quickened, sending powerful darts of longing through her. He dipped his head and tenderly kissed her forehead. A lump grew in her throat and tears pricked behind her lids.
The sound of thundering hooves in the distance had Simon shifting with a frown.
“It is Jim,” he murmured. “Something must have happened for him to ride me down out here.”
The coachman arrived, chest heaving. "It is David Belmont, the blacksmith. Dr. Astor. He is complaining of stomach pain. He's fevered and casting up his accounts. They fear…" the man glanced away, a line of strain bracketing his mouth.
“Forgive me, Miranda, I must tend to my patient immediately. Might I ask Jim to accompany you back to the house?”
She nodded, and he vaulted on his horse and rode away with thundering speed.
A little over an hour later, Miranda had changed into one of her most serviceable gowns and made her way toward the drawing room. She wanted to offer her assistance to Simon in the event he might need more help. Upon her return from riding, she had learned someone from the village had carted the blacksmith to the manor, and he was currently in the drawing room. She knocked once and entered the room. Simon was bent over a groaning man, and there was an air of tension within the room.
She made no sound, but somehow, he sensed her presence and glanced up.
A fierce scowl settled over his features. “Get out of here!” he snapped his eyes flashing.
She was taken so much by surprise that she could only stare at him, “I’ve come to help,” she said firmly. “What might I do? Please instruct me.”
“I said get out!” he roared with such violence she jerked as if slapped.
A horrified gasp came from the young man assisting him, and he sent her a sympathetic glance. Embarrassment burning through her, she turned around, wrenched the door open and darted away.
Almost two hours later, Simon stepped from the bath where he had thoroughly scrubbed himself on the odd chance his patient was afflicted with nothing more than a case of tainted meat. An odd urgency coiled in his gut. The wounded look in Miranda’s eyes made him feel like the worst sort of bounder, and he had to find her right away. Dressing without the aid of his valet, he hurried from his chamber and down the winding stairs into the hallway.
Mrs. Clayton who had been ambling toward the servant’s staircase paused and considered him. “Lady Miranda ran toward the lake, Doctor, and has not returned. I am assuming it is she you wish to see?”
