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"I intend to win this race. And I won't do that if I ride sidesaddle." She inclined her head at the groom. "Hughes, would you mind very much switching saddles for me? I'm going to race astride."
Hughes's gaze widened, but he nodded, dragging a forearm across his brow. "Whatever you say, Miss Stacie." He led Whisper back into the stable.
A corner of Damen's mouth lifted. "A wise decision."
"One that might cost you the race."
"I'll take my chances, and I'll take them with fair odds." His gaze narrowed quizzically. "I notice people call you Stacie."
"Only those who have known me since I was a child." A fond smile touched her lips. "When we were little, Breanna couldn't pronounce my name. Not that I blame her. It was hard enough for me to pronounce. Anyway, she shortened it to Stacie when we were three. The staff seemed to like it, so the name stuck. Those household members who are still here now—Wells, Hughes, Mrs. Rhodes, and a handful of others—seem to have reverted back to it since I returned. It makes me feel a little more at home." Anastasia's smile faded, and a wistful look crossed her face. "Grandfather called me Stacie. He said it suited me because I never stood still long enough for anyone to say Anastasia."
"An astute observation," Damen replied, his tone curiously gentle. "Then again, your grandfather was an astute man."
"Yes. He was."
"Here you are, Miss Stacie." Hughes led Whisper out, a standard saddle strapped on her back. "Just make sure to tuck those fancy skirts of yours out of the way," he advised, averting his face, which had gone beet red.
Anastasia's smile returned. "Don't worry. I will." She tossed Damen a challenging look. "Ready?"
"Ready."
They led the horses down the path to the open, grassy fields where the Medford horses were exercised. There, they stopped.
"You choose our course," Damen offered, gripping Sable's reins and squinting to assess the area. "Since you obviously know Medford Manor better than I do."
"Do I? You've probably spent more hours here than I have."
"That might be true, but my hours here have been spent in your uncle's library and study, while yours were spent racing horses and climbing trees. So you're far more familiar with the grounds than I."
"Agreed." Anastasia blew yet another loose strand of hair off her cheek, considering Damen's words. "In which case, I'll not only lay out our course, I'll deliberately alter it from the one I used to take as a child. That way, you won't be at a disadvantage." A sparkle danced in her eyes. "You see, my lord, you're not the only fair and ethical adventurer."
"So I see."
Giving up on her stubborn wisps of hair, Anastasia pointed across the field. "Do you see that fence? The one way down near the stream? We'll ride from here to there. Then, we'll veer left and make our way across to that line of hedges over there." She pivoted, drawing an imaginary line with her forefinger. "From that point, we'll race back to our starting point. How would that be?"
"Excellent. We'll use my coat as our makeshift finish line." Damen shrugged out of his coat and lay it on the ground, stretching the sleeves out to reach their maximum span. He gazed across the field intently, visually reviewing their path. Then, he turned and eyed Anastasia with a hint of a grin. "Can I offer you my assistance in mounting? You're going to have your hands full tucking those skirts out of the way."
She conceded, reluctantly, turning toward Whisper and frowning at the notable distance between the ground and the saddle. "This is not going to be one of my more graceful maneuvers."
"It won't be so bad. Watch." Damen came up behind her, his hands anchoring her waist. "Go ahead and put your left foot in the stirrup." The instant she complied, he lifted her off the grass, gently rotating her frontward as he did. "Now swing your right leg over. Gather up your skirts first. You'll worry about rearranging them once you're settled." A teasing note crept into his voice. "I won't peek. I promise."
Anastasia was laughing as she followed his instructions—a fact that slowed down the process considerably.
At last, she sank into the saddle, taking the handfuls of muslin she'd gathered up and shoving them beneath her.
"You don't look particularly comfortable," Damen noted, his gaze traveling up her bare legs and settling on the bulky cushion that separated her and the saddle.
"I thought you weren't going to peek."
His teeth gleamed. "That was when you were mounting. I couldn't resist watching this preparation ritual of yours."
Anastasia tossed him a saucy look. "Fine. Then, to answer your question—I don't feel particularly comfortable. However, I do intend to win."
"That remains to be seen." Damen walked around to Sable's left and mounted her in one sm
ooth motion. "Shall I act as starter or would you like to?"
"By all means, my lord, you do the honors." Anastasia gathered up her reins. "I trust in your integrity." She leaned forward, her eyes straight ahead, her heels pressed close to Whisper's sides.
