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‘And where exactly does the sun not shine, Mr Linton?’

‘Well, a few places come to mind.’

Strong hands grabbed my arms, lifting me bodily off the ground. A moment later I f

elt a soft mattress at my back, and then a hard Ambrose at my front.

‘Why don’t you show me some of them?’ he whispered.

‘Ha! In your dreams.’

‘Indeed.’

A shiver ran down my back. Did that really mean what I thought it meant? Did he dream about me… about him and me…?

My thoughts were cut off by his mouth claiming mine. And, as the sun sank beyond the horizon, we found quite a few interesting places where the sun did not shine. At least not at this hour of the night.

The Stranger

‘All right,’ Captain Carter said, trying very hard to suppress a smirk. ‘Maybe this was not such a good idea.

‘This bloody thing might be a bit bloody easier if I could actually look in the bloody direction I’m supposed to ride in! I - no! Hold still, you creature of hell! No, not in a circle! Straight! Do you hear me? You’re supposed to walk straight ahead, you bloody beast!’

‘I think it understands the reins better than insults,’ the captain suggested.

‘You can take your reins and stuff them up your-’

By the time I was finished explaining to the good captain where exactly he could stick the reins, he was laughing hysterically.

‘Merciful God! Miss Linton, where did you learn such inventive language?’

I shrugged, and nearly fell off my horse. ‘I guess one picks things up in London society.’

‘London society? Some of the words you’ve used I last heard from a Portuguese pirate three years ago, while he was busy cursing me to hell in his native tongue before being executed!’

‘Um…well, I attend some very interesting balls. Besides - Don’t move! Don’t move, you beast, understood? I’m in charge here!’

‘I’m not quite so sure the shouting method is working,’ the captain dared to suggest. ‘May I show you how to use the reins again?’

‘I have everything under control!’ I informed the captain firmly.

‘Yes, certainly.’

‘But…I wouldn’t mind you showing me an alternative method.’

‘Thank you. Here, you hold them like this…’

Two hours later, we had made real progress: I had acquired over a dozen bruises from falling off my horse, and was now cursing in Arabic instead of Portuguese.

‘This is impossible!’ I swiped my riding crop through the air, just barely missing Captain Carter’s head. ‘I’m sure I could do it if not for this infernal sidesaddle! I’m sitting on this thing like an oyster on a serving tray! How am I supposed to ride while staring off to the side? I have to see what’s coming ahead, don’t I?’

‘Yes of course, and you can. Just slip your one leg over the pommel, and-’

‘But then I’ll be sitting all twisted up! I’ll have a back ache the size of Yorkshire when I get off this thing. And besides, it’s unnecessary! Why should I twist myself up when I could just be sitting straight and looking ahead?’

The captain blinked at me, confused. ‘Well…because that’s not possible on a sidesaddle.’

And that really was the crux of the problem, I realised later as I trudged back through the snow towards the stable. I wanted to learn to ride, yes, but…like this? Arranged like a pretty bouquet of flowers, hardly able to see where I was going, unable to ride faster than a brisk trot?

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