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He had enough, after all. The ton paid him well for his services. He worked, tirelessly, all year. Why shouldn’t he take a break, sometimes? He watched as a flock of birds, wheeled through the sky.
* * *
Arabella rode confidently. Black Jack tossed his head. He was a large horse, but she had never lost control of him before. His gait was like a dream—smooth and even. Her anger with Lord Drysdale began to subside as she rode. She led the group. Mr. Conolly maneuvered his horse to ride beside her.
“Are you enjoying the view, Mr. Conolly?” she asked wryly.
He speared her with his gaze, raising his eyebrow. He had caught her double entendre. “Very much, My Lady. The view in the city is not at all the same.” There he went again—taking all of the fire out of her words. It was slightly infuriating.
“I see,” she said archly. She would get him to repartee.
“I do not often come out to the country,” he replied, still not taking her bait. Drysdale would. He was such a stick in the mud that he always objected to everything that she did.
“How about we take the path at a bit of a faster pace?” she suggested. “We’re almost to the picnic spot.”
“As you wish.”
She turned back toward the others. “We’re going to pick up the pace,” she said. They all nodded. She touched her heels to Black Jack’s sides. He sprung forward into a canter at the slightest touch.
She could hear the thundering of the others’ horses. Arabella loved the lope of her horse. He was spirited, like her. Beside her, Mr. Conolly rode his horse, she grinned at him. He returned the smile.
She felt indomitable—as though nothing could touch her. Up there, on the back of her large, fast horse—riding at Mr. Conolly’s side—nothing could touch her.
As they came around the bend in the road, a flock of birds were spooked, all of them lifting into the air from the depths of a gorse bush.
Black Jack startled, rearing back. Arabella clung on, wrapping her fingers into his mane. He began to buck, throwing her from the saddle. She fell, landing on the ground. Black Jack ran off. She watched, stunned. It had all happened so quickly.
* * *
“My Lady?” Mr. Conolly had dismounted, and was kneeling down beside her. Arabella was watching one of the grooms ride off, in pursuit of her horse.
There was pain, in her ribs, where she’d fallen. She winced, her hand going to it. Throbbing. She considered walking back, but then decided to just admit it.
“I’m hurt,” she said, gesturing. “My ribs. And my pride.”
“I’ll get you back, on my horse,” he offered. She nodded, ignoring Lord Drysdale, who was watching silently from his horse. Using one hand, he helped her up, onto her feet.
“She’s hurt,” he said to the others.
It was like her ribs had a heartbeat. She didn’t think there was a break. Regardless, she would have to see the physician—her parents would insist.
It was decided that one of the grooms would ride back to alert those in the house. That left Annette and one other groom to chaperone.
Mr. Conolly mounted his horse, then reached down, helping her up and onto his horse. Though it pained her to do so, she got up behind the saddle, to ride pillion behind him.
“If you need to lean on me, you may do so,” he said, low enough so that no one else heard.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, then leaned her cheek against his back. His jacket was rough against her skin. She felt herself melt into his solid warmth. She wasn’t quite as injured as all that. She wasn’t about to let on. She was near to him. She closed her eyes, enjoying the closeness. She might never get another chance to be near him like this.
She could feel the steady beat of his heart, smell the scent of his skin and his wool jacket. As the horse swayed underneath them, their bodies moved in sync. In her mind, she imagined that he was hopelessly in love with her.
Her eyes fluttered open—she realized that she was imagining him in love with her. Because she was in love with him. The jolt of it caused her to gasp. There could be no-one else. She was exactly where she was supposed to be, in that moment.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” she murmured, honestly.
“I’ve got you, My Lady.”
“Yes,” she breathed, her pulse racing. Could he tell? Did he know? She had no idea if it was visible to all. When she looked over at Lord Drysdale, he blinked, looking away.
Yes. She was being too obvious. Arabella needed to hide it—at least until she’d had a moment to clear things up with Mr. Conolly.
