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I’ve heard of these drag hunts. They take the place of the fox hunt, without the fox.
“Do you think it’ll be safe? Some of these chaps are terriblyjejunewhen it comes to riding. And none of the horses have the requisite experience, do they?”
Pippa waves this away with her brash good spirits. “Oh, it’s not like we’ll be with thefirst flight. We’ll be with thehilltopperswho don’t jump. It’ll be more like a leisurely hack across the countryside. A trail ride! Isn’t that what they call it in the Americas, Mariano?”
Pippa’s question pulls me away from thoughts of Lolly galloping, of me following hard on her heels—
“Sí,we’ll take good care, Henrietta.” I have a duty of care for my students, but Pippa’s not wrong. If we are to ride the English countryside, we won’t be the ones clearing the stone walls and boggy ditches that are considered the most challenging ride. The only question—and the only thing that matters—is whether Lolly wants to go. If she’s attending the drag hunt, I’ll be there. If she’s not, I’ll find a way to cancel and be wherever she wants me. On my knees, buried in her scent, bringing her through jump after jump. Lovemaking, like horse riding, is as much about the chase as the goal. Together, we’ll charge a new path, taking each other to new heights.
“Start your engines.” Pippa clicks her seatbelt and waves at the procession leaving the Dower House as I turn the key in the ignition. “We have places to be and beer to drink.”
She might, but I don’t. I have to find a wishing well. In secret. In under half an hour. The hunt is most assuredly on.
HIS AND HERS
Lolly Benoit. Upper Wilmington. Gloucestershire, England.
The Jaguar purrs under me. I’ve never had such power at my disposal. The laugh that Mariano has ignited in my belly roars to life. On this day—this dazzingly lovely day—I’ve been close to an unabashed power source and, with luck, I’m about to get a lot closer. The gravel crunches under the tires and we’re out into the lanes. I can’t wait. I have to get around these cars and between the hedgerows, out in the countryside where I can dodge pheasant and sing at the top of my voice.
The village is close, but not close enough. The chemist is smack in the center of town.Oh god, oh god, oh god. Please don’t let Mr. Chadwick be behind the counter. Let it be his wife.I didn’t grow up here full time, but they know me from my visits and my time at the Great House. If I go in there and buy condoms, everyone and their dog will know before dinner time. But I told Mariano we’d meet in half an hour. And that was fifteen minutes ago, so there’s no way I can get into Highchester, where the chances of anyone recognizing me fall from one hundred percent to a measly five percent.
I leave the keys in the ignition because, well, it’s that kind of village. Putting them in my pocket would feel like an insult to the people who live here. Mrs. Jenkins is outside the post office. I swear, she has flower boxes on every window just so she can spend time checking out what’s going on without looking like a curtain twitcher, though that’s precisely what she is. I pause to pet her dog Huxley and am overwhelmed with guilt. Poor Mr. Wiggins. To abandon him twice in one day. What kind of human am I? A monster, that’s what kind. I’ll make it up to him as soon as I get home.
The chemist is just as lovely as every other shop in town. The baskets are wicker, dried lavender hangs in the window, and Mrs. Chadwick greets me by name. “Lolly! I heard you were back in town. How lovely for your aunt! Are you going to be here long?”
“For the season, Mrs. Chadwick. I’m training riders…” I don’t want to say, ‘for my mother’s new venture’ because I’m not entirely sure my mother is loved in the village. Certainly not like Aunt Dottie. I find some high-end hair oil that is vastly overpriced, but which might detract from the fact that I’m about to head into the condom aisle. No, not nearly enough cover. I add tampons and some artisanal soaps.
“Oh, my daughter-in-law will be so happy. She makes those, you know. I didn’t think they’d take off, but they’re ever so popular with the tourists. She makes a whiskey and coal soap that I can barely keep in stock! Which one have you picked?” She rummages through my basket. “Oh! The jasmine and honey.Where the bee sucks, there I suck!I’ll be sure to tell her.”
The bell over the door rings andpraise be,Mrs. Chadwick is off to help a tourist find mouthwash and dental floss, chatting all the while.
Who knew there were so many condoms to choose from? They come in all colors and sizes, as well as edible, glow-in-the-dark, ribbed and ridged, and featherlight. And does that one sayMagnum?
The bell tinkles as the tourist departs and Mrs. Chadwick is already back at my side. “Some of these aren’t worth the latex they’re made of.” She picks a package from the top shelf. “Make sure that they’re geared towards your goal, if you know what I mean.”
I’m utterly clueless, but I don’t want to ask a woman who’s at least thirty years my senior and very possibly going to report what I say to my aunt, or worse, Mrs. Jenkins. Though, come to think of it, I’ve never heard gossip that could have originated inYon Apothecary Cares.
“I say this to all of my customers, Lolly, so don’t take this the wrong way. I haven’t heard the banns being read, and I don’t see a ring, so I think this is for prevention. Am I right?”
The blush that starts at my toes reaches my face fast enough.
“There are, loosely speaking, strata of condoms. You need to be sure you’re buying something that meets your needs, you see? Pregnancy prevention, STI prevention, or sex play are all quite, quite different. So, what are we looking for?” She waits for an answer that is never coming. “The ticklers, for example, are a hoot, with all their nibs and ridges, but there’s no solid, reliable STI or pregnancy protection. So, let’s say they’re out of the running.”
I’m nodding, but I’m not sure why. I suppose I have to roll with this conversation so as not to draw too much attention to myself.
“They try…” Her sigh is so deep and so long, I’m not sure which way this conversation is headed, and I hope to heaven she’s not about to tell me that she and Mr. Chadwick are friends of the Trojan Twist or a mint-flavored edible. “But they’re stillmostlygeared to her pleasure or his, not both.”
“Oh…” I squeak. This has never crossed my mind, but now that she points it out, it makes a lot of sense.
“The looser condoms are for his sensation. Most men don’t want to be wrapping their Roger in layers and layers of latex if they want to be able to feel where they’re aiming their rocket. This has a bit of space at the nib, so he doesn’t lose feeling…”
Now we’re so far in the weeds I can hardly keep my laugh down.
“Of course, the glow-in-the-dark variety are fun when you’ve seen Star Wars.” She laughs so hard I am tempted to slap her on the back, but she’s enjoying herself, so I hold off. She wipes the tears from her eyes. “Don’t tell Mr. Chadwick I said that, but, you know, I don’t mind a bit of lightsaber play when he’s up for it.” She doesn’t miss a beat before going back to her lecture. “The thing you have to remember is to hold the condom to the light for a while, to activate the glow.”
“Right. I don’t think that’s for me.” I manage.
“Right-o. If you’re interested in tending toherdelight, then I’ll steer you to the ribbed and nubbly, though…” She drops her voice to a whisper. “If you’re doing it right, I can’t say as these make all that much difference.”
