the constriction of her bodice. The rider of the horse dismounted in a leap and crouched beside her, one hand under her right elbow, the other reaching for her left hand. He said again, “Oh, do tell me you’re all right! I didn’t see you there! I was sure this part of the park was deserted, now it’s getting so dark, and—oh damn!”
She leaned on him as she got to her feet and shook out the troublesome skirts. “I’m not hurt,” she told him. She was sure to have an embarrassing bruise under her chemise, but there was no need to admit that. “I’m the one who must apologize. I was looking at the—so silly of me—looking back at the fountain when I should have been watching the path. I thought everyone had gone, too.”
Standing straight at last, she looked up and saw that the horse who had almost run her down was the white mare she had so admired. “It’s you!” she exclaimed.
The man misunderstood. “Me?” he said. His voice was nice, quite deep. She was surprised to find he was a full head taller than she, something that didn’t often happen. He said, “Have we met? I’m sorry, but I don’t—”
“Oh no, not you, sir! I meant the horse!”
He stared at her, openmouthed. She realized how strange that must have sounded, and how odd she must look, hatless and disheveled.
She straightened her jacket, bent to retrieve her hat, and tried to regain some dignity. “I should explain,” she said. “I saw your mare earlier and wished I could see her again. I was startled and spoke without thinking.”
He closed his mouth and regarded her solemnly. He really was very tall, rather young, and too lean for his height. He had a shock of pale hair worn long on his collar, and quite good hazel eyes, darkened now with alarm.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again. She put out her hand, saw at the last moment that her glove was grimy from her fall, and retracted it. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I just—I love horses, you see.”
“Then we are well met. I love horses, too.”
“What’s your mare’s name?”
“This is Breeze. She’s an Andalusian.”
“Is she? Oh, that’s marvelous! I did wonder. I have the perfect stud for her.”
The young man’s eyes widened, and Annis couldn’t resist a laugh. “Oh dear,” she said. “I keep shocking people. I never intend to, truly. I’m a horse breeder, you see. I have a marvelous Thoroughbred stallion at home, called Black Satin, and I’m looking for mares exactly like this one to start my new bloodline.”
“Ah. Well.” He turned to his mare as if seeking refuge from Annis’s barrage of words. “Well, here she is. I—This seems rather an improper topic to be discussing with a young lady, but perhaps…”
Annis was tired of being told she was improper, and thoroughly bored with people pretending she couldn’t know about such a practical thing as breeding animals, but she tried to hide her impatience behind courtesy. “May I examine Breeze more closely?”
He stepped back a little, letting the reins go slack. Annis saw with approval that the mare didn’t shy away from her in the least, although she twisted her head to see the newcomer. “Lovely girl,” Annis murmured as she held out her hand for the horse to sniff. “Lovely big girl, aren’t you, Breeze?”
She ran her hand under the thick mane, down the ridge of muscle to the point of the shoulder. She bent to feel the strength of the forearm and the knee, and the mare immediately lifted her hoof. Annis grinned at this familiar action and accepted the hoof, balancing it on her thigh, examining the pastern with her fingers. It was getting too dark to see, in truth, but she didn’t want to miss a moment with this horse.
When she straightened, letting Breeze set her foot down, the young man said, “You do know horses. You surprise me.”
Annis brushed at the smudge of dirt the mare’s hoof had left on her skirt. “Why? Because I’m a female?”
“I don’t know any girls who would pick up a horse’s hoof that way.”
Annis patted Breeze’s warm shoulder. “I take care of my horses myself.”
“Even the stallion?” His fair eyebrows rose.
“Especially the stallion,” she said, with a lift of her chin. “I supervise everything that happens with Bits. I mean, with Black Satin.”
“You don’t mean… surely not everything.”
“Yes,” she said. “Of course! It can be a delicate process, don’t you think? The servicing of