Ianthe
The next day, Ianthe changed into her riding habit and went to the stables to work with Constance, while Quinn was out on an errand. They had agreed to meet later in the afternoon. For the last few days, the grooms had been mouthing Constance and getting her used to a bit. Ianthe wanted to do a little in-hand work with the steady mare and make sure her progress wasn't being rushed by the eager men. Constance had such a willing nature, it would be easy to take advantage and start her under saddle too early.
There was another reason for doing the work herself: Handling the mare soothed her soul. Events of the past week had stirred up turmoil, and Ianthe needed to sail on a calm ocean for a while, to re-find her equilibrium. Around the horses, she could exhale and let go of all her worries and concerns.
Woman and equine worked alone in the sand school. They had an awareness of each other that did not require conversation. A murmured good girl and a scratch on the withers was all that needed to pass between them. Satisfied they had done enough for the day, she led the young horse back to the stables. Galahad nickered as they walked past, calling out as though he suspected Ianthe's future plan for him and the mare.
"All in good time," Ianthe said, tugging the stallion's forelock as they passed. Once Constance was back in her stall, she slipped the bridle off and hung it on a hook by the door.
She turned to find Quinn, dressed ready to ride in a navy cutaway jacket and polished Hessians. His cravat was once again hurriedly tied and pulled to one side, and tufts of his brown hair jutted out at different angles under his top hat. His brown gaze was flecked with specks of liquid gold, and generated pure heat that ran through her body as he stalked toward her.
He really was quite magnificent. If one liked young, virile, and handsome.
Quinn caught her off-guard, her defences down after her time with Constance and her mind at ease from the quiet in-hand work they had performed. Now, the youth's gaze consumed her, blazing through her before she could erect her internal barriers. He pinned her to the spot and devoured her with his stare. He stopped close to her, so that she either had to press her back to the stall wall or her breasts would brush against his chest. She didn't know how he did it, but he made her jaded heart flutter like a young girl in the throes of her first infatuation.
He raised one hand and placed it flat on the wall next to her head, further limiting her escape options. The predator within shone through his gaze. "I would have my kiss now."
Quinn uttered those six words and they sent a tremor straight through her body and down to her knees. She wrapped a hand around the cool metal of the stall grating to steady herself and to provide a solid anchor before he swept her away. Then she lowered her lashes. Playing the coquette came naturally, and gave her a layer of armour while she frantically tried to hide her feelings. Far better he thought her responses were practiced, rather than genuine. If they both felt the same thing, then she was lost.
He leaned his body closer to hers until they were flush. His thigh pushed against her legs, nudging them apart slightly so he could nestle his body hard against hers. Quinn dropped his hand to cradle her head as the other slid around her waist, trapping her between the stable wall and an equally hard wall of muscle.
The shiver running through her limbs threatened to overwhelm her. How did he wield such power over her? Never before had a man focused so intently on her. Ianthe swallowed and pulled a tight rein on her body, trying to halt her bolting reactions, but it was futile. She had locked everything away for so long, and now that sensation returned to her starved senses, her body would not be denied.
Ianthe raised a finger and stroked her bottom lip. "My lips are here, in case you have forgotten."
A smile quirked his full mouth. "I think I vaguely remember their location."
He closed the small gap between them and kissed her slowly, but there was nothing gentle in his approach. He pressed his lips firmly to hers and sucked on her bottom lip, then added a soft nip of his teeth that wrought a gasp from her. Only then did his tongue swipe over the sensitive spot he had created. Back and forth, he caressed her lip until she parted beneath him and allowed him entrance. Their tongues met and danced, slowly at first, but he was unrelenting in his demands.
The heat built, flowing from her extremities to her core, and for the first time in ten years, Ianthe embraced the wave of passion. If this man was going to destroy her, she might as well enjoy the wild ride he offered.
"Who are you riding today, Miss Wynn?" a voice shouted over the thrum of her blood.
"What?" Quinn said, pulling his head back as the question boomed down the aisle.
Ianthe's heart pounded against her ribs, and she struggled to catch her breath. Her knuckles turned white on the rail as she tried to steady herself, desperately pulling warm air into her lungs.
"Galahad!" she yelled over Quinn's shoulder. Then she met his darkened gaze. "That's five."
His gaze widened. "No! That's not fair. I was only getting started."
She couldn't help the smile spreading over her face. His frustration was as palpable as hers, and yet he still stuck to his code of honour. He never demanded more than they agreed upon. She didn't know if he would throw a tantrum, or tear her clothes off. For one heated moment, she imagined him lifting her skirts and pressing her to the corner of a stall. She squeezed her thighs together at the image her mind conjured, and a quiver shot through her core.
To avoid giving away her most unguarded thoughts, Ianthe dropped her gaze and concentrated on the barrow of manure standing in the aisle and waiting to be emptied behind the barn. The sight of steam rising from the fresh dung calmed her mind, and her heartbeat returned to a steady thump.
Quinn groaned and dropped his head until his chin rested on his chest. "I may need a moment to compose myself."
Ianthe's lips still tingled, and she didn't know if she should be grateful for Davie’s interruption or if she should castigate him. "I'll see to Galahad while you gather your thoughts."
"It's not my thoughts that are the problem. Well, perhaps indirectly." He gave a tight smile, and his raised hand tightened on the metal grating.
She slipped under his arm, and her gaze stole downward. Not that she needed to look, only moments before his very evident arousal had pressed against her stomach. He did seem to have a rather large problem to deal with and it might be best to give him several minutes to rein things in.
Ianthe walked down to the stallion's stall, where Davie was tightening the girth on her sidesaddle. On her way past, she unhooked the double bridle from by the door, and took a moment to scratch Galahad's neck and murmur a greeting. Then she slipped the reins over his head, removed the halter, and placed the two bits in his mouth.
By the time she led him from the stable and down the aisle, Quinn re-joined her. His usual effervescence was slightly dulled and his eyes were a little tight, but there was a genuine smile on his face. It only dropped when he glared at Davie, the source of their untimely interruption.
"I'll put Miss Wynn up," Quinn said, moving to stand by her side.
There was a knack to putting a lady up on sidesaddle. A good groom could toss her lightly into the saddle, high enough that she cleared the upright pommel and was perfectly positioned without the woman having to swing her leg over.
Davie held the reins while Quinn bent at the knees and held out his hands for her leg.
"Ready?" he asked.
At her nod, he straightened his back and threw her onto the saddle, in just the right spot, but not so high that she came down hard on Galahad. He smirked at the groom as he walked to his waiting mount and leapt into the saddle.
Ianthe nudged Galahad with her left heel, and they walked out of the stable yard, Quinn at their side on a smaller grey. Grey horses were born almost black and faded to white as they aged, and the mare Quinn rode had a dark grey coat, blending down to almost black legs, which showed she was a few years younger than the almost white stallion.
"Let's not go to Rotten Row today," Quinn said.
She didn't mind. It was tiring in Hyde Park, ensuring your mask was always in place. "Where, then?"
"Let's head to the open countryside and let the horses have their heads for a change. Some of the cavalry chaps are moving to lighter, faster mounts. I bought this mare recently and now I want to see what she can do." He rubbed a hand down the mare's elegant neck.
Ianthe's heart swelled at the idea of galloping over the fields with Quinn hard on her heels. She longed to lose herself in the joy of the ride and not have to plaster a fake smile on her face to meet the stares and conversation of the ton. She wanted nothing more than to run for miles and miles, until she found freedom. "You may chase our tail."
"Ha!" he laughed. "I think you will be surprised how fast this wee gem is. Galahad there might find he is the one who falls behind."
A challenge, then, and just the sort that flooded her limbs with joy. She enjoyed her quiet moments with Quinn talking about horses. It took no effort to lose herself in the conversation, not like the stifling business talk that Phillip and Septimus used to bring to her table. She had often fought to suppress a yawn behind her napkin while they talked of gold shipments, customs documents, and the regulations of different countries.
They kept to a walk as they made their way through the carts and carriages heading out of the city. Quinn directed them northwest, down a packed-earth road that wound its way through the countryside.
Galahad pranced, as though sensing the change of direction from their usual routine. Ianthe kept a light hand on the reins and murmured to him under her breath. He planted his feet and danced on the spot, a lit powder keg waiting to explode—and then he did. Upward. He reared and called out. Ianthe leaned forward, her one concession taking a handful of mane to hold her position, her legs locked together around the leaping head and upright pommel on the sidesaddle.
No matter what the stallion did, she stayed calm, letting her reassurance wash through him. He dropped back to the ground and pawed at the earth. "Quite finished?" she asked.
He shook all over like a wet dog, and Ianthe was glad she still had a hold on the lock of mane. Then he gave an enormous snort.
Quinn laughed. "He just wants to get going."
"Yes, but he can wait and be polite about it." Only when the stallion lowered his head and sighed did she allow him to trot on. When he remembered his manners and his inside ear flicked back to his mistress, she rewarded him, pressed harder with her heel, and gave with the reins. He squealed in delight and responded in an instant, flattening out as he flew across the ground.
Quinn's mare worked hard behind them and pulled level. Ianthe had to admit she was fleet of foot and, though not quite faster than the Arab, certainly a match. She wondered what sort of racehorse the two would produce, and then she stopped thinking at all. Being on Galahad was like riding the mythical Pegasus. They galloped so fast that surely he must have invisible wings, making them glide over the ground. As her mount ate the miles under his hooves, bliss flooded her body and escaped as laughter.
After several miles they came to a field awash with spring wildflowers, and pulled the horses to a walk. Galahad nickered to the mare and allowed her to walk next to him, close enough that he could sniff her neck, but the shy mare danced away, only settling under Quinn's steady command.
"It's so beautiful," Ianthe said. They were surrounded by colour: the vibrant blue of cornflowers, the sunset reds of clover, the sunshine yellow of daisies, and the midnight purple of asters.
"Not as beautiful as you," Quinn murmured from her side.
She blushed, something she hadn't done since she was a girl. There was such an open tenderness in his compliment that it cut straight through her armour and wrapped itself around her heart.
"There is only one thing to do in such a meadow," she said, grinning at Quinn.
"Oh?" His gaze heated, and his tone was hopeful.
She laughed. "Two, then. But the one I am thinking of involves Galahad."
Quinn frowned. "This sounds somewhat dubious and possibly illegal."
"Stay there and watch." She rode to the centre of the field, and then danced with the stallion. The field was their ballroom and dressage movements were the steps they performed. She needed only the bird song to accompany them. From pirouettes to the high-stepping passage, she let one movement flow into another until they came to a complete halt, and with a tap from her cane, Galahad bowed to Quinn and his mare.
He dropped his reins and applauded and whistled. "I thought only cavalry riders trained haute école. You are indeed a wonder."
She beamed. She'd spent hours schooling Galahad, and the training helped the hot stallion focus his mind. He excelled in showing off his movements and Ianthe couldn't imagine a more appreciative audience. Could there be a more perfect moment in time than here, in this meadow, with a man who understood how a horse could make your soul soar? With a man who would be easy to love, if she dared?
"Marry me," Quinn said, nudging the mare closer. "I cannot let a woman who rides like that slip through my grasp."
She laughed and tapped him with her cane. "Don't be silly." Was he joking? She daren't think otherwise, for his heated gaze seared her soul and hope sprang up in her breast.
Quinn shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I am young and foolish, after all."