If only life was that simple.
They continued their peregrination, stopping to spend a few minutes in this circle or that before moving on again, she a foot before him, he prowling, relaxed but watchful, in her wake. He doubted she'd encountered many pitfalls to date; her faith in life, in its ultimate joy, remained undimmed. The light in her eyes, the exuberance of her smiles, all spoke of innocence intact.
It was not his place to shatter it.
Reaching an empty space by the side of the room, Amanda turned. "Actually, speaking of life's pleasures…"
He halted before her, broad shoulders blocking her view of the room. He met her gaze, and raised a too-knowing, distinctly suspicious, odiously superior brow.
She smiled up at him. "I was thinking I might ride the mare tomorrow morning. Early. In the park. Do you think your groom could oblige me?"
He blinked, once; she smiled more brightly.
And prayed it wasn't too soon to play that card. Elusive as he was, if she didn't set up another meeting, he might, after tonight, simply fade back into the shadows-and she would have tonight's work to do again.
His face was unreadable. Eventually, he said, "Connor mentioned Upper Brook Street."
"My parents' house is Number 12."
He nodded. "I'll have my groom wait for you with the horses at the corner of Park Lane. After your ride, he'll return the mare to my stables."
"Thank you." She smiled gratefully, too wise to suggest that she would much prefer his company to that of his groom's.
"What time?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Six o'clock."
"Six?" Martin stared. It was nearly twelve now, and at six in the morning, the park would be deserted.
"I'll need to return home before the regulars get about." She glanced up at him. "I don't want my cousins to see the horse and ask where I got her."
"Your cousins?"
"My male Cynster cousins. They're older than me. They're all married and have turned dreadfully stuffy."
Martin inwardly kicked himself for not making the connection sooner. Admittedly, there were a lot of Cynsters, and he'd never heard of any girls. All the family members he'd previously encountered had been male.
The Bar Cynster-that's what they'd been called. When he'd first come on the town they'd been little short of gods, lording it over the ton's ladies. But now they'd all married… he hadn't met a single one in the past year while he'd been creating his own fiefdom in the world in which they'd previously reigned supreme.
He frowned. "You're first cousin to St. Ives?"
She nodded, her gaze open, direct.
If any of her cousins had been about, he would have handed her into their care forthwith, cutting short her adventures. Infinitely safer all around. However, she was here now and they weren't.
They both turned as Reggie neared, a champagne flute in one hand.
Lips compressed, Martin nodded. "Very well. Six o'clock at the corner of Park Lane."
At six o'clock the next morning, it was dull, gray and cold. Amanda's heart soared as, perched on the exceedingly frisky mare, she trotted toward Mount Gate-and the figure perched atop a huge horse waiting impatiently under a tree just inside the gates.
Clad in her riding habit, she'd slipped out of her parents' side door and hurried up the street. Reaching the corner, she'd found the groom waiting as arranged. Hopes dashed, she'd lectured herself against expecting too much too soon. Dexter knew she was out riding-one day he'd be tempted to join her.
She'd apparently tempted him enough. Mounted on a magnificent roan gelding, Dexter held the fractious horse effortlessly, long, muscular thighs clamped to the beast's sides. He was wearing a conventional riding coat over buckskin breeches and boots; cantering up, she thought he looked wilder, definitely more dangerous than he had in evening clothes.
His hair was rakishly disheveled, his gaze disconcertingly acute. He wasn't frowning, but looked distinctly grim. Joining him, she got the definite impression he wasn't pleased to be there.
"Good morning, my lord. I didn't expect to have the pleasure of your company." She smiled sunnily, delighted to be able to make the comment truthfully. "Are you game for a gallop?"
Martin eyed her impassively. "You'll find that I'm game for almost anything."
Her smile brightened before she looked away. "Let's head down to the Row."
Martin flicked a glance at his groom. "Wait here."
They set out in unison, trotting across the lawns beneath the trees. She busied herself trying out the mare's paces. Martin watched, relieved to note she was a competent horsewoman-not that he'd seriously expected less from a Cynster, female or not.
"From what Connor said, I take it your cousin-I can't remember which one-still has an active interest in horses."
"Demon." She experimented with the mare's reins. "He's got a stud outside Newmarket, now. He breeds racehorses, and Flick rides them."
"Flick?"
"His wife, Felicity. She's a wonder with horses-she helps train them."
Martin couldn't settle that image in his mind. The Demon Cynster he'd known would never have let a mere woman near his mounts. He shook that conundrum aside and refocused on the one at hand. "So if Demon sees the mare, he'll recognize her."
"Even if someone else sees her and describes her. Nothing is more certain." Amanda glanced at him. "That's why I can only ride this early, when there's no one else about."
Martin hid a grimace; he couldn't fault her reasoning. However, the knowledge that she would be riding in the deserted park had been enough to wake him even before the ungodly hour had arrived; the mental images evoked had made falling asleep again impossible. So here he was, despite the fact he'd had no intention of dancing attendance on her.
He didn't delude himself that the next morning she rode would be any different.
If the ton learned she was riding with him alone, so early in the morning, there would be whispers and raised brows aplenty, but she was an experienced, sensible, well-bred twenty-three-year-old; her reputation would be examined, but would not, by the fact of their riding alone in a public place, actually be blemished. Her family-her cousins-would not be pleased, but she and he would have to transgress more direfully to invite intervention.
On the other hand, if her cousins learned that he'd known she was riding alone in the deserted park, and had done nothing beyond roll over and fall asleep, then, he was sure, he'd be the recipient of remarkably speedy intervention.
He couldn't decide if it was a lucky circumstance that the latter scenario would never take place. The only fact that lightened his grim mood was the certainty that she hadn't realized what his position was. Her delight at finding him waiting for her had been transparently genuine; she hadn't counted on seeing him. At least he had that much rein to work with.
He glanced at her as she made the mare prance, then dance, then drew the horse back into line.
"She's wonderfully responsive."
He looked at the sky-it was the color of black pearls, night softening its hold before the approaching dawn. "If we're going to gallop, we'd better get on."
She set the mare for the tan track specially prepared for galloping. Turning onto it, she shot him a glance as he brought the roan alongside, then sprang the mare. She surprised him, but the roan went with her; the mare was fast but the roan's longer strides quickly closed the distance until they were riding neck and neck. The park was empty, silent and still as they thundered down the track. The roan would have outdistanced the mare but he held the horse back. So he could see her face, see the unfettered joy that lit her features, sense the exhilaration that gripped her.
The heavy pounding of the hooves swept up and over them until it echoed in their blood. The air whipped past them, slicing through their hair, leaving skin tingling, eyes bright.