“And yet, here we are, crossing paths once more,” he said.
She lifted her chin. “An unfortunate coincidence, I assure you.”
Before they could continue, Blackwood nudged his horse closer, speaking just loud enough for the surrounding riders to hear.
“Seems a shame to avoid the most interesting parts of the land,” he mused. “A true rider doesn’t fear a bit of mud.”
Bridget shot him a sharp glance. “A true rider knows the difference between bravery and recklessness.”
Blackwood smirked. “Recklessness? Or an opportunity for a true challenge?”
Bridget caught the tension in Grenville’s jaw before he replied.
“Some challenges aren’t worth the cost.”
A knowing gleam sparked in Blackwood’s eyes. “Ah, but the thrill of the chase is in its uncertainty, is it not? One never knows where the course might lead.”
Davenport cleared his throat. “Let’s not test our luck before we even begin, shall we?”
“Indeed,” Lady Worthington added with a sharp look. “Youth and arrogance are often a fatal combination.”
Blackwood merely grinned, tipping his hat. “Experience must start somewhere, my lady.”
Miss Gray laughed, guiding her horse between them. “I, for one, am quite content to leave reckless heroics to others.”
Bridget smirked. “Sensible advice.”
The horn sounded, cutting off further conversation, and the riders surged forward. The rhythmic pounding of hooves, the rush of wind, tore through the morning air.
Grenville kept his mount steady, scanning the course ahead, marked by fluttering yellow flags. He spotted Bridget leaning low over her mare’s neck, her form tight and poised. There was something fiercely alive in her, a wild joy that flashed like sunlight through storm clouds.
One of the flags twisted in the breeze, and he caught the brief tension in her posture, subtle but unmistakable.
Grenville urged Valor forward, and the formation tightened. As they advanced, the crowd’s chatter faded into the pounding of hooves and the thrill of the pursuit.
A flicker of motion to his left, Bridget. Her mare surged forward, nimble and unyielding, matching the stallion’s pace with surprising determination.
Grenville adjusted his hold on the reins, noting the way she moved in rhythm with the animal, her posture sure, eyes fixed ahead. She rode as though the wind answered to her will.
He closed the distance, his voice cutting through the rush of wind. “You ride well for someone who claims not to enjoy competition.”
Grenville glanced at Bridget, her bonnet nearly torn loose by the wind as she turned to glare at him. “And you pursue me with entirely too much enthusiasm for a man who claims to be a gentleman.”
He grinned, leaning closer in the saddle. “A gentleman knows when to let a lady win. I’m afraid I haven’t decided yet if you deserve such courtesy.”
She scoffed, flicking her reins. “How magnanimous of you, Captain.”
*
The terrain shiftedbeneath them, the path narrowing as they approached a dense thicket. Twigs snapped beneath the pounding hooves, and branches clawed at Bridget’s sleeves as she forced her horse forward. She stole a glance over her shoulder, others were falling behind, some veering toward another path, others struggling to maintain control on the uneven ground. But not Grenville. He remained beside her, matching her stride for stride, his expression one of amusement and unwavering focus.
Ahead, the course split. Bridget’s eyes flicked toward the yellow flag haphazardly planted in the ground, marking the path set that morning.
She veered right, remaining on the trail. Her mare surged forward with renewed vigor, the ground undulating beneath them, treacherous roots and hidden dips threatening disaster. Bridget gritted her teeth, as she navigated every twist and dip with precision.
Behind her, Grenville’s dark stallion matched her pace and cleared a downed log, landing with an impressive display of control. He shot her a dark look. “You’re reckless,” Grenville called out as he pulled alongside her for a brief moment.
“You’re predictable,” she countered, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips.
