“He’s brought a friend,” Clarissa commented. “Very elegant and good-looking, too, don’t you think? And he can certainly ride. What a beautiful creature.”
“Who, the man or the horse?” Izzy said mischievously.
“The horse, of course,” Clarissa said with dignity. The smoky gray gelding was clearly feeling his oats; he danced and fidgeted and even shied a couple of times, but Lord Salcott’s friend sat his restless mount with casual ease.
Izzy was filled with envy. She wanted to ride that horse. Or Lord Salcott’s.
As she and Clarissa came down the front steps, she heard Lord Salcott say, “Dammit, Race, you should have taken the edge off that fellow before you came—he’s jumping out of his skin. I don’t want to alarm the ladies.”
“Alarm the ladies indeed,” Izzy muttered.
Greetings were exchanged and introductions made—the handsome gentleman with the magnificent gray horse was called Lord Randall. Up until now, Lord Salcott had invariably addressed Izzy as Miss Burton, but to Izzy’s surprise he introduced them to Lord Randall as Miss Studley and Miss, um, Isobel.
She was under no illusion that he’d changed his mind about her, so what was he up to?
“What a superb horse, Lord Randall,” she said, walking closer.
“Be careful!” Lord Salcott snapped. “The animal is no tame pony.”
Ignoring him, Izzy produced a chunk of apple and approached the horse, who stuck his nose out, sniffed curiously, then greedily lipped it from her palm. Smiling, she fed it another piece of apple, murmuring soft endearments as she did.
She glanced up at Lord Randall, who grinned down at her. “You have a way with horses, Miss Isobel.”
“He’s a beauty. What’s his name?”
“Storm.”
She laughed. “Because of his color or because he’s full of mischief? And what glorious mischief he is, aren’t you, beautiful?” She fed the horse a third piece of apple and then, aware everyone was waiting, turned reluctantly to the two hired hacks. “Which one of these creatures will you take, ’Riss? The bay armchair or the brown sofa?”
Her sister laughed. “Don’t be mean; they’re both very sweet. I’ll take this one.” She took the reins of the brown one.
Izzy sighed. “Very well, I’ll take the bay.” She checkedthe fit of the saddle, fed the last of the apple to her mare, and glanced expectantly up at Lord Randall.
He dismounted, but Lord Salcott was before him. Linking his hands to receive Izzy’s booted foot, he tossed her lightly into the sidesaddle. Lord Randall gave him a quizzical look, then helped Clarissa mount while Lord Salcott adjusted Izzy’s stirrups.
They set off at a walk through the London streets. Lord Randall’s horse took objection to all kinds of things—a dog, a scrap of paper blowing across the street, a man selling muffins. His owner didn’t turn a hair, but rode slightly ahead to keep the horse from disturbing the others.
Izzy doubted an explosion would disturb her own mount. As she’d feared, the mare was a stodgy, unimaginative creature whose gait, if she’d been human, would have been called a trudge. So much for looking forward to a good ride. This was more like sitting in a rocking chair, only less comfortable.
They turned in to Hyde Park and, as expected, Lord Salcott led them to the Ladies’ Bridle Path. There were very few other riders in evidence, but their pace barely altered. After a minute or two, Lord Randall veered off and took his horse to a deserted part of the park for a quick gallop. Izzy watched him enviously.
She and Clarissa urged their mounts to a trot.If you could call it that, Izzy thought in frustration. Her horse’s was more like a shuffle, and after a few minutes it returned to trudging.
After a few minutes Lord Salcott dropped back to join Izzy. “You’re unusually quiet, Miss Bur—” She shot him a narrow glance. “Miss Isobel,” he amended smoothly.
“Shhh,” she whispered.
He gave her a mildly puzzled look.
“I’m trying not to wake my horse,” she explained.
A gleam of understanding appeared in his otherwise hard gray eyes. “I appear to have underestimated yourabilities. You have an excellent seat, and your half sister also appears to ride well.”
“ ‘Appears to’?”
“She also rides well,” he amended.
“How can you tell, mounted as we are on these slugs? We did tell you that we’ve ridden almost every day since we turned ten.”
