Free Anita Mills by Newmarket Match

her courage, and then she heard the soft tread of someone creeping up the stairs. She shrank back, drawing in her breath sharply.
    “Shhhh—’tis only me,” Richard whispered. “I was afraid you’d fallen.”
    “I couldn’t see.”
    “I left the lantern at the bottom—you have but to get to the landing to see it.” To demonstrate, he grasped her hand and edged down the darkened steps before her. At the foot, he stopped to retrieve his shoes, slipping them on over his wet stockings.
    “You’ll be carried off with an inflammation of the lungs,” she warned him in a low undervoice.
    He shook his head. “As I recall, we were the healthiest of both our families, Harry.” His shoes on, he again took her hand, pulling her toward the back of the darkened house, while he held the flickering lantern to light the way.
    There was something quite exciting, something she’d almost forgotten, about conspiracy. And the feel of his strong warm fingers over hers sent a thrill through her. It was as though she did not even fear to be discovered so long as he was with her. But that was how it had always been; she’d seldom hesitated to get into scrapes back when they were children.
    The ground was spongy and wet, and the greening grass soaked the hem of her wrapper and nightrail, but she didn’t care. She held on and tried to match his longer stride as they walked to her papa’s stable. And she was acutely conscious of his masculinity, for he was so unlike Edwin Thornton in every way. For the briefest moment she allowed her fingers to tighten in his.
    He stopped to release the bar to the stable door, and the hinges creaked as the door swung outward. “Hold the lantern for a moment, will you?” he whispered as he banged the door shut behind them. “I hope ’twas thought ’twas the wind,” he added ruefully, taking the lantern back. “He’s in the last stall, for I did not wish him to be made skittish by the others. Tomorrow I am taking him to Squire March’s, where he can be stabled alone.”
    The smell of wet hay and oiled tack and damp horsehair assailed her nostrils. And it was a comforting smell that she’d almost forgotten after Hannah had forbidden her to ride anymore, saying that it was an ungenteel pastime for a lady. And no amount of tears had budged her, nor had the argument that ’twas now fashionable in London to be seen riding in Hyde Park in the mornings. What Hannah decided was law, Harriet recalled bitterly.
    “There he is!” he breathed triumphantly, holding the lantern up to illuminate quite the shiniest, sleekest chestnut she’d ever seen. The horse sidestepped around within the narrow confines of the stall, affording her an even better view.
    “He … he’s magnificent, Richard—magnificent!” Without thinking, she reached over the half-door to touch the white spot on the hard bony ridge between the deep brown eyes. The horse’s head went back, and then came down again, this time right next to her arm, and she could see ’twas a snowy blaze extended all the way to his nostrils. Her gaze moved eagerly over his sleek, muscular body to the white stockings of his forelegs. He was in truth a magnificent animal.
    “He … he’s perfect, Richard. He’s very large for a two-year-old, isn’t he?”
    “Almost sixteen hands, and as strong as he looks. Wait until you see him run, Harry—he’s the fastest I’ve ever seen, I swear to you. He—”
    At that moment she looked up at him, her own dark eyes shining, mirroring his enthusiasm completely. “Oh, I should like it—I should like it above all things!”
    The light from the lantern shone on her hair where it streamed, rippling like unbraided silk around her face and over the shoulders of her wrapper. It was a soft, shimmering halo made more gold than brown by the flickering flame. And her upturned face glowed, livened by the light that played across it and by the orange-gold reflection in her eyes. And then the moment was over. She looked