On a Wild Night by Stephanie Laurens

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.”
    â€œMy 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.”
    â€œThank you.” She smiled gratefully, too wise to suggest that she would much prefer his company to that of his groom’s.
    â€œWhat time?”
    She wrinkled her nose. “Six o’clock.”
    â€œSix?” Martin stared. It was nearly twelve now, and at six in the morning, the park would be deserted.
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œYour cousins?”
    â€œMy 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.”
    Â 
    At six o’clock the next morning, it was dull, gray and cold. Amanda’s heart soared as, perched on the exceedingly friskymare, 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