On a Wild Night by Stephanie Laurens Page A

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.
    â€œGood 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.
    â€œFrom what Connor said, I take it your cousin—I can’t remember which one—still has an active interest in horses.”
    â€œDemon.” She experimented with the mare’s reins. “He’s got a stud outside Newmarket, now. He breeds racehorses, and Flick rides them.”
    â€œFlick?”
    â€œHis 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.”
    â€œEven 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.
    â€œShe’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