deep breath and clasped the prince's hand. Effortlessly he lifted her onto the stallion, turning her in midair so that she landed crossways in front of him, her legs resting against his left thigh.
He waited a moment for her to settle herself. Then, as she convulsively clenched the gray mane, he urged the stallion out into the street. It took only a few moments to trot through the traffic of Hyde Park Corner and bring them to the park proper.
Peregrine turned the horse into the wide lane called Rotten Row, which was nearly empty at this hour, then put the stallion into a canter. At first the lack of a saddle made Sara's fear infinitely worse. Terror held her rigid, and she bounced against the horse with bone-rattling force. But gradually her fear began to subside, for the prince's warm, hard body held her more securely than any saddle. As she relaxed against him, she felt all the subtle movements he used to guide and control his mount.
As Peregrine had promised, the stallion's gait was sweet and smooth. Sara began to soften into the rhythm of the horse's motion. As her body remembered and her fear ebbed away, she began to enjoy the almost forgotten touch of wind against her face. It had been so long…
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "Now I am."
"You have not been on a horse since your accident?"
"No. The usual advice is to remount as soon as possible after a fall, but I couldn't, not for years. And by the time I had recovered physically"—she shuddered— "I couldn't make myself do it. I'm such a coward."
"On the contrary, sweet Sara, you are very brave. Are you not here, defying custom and riding die wind like Pegasus?"
"The credit for that belongs to you, not me," she said dryly. Her mind seemed split in two. On one side was the knowledge that she was behaving in an utterly irrational fashion by riding bareback through a London park with a wild man. Her father would be shocked, her friends disbelieving.
Yet at the same time, she felt as if her actions were completely natural. The mysterious prince had been born on die opposite side of the world, raised with values and customs that were completely alien to hers. Yet no man but Ross had talked to her as directly as Peregrine did, or seen as deeply into her. Ross was very nearly her brother, but what was Peregrine?
Sara's fingers tightened in the stallion's mane as she had a disquieting realization. From the beginning she had noticed how attractive the Kafir was—no woman could fail to notice—but her admiration had been dispassionate. Though Peregrine was splendid and beautiful and masculine, that knowledge had had no personal relevance to her. She was the daughter of a duke, respectably betrothed, of sober mind and habit. Yet here she was in the arms of a man who was in most ways a stranger, and she was reveling in the experience. There was a profound sensuality in their closeness, in the way their bodies moved together in time with the stallion's. It was the greatest physical intimacy she had ever had with a man. What would it be like to have still greater intimacy?
Though Sara had never considered herself a prudish woman, the direction of her thoughts made her blush. What a shameless creature she was becoming! Thank heaven the prince thought of her only as Ross's cousin. Though he had been kind about her disability, he did not seem like the sort of man who would be attracted to a plain woman who was no longer young. But he seemed willing to be friends. That would be more than enough.
Peregrine turned to go back. "Will you ride again now?"
Without his comforting presence, it would be difficult at first, but still Sara nodded her head. "Yes. I have missed riding. I don't want to continue missing it."
"There was a pretty little sorrel mare back in the yard, a fine ladies' mount. Shall I buy it for you?"
"No!" she said sharply. "I couldn't possibly accept such a gift from you."
"What would happen if you did?" he asked with his usual air
He waited a moment for her to settle herself. Then, as she convulsively clenched the gray mane, he urged the stallion out into the street. It took only a few moments to trot through the traffic of Hyde Park Corner and bring them to the park proper.
Peregrine turned the horse into the wide lane called Rotten Row, which was nearly empty at this hour, then put the stallion into a canter. At first the lack of a saddle made Sara's fear infinitely worse. Terror held her rigid, and she bounced against the horse with bone-rattling force. But gradually her fear began to subside, for the prince's warm, hard body held her more securely than any saddle. As she relaxed against him, she felt all the subtle movements he used to guide and control his mount.
As Peregrine had promised, the stallion's gait was sweet and smooth. Sara began to soften into the rhythm of the horse's motion. As her body remembered and her fear ebbed away, she began to enjoy the almost forgotten touch of wind against her face. It had been so long…
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "Now I am."
"You have not been on a horse since your accident?"
"No. The usual advice is to remount as soon as possible after a fall, but I couldn't, not for years. And by the time I had recovered physically"—she shuddered— "I couldn't make myself do it. I'm such a coward."
"On the contrary, sweet Sara, you are very brave. Are you not here, defying custom and riding die wind like Pegasus?"
"The credit for that belongs to you, not me," she said dryly. Her mind seemed split in two. On one side was the knowledge that she was behaving in an utterly irrational fashion by riding bareback through a London park with a wild man. Her father would be shocked, her friends disbelieving.
Yet at the same time, she felt as if her actions were completely natural. The mysterious prince had been born on die opposite side of the world, raised with values and customs that were completely alien to hers. Yet no man but Ross had talked to her as directly as Peregrine did, or seen as deeply into her. Ross was very nearly her brother, but what was Peregrine?
Sara's fingers tightened in the stallion's mane as she had a disquieting realization. From the beginning she had noticed how attractive the Kafir was—no woman could fail to notice—but her admiration had been dispassionate. Though Peregrine was splendid and beautiful and masculine, that knowledge had had no personal relevance to her. She was the daughter of a duke, respectably betrothed, of sober mind and habit. Yet here she was in the arms of a man who was in most ways a stranger, and she was reveling in the experience. There was a profound sensuality in their closeness, in the way their bodies moved together in time with the stallion's. It was the greatest physical intimacy she had ever had with a man. What would it be like to have still greater intimacy?
Though Sara had never considered herself a prudish woman, the direction of her thoughts made her blush. What a shameless creature she was becoming! Thank heaven the prince thought of her only as Ross's cousin. Though he had been kind about her disability, he did not seem like the sort of man who would be attracted to a plain woman who was no longer young. But he seemed willing to be friends. That would be more than enough.
Peregrine turned to go back. "Will you ride again now?"
Without his comforting presence, it would be difficult at first, but still Sara nodded her head. "Yes. I have missed riding. I don't want to continue missing it."
"There was a pretty little sorrel mare back in the yard, a fine ladies' mount. Shall I buy it for you?"
"No!" she said sharply. "I couldn't possibly accept such a gift from you."
"What would happen if you did?" he asked with his usual air
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