‘Hazard is a lively mount,’ the Earl of Glendower said, smiling over at her in a paternalistic fashion. ‘But there’s not a bit of vice in him, he just needs a good run.’
Imogen smiled back at her host, then turned her attention to the footman offering her a stirrup cup. Settling the reins in one hand she took the cup and tossed its contents back. She held the whisky in her mouth for a moment before letting it burn a track down her throat. She returned the cup to the waiting footman and reached down to pat Hazard on the shoulder, hand sliding smoothly over his shining coat.
It had been years and years since she’d been on a hunt, and she could feel the excitement thrumming from the large animal and up through her. She was every bit as impatient as he.
The great south lawn of Quorn Hall was filled with riders and their fidgeting mounts. Footmen were wandering about, handing out glasses of whiskey, while off to one side the Hunt Master was conferring with the Master of Hounds. The dogs were busy frolicking about the huntsmen in a seething pack.
Imogen shivered and pulled her hat down more securely. The morning fog had yet to burn off, and was beginning to resemble clouds rather than mist. The air smelt wet, and the ground was damp; the grass still rather slick with dew.
Dangerous conditions for a hunt, but no one seemed deterred. Looking at the clouds again Imogen gave a quick prayer for the rain to hold off. She wouldn’t mind so terribly much riding back to Winsham Court in the rain, but she really wasn’t prepared for a neck-or-nothing dash through it.
Glancing around, she noted with misgiving that there were no other ladies present today. The fact was hardly surprising, as very few women hunted, and there was no ball being offered in the neighbourhood in association with the day’s sport. Such an event might have added one or two more ladies to their ranks.
Imogen was certain that the countess would hardly have noticed her solitary state, but she felt amazingly conspicuous. Several gentlemen, upon recognizing her mount had stopped to inquire after George, and been disappointed when Imogen informed them that the countess would not be joining them this year, but most had simply eyed her askance, or ignored her completely.
George might be accepted, but no other lady was likely to be likewise welcomed. Luckily her own party was quite large, and they’d been unfailingly considerate all morning. It was hard to feel snubbed while surrounded by a veritable wall of cheerful masculine bodies.
Last night George had insisted Imogen go, even though she herself was declining to hunt this year, due to her husband’s concerns. The earl was adamant about George’s staying out of the saddle for the duration of her pregnancy, as her reckless riding could endanger both her and their child.
‘He’s being ridiculous really,’ the countess had said with an indulgent smile, ‘but I can’t make him see reason. So I’ll acquiesce, and sit home alone while you all enjoy yourselves.’
Imogen had quickly volunteered to forgo the hunt and bear her friend company, but George had laughed the idea off and told her to go. She had plenty to catch up on with the local villagers, and she planned on spending the day visiting at the cottages. So here she was, mounted on George’s favourite hunter, her stomach tied up in knots, and Gabriel watching her like a hawk who’s spied a rabbit, which certainly didn’t help matters.
She bent to adjust her stirrup leather, which had twisted, but couldn’t get her skirts out of the way. She was still fiddling with it when Gabriel suddenly materialized beside her.
He simply shook his head at her, and gently pushed her leg up and out of the way, hands sliding under the skirts of her habit.
‘Are you going to be jumping?’ he asked, his tone only implying mild interest. He adjusted her stirrup, and then double checked her girth, taking advantage of the opportunity to lean in close to her, fingers brushing over her knee.
‘No,’ Imogen responded a bit breathlessly, feeling ridiculously flustered. ‘I’m neither that talented a rider, nor stupid enough to think I am.’
Gabriel gave her mount a slap on the neck, and looked up at her. ‘Very few women are,’ he replied. ‘George, well…she’s a madcap, and always game, but I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had my heart in my throat watching her fly over a fence the rest of us have gone round.’
‘You won’t be watching me take anything higher than a small style or ditch,’ Imogen responded, clamping down on the fluttering feeling in her stomach and returning his smile. ‘I’d be off in a trice, and I really don’t think I could take the indignity of falling off in front of all these people.’
‘Better not to take the risk?’ he asked, his hand lightly circling her ankle as he assisted her foot back into the stirrup. And while she knew he was literally speaking of the risk of jumping, she couldn’t help but think there was an implied reprimand for her avoiding him since his arrival.
‘Yes,’ she replied, struggling to keep her face blank, ‘decidedly so.’
The Hunt Master gave a loud ‘Halloo!’ and Gabriel broke away from her with a start. He dropped her ankle, and glanced around. With an almost angry twitch he turned and swung up into the saddle. With another ‘Halloo!’ and a loud blowing of the horns the dogs were cast and everyone sped off after them, grass and mud flying, coating those caught in the rear.
Imogen moved off to one side, trying to avoid the worst of it, leaning low over Hazard’s neck and urging him on. The horse was clearly confused when she steered wide, taking him through the gaps in the
