She brushed by him, leaving John Raven, an alien. in the world she understood so well, in the darkness of the balcony, choosing instead to return to the brilliant light of a dozen chandeliers and the elegant music and the endless restrictions.
The enormous black was entirely suitable. On anything less magnificent, its rider might have appeared ridiculous, but the blackwas magnificent and, therefore, exactly right for John Raven’s size. Catherine supposed she should not have been surprised, on the morning after the ball, to find the American approaching her out of the mist that had not yet been burned away by the sun. The vapor swirled around the gleaming forelegs of the black as the man cantered to where she had reined in her mare.
Raven slowed the stallion, controlling the powerful animal with sure horseman’s hands. “May I join you?” he asked.
“I’m waiting for someone,” she answered truthfully, her voice deliberately cool.
“A gentleman given to puce waistcoats and horses too long in the tooth and too short in the shank?” he asked.
Recognizing all too readily, from his very accurate description, her intended companion for this morning’s exercise, Catherine laughed. She watched the corresponding upward tilt in the corners of that forbidding mouth. “Yes,” she said, still smiling despite her earlier intent to keep her distance.
“He’s not coming. Unavoidably detained, I should say.”
“What have you done to Reginald?” she asked, fascinated.
“Reginald?” Raven repeated, allowing disbelief to creep into his deep voice. “Gerald and Reginald,” he added, shaking his head. “My God,” he said under his breath, and then clearing the derision from his voice and the mischief from the blue eyes, he shook his head again.
“I assure you I had nothing to do with it.” Not exactly the truth, he admitted to himself, but all’s fair in love and war. “He seemed to be having trouble with his animal, but I promise you, he won’t be joining you this morning.”
Although, through visible effort, Catherine had managed to control her lips, her eyes were still laughing. They were deep amber in the morning light, darkened with flecks of the same rich auburn that gleamed in her hair, which was almost hidden under the modish hat that matched the dark green habit she wore. The garment, although cut very fashionably, was relatively free of decoration, designed for riding, Raven was pleased to note, rather than parading.
His eyes answered the amusement in hers, and for a moment a decided jolt of power from their crystal depths curled upward inside her body, fluttering against her heart. Catherine swallowed suddenly, dropping her gaze to her gloved hands that were perfectly relaxed over the reins. There was a moment of silence, and then she once more directed her mare onto the bridle path she’d been following before she’d paused to admire the stallion. Long before she had recognized the rider.
Taking that for permission to join her, Raven guided the black alongside, and they rode without speaking for a while.
“He’s magnificent,” she said finally. Surely horses were a safe topic and apparently one they both appreciated.
“He’s a brute with an iron mouth and a heart as black as his hide,” Raven answered without a. trace of annoyance, “but we’re beginning to understand one another.”
“Then you haven’t had him long?” There was no evidence of anything but perfect understanding between horse and rider. If the black was a brute, he was keeping his temperament hidden.
“Since this morning,” Raven said calmly.
“This morning?”
“Tattersall’s, I believe, is the name of the establishment where I found him.”
“But…” She paused, glancing at that dark face to see if he were teasing her.
Raven turned at her hesitation and met her eyes, his brows raised slightly, questioning her surprise.
“It must be…it’s barely daybreak,” she finally managed to say.
“I needed a horse,” Raven said, as if that explained it all.
“They aren’t open this early,” she persisted.
“They are today,” he assured her. Then, closing the subject of the power of his money, a subject he had never intended to open, but which had just been demonstrated, Raven asked, “Would you like a run? I haven’t had a chance to see if he lives up to the promise of his looks or if he’s all flash and no substance.”
“Here?” she asked, looking at the narrow, tree-lined path.
“Is there arule against it?” he questioned, almost mocking.
“Probably,” she answered tartly, but even as she said it she touched the mare with her crop.
Catherine had caught him by surprise and was therefore able to maintain her lead for a short distance, but, of course, they both had known that the black had a decided advantage, by size if by nothing else. She was forced to admit that his rider also had an edge. Although she was widely acknowledged as one of the finest equestrians in the ton, John Raven seemed to be one with his horse, blending with the reaching effort of the black and almost adding energy to the stallion’s powerful motion.
Recognizing defeat and feeling nothing but admiration for the pair who had beaten her, she slowed Storm until eventually they were moving again side by side, at a pace that almost demanded conversation.
“Is this where you always ride?” Raven asked, thinking with sympathy how constricted the area was for a horsewoman of her skills. He wished they could race over the vast lowlands along the great river called Mississippi, space and time unlimited.
Catherine wondered if the American was planning on joining her each morning. She had been forced in the past to give some sharp setdowns to suitors who believed she would welcome company on her early morning excursions. She did occasionally allow very old and trusted acquaintances like Reggie to join her, because she could be sure that they would fall in with any suggestion she made as to the speed or duration of the ride. But, except for her groom, following behind, this was a private time.
“It’s the only place in London for a gallop.”
“A gallop,” Raven repeated derisively. “If that’s what you call a gallop.”
“No, it isn’t, of course. But there’s really nowhere else. Thisis a town, you understand—streets, houses, people.”
“We have towns in America,” he answered, and she knew he was laughing at her again. His face didn’t reflect his amusement, of course, but he was laughing just the same.
“And in which one do you live?” she asked sweetly. She tried to dredge up the names of some of those distant cities. New York and Washington. Boston. And Baltimore, of course.
“I haven’t been home in several years,” Raven answered.
“I thought you’d only recently come to England.”
“There are other parts of the world besides England.”
“And in which parts were you?” she asked almost sharply. She didn’t know how he could make her feel so provincial. He was the one who should be aware that he was lacking polish, and instead, when they were together, she ended up