Prince of Midnight by Laura Kinsale

Author:Laura Kinsale [Kinsale, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-01-26T21:43:42+00:00

Just then, the horse bunched its muscles with awesome power, kicked out, and squealed and took off along the length of the paddock, its tail flying. Leigh felt that painful, trembly sensation rise in her chest again at the rapt look on the Seigneur's face. She bit her lip.

He wanted this horse.

And he was forcing it on her. He looked down, his mouth set, his green eyes intent and challenging.

She felt suddenly helpless, that shaky weakness inside trapping words and arguments in her throat. Her cursed lower lip kept threatening to tremble. He lifted her hand and laid the long-handled whip across it, closing her fingers around the braided leather stock.

"I'll help you," he said. "I'll tell you what to do."

She looked at the ground, trying savagely to suppress the telltale quiver of her mouth. "I really don't care if the damned horse kills me," she muttered. She rested the butt of the whip on the springy turf, and then lifted her face to the magnificent devil that pounded down the paddock. She tossed her head. "I don't give ha'pence what happens."

S.T. watched her climb the gate and walk out into the center of the pen. He hardly knew why he'd insisted on this. He could work the horse faster and better; he itched to do it, to help the belligerent, brutalized animal learn mat a man was something it could trust.

But she thought he was a sham. She thought it was all luck. Too easy to just go out there and tame this rogue for himself—he wanted her to experience it right down to her toes. He wanted her to fail. And then he could show her.

He wasn't afraid for her safety. The "rogue" wasn't past reclaim. It wasn't heart-deep vicious—just a smart, hot-blooded stallion that had been badly mishandled and discovered every trick to thwart anyone who'd tried to master it. Gelding the animal had been a crime and an abominable waste, but these phlegmatic British never could seem to deal with stallions. They had to cut every animal in sight and harness it to a carriage.

At least Hopkins or some other fool hadn't docked its tail. Likely couldn't throw the beast down long enough.

There was no threat now in the horse's pricked ears and rhythmic snort as it stared at Leigh. It felt itself free—or free enough, for the moment—and warily curious. There was still dark, dried blood smeared on its face and flecked across its chest. It looked as if it hadn't been groomed in weeks; mud spatters and grass stains marred the pale coat, but for all that, it was still the loveliest brute he'd seen since he'd lost Charon. It had stood out in the fair like a grubby Galahad amid the rabble.

S.T. spoke to Leigh in an even tone. "You want to stay a little behind him when you make him move."

The horse flicked an ear toward the sound of his voice. "When you ask him to turn, take a step into his path, use the whip and your voice, but give him plenty of room.

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