He could not resist. “Saw what?”

“Envy.” She pointed a long finger at him in a gesture he should have found insolent. “Before you knew it was me on this horse . . . you wanted to be me. You wanted to give your horse full rein and ride . . . with passion.” With a flick of the reins, she pointed her horse toward the wide expanse of meadow, empty and waiting.

He watched her closely, unable to look away from her, from the way she fairly shimmered with energy and power.

He knew what was coming.

He was ready for it.

“I’ll race you to the Serpentine.” The words were a soft lilt of Italian, left hanging in the air behind her as she was already moving. Within seconds, she was at a full gallop.

Without thinking, he was after her.

His mount was faster, stronger, but Simon kept the creature in check, watching Juliana. She rode like a master, moving with her horse, leaning low over the mare’s neck. He could not hear, but he knew she was talking to the beast, giving her soft words of encouragement, of praise . . . gifting her with freedom to run as fast as she wished.

From his position two lengths behind, his eyes traced Juliana’s long, straight spine, the full curve of her backside, the way her thighs clenched and released, giving silent, irresistible commands to the horse beneath her.

Desire hit him hard and intense.

He rejected it almost instantly.

It was not her. It was the situation.

And then she looked back over her shoulder, her blue eyes glittering when she confirmed that he had followed her. That he was behind her. She laughed, the sound traveling on the biting wind and the early-morning sunshine, wrapping around him as she returned her attention to the race.

He gave his horse full rein, relinquishing control to the beast.

He passed her in seconds, beginning the wide arc that followed along a densely wooded area of the Park, leading down through the meadow to the curve of the Serpentine Lake. He gave himself up to the movement—to the way that the world tipped and slid away, leaving nothing but man and steed.

She was right.

It felt wonderful.

He looked back, unable to stop himself from looking for her, several lengths behind, and watched as she peeled off, guiding her mount off the path he had chosen, barely slowing down as she disappeared into the wooded thicket beyond.

Where in damnation was she headed?

He hauled up on the reins, his horse lifting off its front legs to follow the command, turning nearly in midair. And then he was after her, charging into the woods seconds behind her.

The morning sun had not reached beyond the trees, but the lack of light did not stop Simon from riding hard down the dimly lit path that had been barely visible from the meadow. Emotion rose in his throat, part fury, part fear, as the path twisted and turned, teasing him with glimpses of Juliana ahead.

He followed a particularly sharp turn and paused at the top of a long, shadowed straightaway, where she was urging her mount on, toward an enormous felled tree that blocked the path.

With terrifying clarity, he saw her purpose. She was going to jump it.

He called her name in a harsh shout, but she did not slow, did not turn back.

Of course she didn’t.

His heart stopped as horse and rider took to the air in perfect form, clearing the barrier with feet to spare. They landed and tore around a corner on the far side of the tree, and Simon swore, vivid and angry, and leaned into his mount, desperate to get to her.

Someone needed to take the girl in hand.

He cleared the tree trunk without concern, wondering how long she would keep him on this chase, each long stride of the horse beneath him making him more and more irate.

Coming around the turn, he pulled up hard on the reins.

There, in the middle of the path, was Juliana’s mare, calm and collected.

And riderless.

He leapt down from his horse before the animal had come to a full stop, calling her name once into the still morning air before he saw her, leaning against a tree to one side of the path, hands on her knees as she caught her breath, cheeks red with exertion and cold, eyes bright with excitement and something he did not have the patience to identify.

He stormed toward her. “You reckless female!” he thundered. “You could have killed yourself!”

She did not flinch in the face of his anger; instead, she smiled. “Nonsense. Lucrezia has leapt much higher, much more treacherous obstacles.”

He stopped mere feet from her, fists clenched. “I don’t care if she’s the devil’s own steed. You were asking to be hurt.”

She uncrossed her arms, spreading them wide. “But I am unharmed.”

The words did nothing to settle him. Instead, they made him more irritated. “I can see that.”

One side of her mouth tilted up in an expression many would have found endearing. He found it annoying. “I am more than unharmed. I am quite exhilarated. Did I not tell you we had twelve lives?”

“You cannot survive twelve scandals, though, and you are well on your way. Anyone could have found you.” He could hear the peevishness in his tone. He hated himself for it.

She laughed, the sound bright in the shadowed grove. “It’s been two minutes.”

“If I hadn’t followed you, you might have been set upon by thieves.”

“This early?”

“It might be late for them.”

She shook her head slowly, taking a step toward him. “But you did follow me.”

“But you did not know I would.” He did not know why it mattered. But it did.

She stepped closer, cautiously, as though he were a wild animal.

He felt like an animal. Out of control.