Tamerlane responded with a rush of energy that she barely managed to restrain; he wanted to gallop, but proper young ladies did not gallop in Hyde Park, so Jane held him in. The dapple gray tossed his head and tried to take the bit in his teeth, but she remained firm. At last he capitulated with what sounded suspiciously like a snort of equine disgust. “I quite agree,” Jane said under her breath. “It’s not Wellbourne, but it must do for now. Come on, old boy.” The lush, misty landscape flashed by as Tam settled into a comfortable, ground-eating stride. Given the overcast skies and the patchy, low-lying fog that hugged the ground, very few other riders occupied the park. All the better. Jane ducked her head and looked behind to see if Will had managed to keep up with her; the groom lagged behind at a discreet distance. Good. She steered Tamerlane toward Rotten Row. She leaned forward over the gelding’s sleek neck. The wind sang a wild song in her ears, and the rhythmic drumming of Tam’s hoofbeats formed a counterpoint.
