The groom had gone about his job in a grudging manner that had incensed her beyond reason.

Simmons no doubt was displeased. When she had mounted, his disapproval was rife, but she denied him a reaction and adjusted her skirts until she was decent. As decent as one could hope to be riding astride a stallion. Satisfied, she grabbed the reins on the horse and urged him into a canter. The stallion neighed and took off with hard speed, thundering down the line where Robert’s carriage had passed in the morning. She had navigated the garden rows to cut short the time. It was dangerous to ride at that speed in the branching small paths, but she wanted this, needed this.

Riding fast with the wind whipping through her hair, she headed for the end of the driveway. She swung the horse around in a practiced move and he responded quickly with the lightest of touch with the reins and her foot nudging at his side. She turned into the dusty lane and spurred the horse with a renewed speed. She gave him his head, letting the reins lax in her hands. He beat a flat-out wild pace for London, in the direction Robert had gone.

The scenery was a blur, or almost so, at her speed. The morning crowd stood up to witness the beast eating the ground at a magnificent pace. One could not catch the face of the rider, but the billowing skirts said it was a lady. Light traffic occurred on the road, but Amelia did not slacken her pace. It was not wise perhaps, but speed was better. And she needed the passing miles, rushing beneath the hooves of her stallion, to comfort her. The power of the horse between her thighs, the wind against her skin, and her target growing closer and closer, with each inch covered she was soothed.

She almost went down once on the rough country road, but she held the horse up and he was strong and gallant. She reined him in and lowered his pace to a quick trot when they almost went down a second time. The town gradually turned to fields but the roads were somewhat improved. Here there was no traffic and her fears eased. She slowed to a trot for the horse to recover. The Arabian stallion snorted as she patted him, murmuring her praise as he arched his neck with pride. It steamed in the morning air. It pained her to slow her pace, but she wanted her horse alive. A copse of trees shadowed the road ahead and she headed into them. There should be a stream where the horse could drink nearby.

At the next inn she would trade in her horse for another. It pained her to do so, but he was lathered or would be if she demanded another bust of speed from him. She would have the innkeeper return him to the stables and she would have a fresher horse for her journey. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had not eaten a thing, but she was a woman driven. Even the thought of sitting down to sup held little appeal.

The horse picked its way into the cool area while Amelia was preoccupied. She did not catch the furtive movements in the shadows. Suddenly a figure bolted out of the darkness. The long coat was black and shabby. His hat was pulled low over the face and a kerchief covered his mouth nose and ears so that only his eyes remained, glinting with an unholy light in the relative gloom.

Amelia took it all in with a sudden rush of fear that froze her on the horse. She had not feared for highwayman men when she had stepped out, but now she was accosted by one. Gentlemen did not lurk in the shadowed roads dressed mysteriously enough to strike fear in the passing traveller. She did not see a pistol but that mattered very little. She was only a woman riding on a horse alone.

"Stand and deliver!" The shout rent the air. Her horse, startled by the shout, suddenly reared with a loud neigh, both forefeet off the ground and snorting in fear. The opposite horse and his rider had come seemingly out of the darkness. The sudden motion threw Amelia out of her seat and onto the ground. Her last sight as darkness spiralled in was the sight of her stallion attempting to kick the highwayman.