For the first hour or so, James was silent, mostly still in shock that he had been dragged out of bed at an utterly unimaginable hour. Whenever he had cause to see the thin gray predawn, it was because he had been up late at the tables or leaving the bed of some very lovely but very married lady.

At least he was less sore than he was afraid he was going to be, and he thought it was almost worth getting up at this early hour to see Jo on top of Tempest.

Now that he had seen her assemble her man's uniform and pin her braid under her cap, he could see how he'd thought she was a young boy. However, now that he knew who she was, and how she looked—there was still a part of him that kept going over the image of Jo with only a thin shirt between them—he could see the glimmers of beauty to her form, the brightness of her eyes and the lushness of her mouth.

She was a beauty, but that beauty was as much a part of her bright spirit as her deep auburn hair and her flashing green eyes. He wasn't sure he had ever met a woman who looked like her that he liked half so much, and then he realized he'd never met a woman he liked half so much as he already liked Jo.

Ignorant of his musings and mood, Jo rode a little ahead of him, keeping Tempest at a smart trot when they weren't walking. The cause of all of this, Tempest looked eager to run, and more than once, Jo had to coax her to calmness again, one hand firm on the rein as the other stroked along the mare's arching neck.

"Is she a racer?"

Jo looked up at his words, the first either of them had spoken in the last hour or so. "She could be. She's fast enough, isn't she? It wasn't what my father bred her for, though."

"And with that spirit, she could be a hunter, too, but I don't think she is."

"No, she's still too young for the hunt. My father thought a horse should be properly matured at four before hunting, and she's still shy of that. But she wasn't bred for hunting, either."

"What then?"

Jo shot him a suspicious look, and James blinked. He hadn't thought that a question about the breeding of her horse would be quite so fraught.

"You must not laugh."

"I won't."

"Tempest's mother was brought out of the desert, and my father bought her right away, seeing her as something wonderfully special. She was. She was strong and clever, and well-trained, and she was a cavalry horse originally."

James blinked. "You mean Tempest is bred for war?"

He remembered seeing the splendid mare half-rear before slicing through the tightly-packed men who had confronted her the day before. Yes, he could see an animal like that belonging to one of the wealthier army men, but Jo seemed like she would rather cut off her own arm than send her mount into danger.

"Not exactly. My father never had much love for sending animals we loved and reared so carefully to be blown apart by careless cavalrymen. But he wanted a horse with wit and strength that could be trained as well as an army mount. He thought that Tempest's mother, crossed with a descendant of the Byerley Turk, would produce a foal that could... not quite do everything, but understand everything that needed to be done."

James whistled. "So, he was breeding for wit, and courage, and spirit. I can see your father was a man of ambition."

Jo grinned. "He was, and in Tempest... well, I'm not sure if she's turned out to be exactly what he wanted, but if she's not, she is surely the closest anyone has come yet."

As if aware she was being praised, the mare arched her neck and danced a little, boundless energy and endless fire.

Gunner, a little older and a little quieter, looked slightly offended by her showy display, but James only laughed, stroking him on the shoulder.

"We can't all be diamonds, old boy. The best we can do is support them sometimes."

"But yes, Tempest is the best animal that has ever come out of my father's work, and I refuse to let her go to someone who doesn't understand that. The Earl of Leaford, whatever he thinks about women, is the only man my father trusted, so to London I go."

"And the other horses of the stud farm?"

Jo's face crumpled like paper for a moment before she took on a sterner expression.

"A handful are already gone, and several of the grooms are dismissed. They have enough to keep the stud farm going for a little while, but it is clear that my uncle intends to dismantle it out. It is not entailed to the title or to Fairport itself, and so it is fair game for his depredations, damn him."

James frowned at the picture that was becoming clear, and for a few moments, they rode in silence, as he turned things over in his mind.

"So, what does your inheritance look like?"

Jo shot him a sharp look.

"And what kind of question is that?"

"The kind that would get me shunted out of polite Society without a single person deigning to speak to me if anyone heard me ask it. However, we spent the night on the floor together, and the only witnesses are the starlings and larks in the hedgerow, so I'll risk it."

She eyed him warily but shrugged. After all, he was largely right, and he had the idea that she liked the opportunity to speak only as herself as much as he did.

"It's a fair amount. Two thousand pounds a year, which is certainly nothing to sneeze at. Enough to find me a husband, I suppose. Enough to make sure that he treats me decently enough."

There was something so practical about the way she said it that made James look at her more closely.

"I don't believe that I have ever heard of anyone speak of marriage quite like that before."

"Oh?"

"As practically as if it were a transaction at a horse fair."

"Oh, believe me, if I were purchasing a horse at the fair, I would be far more careful than all that!"

"Than when you are looking for a husband?"

She laughed, a bright sound that reminded James of the birds singing in the hedges. "I suppose I should be more careful, shouldn't I? A husband who kicks is surely more of a problem than a stud that kicks."

James scowled. "You shouldn't even be considering a husband who kicks, so to speak."

"Nor will I. I promise, I will put at least as much thought into choosing my husband as I do a horse. But I suppose it's something that doesn't interest me all that much. Someday, I will marry because it is the right thing to do, and hopefully, the man I choose, or more likely, who is picked for me by my uncle, will be a kind man who tolerates my love of horses and riding."

"You are very calm about all of this."

She must have caught some of the censure in James’ voice because she shot him an amused look.

"Believe me when I say that this calm was hard-won. My mother died when I was no more than five, and my father largely had the raising of me. He let me run around, not even like a son, but like a wild thing, and when I was inevitably told that I would one day have to marry, I cried and shouted like anything."

"What calmed you?"

She was still long enough that James wondered if she would answer at all, and then she shrugged.

"I was calmed when my father told me that I might find a man who loved horses as much as he and I did. That didn't seem so bad, that there would be three of us instead of two so very fascinated by the farm. But why all these questions? If you're going to take my heartfelt memories and return to Fairport to buy fine horses from my uncle, I am sure I will not forgive you."

"Nothing so very sinister, I promise you. I suppose I am just curious."

He was more than just curious. There had been a case not all that long ago in London, of questionable inheritances and some truly underhanded dealings, and for some reason, listening to Jo relate her tale of woe was ringing some bells in his head.

"So, how long as your uncle been selling off the horses of your father's stud farm?"

"Almost as soon as he was created the Marquess of Fairport, really. Perhaps some... three, four months?"

Judging by Tempest's quality, the former Marquess of Fairport had been one hell of a horse breeder, and all of London knew that the stud farms of Yorkshire were among the finest in the world. The current marquess could be making several fortunes off his late brother's bloodstock if he sold them at Tattersall's in London... so why hadn't he?

"So, if I have answered all of your questions, you should answer some for me. That seems only fair, yes?"

"I suppose it does. All right. Ask away."

"What would you do with Tempest if you owned her?"

"Cherish her forever as the goddess come to Earth you and your father obviously think she is?"

"Good answer, if faintly blasphemous, but truly. You saw her and immediately wanted to buy her. There was a reason for that."

"I suppose I would have come up with something after the fact. Hunted with her, likely. You might not think much of it, but the hunt uses many of the same skills a cavalry horse needs. Not so very different than what you were hoping for."

"But would you have bred her?"

"I am not in the business of doing so, no. Perhaps I might have if a friend or a colleague had come to me with a good idea for a match and the proper facilities to do so."

Jo shook her head sadly. "All that money, and no idea how to use it. It is a shame."

James laughed out loud. "I'll have you know that I took over the Westmont estates when I was nineteen, and I doubled the yield by the time I was twenty-four. No one else in the world would say that I have no idea how to use my money save you."

She grinned, and he was enchanted to discover a small dimple on her chin that appeared when she did so. "I'm sure you're very clever when it comes to sheep and cows and wheat, but when it comes to important things like horses, you seem a bit slow, that's all."

He started to take exception to that, but then she asked him another question.

"What are you doing in Yorkshire?"

A part of James froze. The part that won duels and bluffed his way through risky hands of cards and lied when asked if he knew a certain lovely lady, however, managed to keep a smile on his face.

"Why, whatever do you mean?"

Jo shot him a look as if he were not fooling anyone. James couldn't remember the last time someone had had the spirit to doubt a thing he said. "I mean that the season is not quite over. We might be rustics out here, but I know that well enough. London's in full swing right now, getting in all the fun it can before everyone comes out to rusticate before the little season in a few months. I would think that a man like you would be carousing the night away, not spending his time in a desolate little hunting lodge near West Riding."

"You were grateful enough for that desolate little hunting lodge last night."

She drew Tempest up for a moment so that she could execute a fairly competent bow from the mare's back. "Thank you so much for the pleasure of sleeping on your cold stone floor, my lord. It was surely the most exciting and invigorating experience of my young life."

"All right, no need to rub it in. It certainly isn't an impressive hotel."

"And you are stalling. Why are you here and not there? If you're impulse buying horses off the road, it's certainly not because of horseflesh."

James paused, thinking for a moment. He could certainly tell her it was none of her business, because it certainly was not. He could also tell her a lie. He might have been a gentleman, but there were a surprising number of things that gentlemen were permitted and even encouraged to lie about.

For some reason, he didn't want to do either of those things, and that left him with the unpalatable option of telling her the truth. Of course, James had always been good at finding alternate options, and one came to him at the turn of the road. To their right was a distant little village, and to their left was a wide-open paddock, empty except for a towering chestnut tree a good half-mile away.

"I'll tell you if you beat me to that chestnut tree."

"Oh, but—"

Before she could get whatever she was getting ready to say out of her mouth, James had wheeled Gunner around and set off for the tree as if the hounds of hell were chasing him. He laughed to hear her cry of indignation at being taken in by the same trick she had played on him the day before, and then he heard the thunder of Tempest's hooves as she raced after him.

The paddock was perfect for racing, the ground springy but not rutted with roots or mud. James bent low over Gunner's neck, promising the gelding every type of treat if he would only win. He knew Gunner would run his heart out if only James asked him to, but Tempest was like something out of a fairytale. She caught up to him less than halfway to the chestnut tree, and she started to pull ahead.

Out of the corner of his eye, James could see Tempest and, riding her as skillfully as a professional jockey, was Jo. He glimpsed her pale face set in concentration, bright strands of auburn hair whipping across her cheeks, and he had to turn away, focusing instead on the chestnut tree in front of them.

Gunner and Tempest were nose and nose for just a few strides, and then, as easy as a summer breeze, the mare started to pass the gelding.

I knew she was most likely going to win. It won't be such a bad thing to tell Jo anyway.

Soon enough, he was looking at Jo's back, and then she started to pull away ahead of him. She reached the shadow of the chestnut tree, but then to James' surprise, she hauled back on the reins hard enough to set Tempest nearly back on her haunches.

"Stop!"

Her shriek nearly pierced his eardrums, and James reacted without thinking. He pulled back hard on the reins, turning Gunner instead of stopping, and he rode a tight circle before he came up alongside the stricken Jo and the much put-out Tempest.

At first, he wasn't sure what Jo was looking at hidden in the tall grass at the base of the chestnut tree. He thought it must be a cow, or perhaps a large pig dead on the ground, especially with that strong acrid smell in the air, but then he looked closer and saw the cause of Jo's concern.

It wasn't a cow or a pig, but instead a dainty mare, her belly distended by pregnancy. She lay on her side in an attitude that looked unnatural even to James’ untrained eye, and as he stared, she lifted her narrow head and screamed.

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