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headgroom, Martin, had told her was Philip’s favourite, was still in his box.
    “Still an intrepid horsewoman, I see.”
    Antonia smothered her gasp and swung about. The velvet skirts of her habit swirled, brushing Philip’s boots. He was so close, she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes, one hand on her riding hat to keep it in place.
    “I didn’t hear you.” The words were breathless; inwardly, Antonia cursed.
    “I noticed. You seemed absorbed in some search.” Philip’s eyes held hers. “What were you looking for?”
    For an instant, Antonia’s mind went blank; prodded by sheer irritation, she replied, “I was looking for Martin.” She turned to survey the empty stable, then slanted a glance at Philip. “I wanted him to saddle a horse for me.”
    Philip’s jaw firmed. He hesitated, then asked, “Which of my nags have you been using?”
    “I haven’t been out yet.” Picking up her skirts, Antonia strolled down the aisle, knowledgeably gauging the tall hunters and hacks.
    Philip followed. “Take your pick,” he said, knowing very well she would.
    “Thank you.” Antonia stopped before a stall housing a long-tailed roan, a raking, raw-boned stallion Philip privately considered had a chip on his shoulder—he was perennially in a bad mood. “This one, I think.”
    With any other woman, Philip’s veto would have been automatic. Instead, he simply snorted and strode on to the tack room. Returning with a side-saddle, bridle and reins, he found Antonia crooning sweet nothings to the giant horse. The stallion appeared as docile as the most matronly mare.
    Swallowing another “humph”, Philip swung the stall door wide. Quickly and efficiently, he saddled the stallion, glancing now and then at Antonia, standing at the horse’s head communing with the beast. He knew perfectly wellshe could have saddled the horse herself; she was the one woman in all the millions he would trust to do so.
    But it would have been churlish to suggest she wrestle with the saddle, not when she made such a delightful picture, her habit of topaz-coloured velvet a deeper gold than her hair, the tightly fitting bodice outlining the womanly curves of her breasts, nipping in to emphasize her small waist before flaring over her hips. As if sensing his regard, she looked up; Philip jabbed an elbow into the roan’s side and cinched the girth. “Wait while I saddle Pegasus.”
    Antonia nodded. “I’ll walk him in the yard.”
    Philip watched as she led the stallion out, then returned to the tack room. He was on his way back, his arms full of his own tack, when ringing footsteps sounded on the cobbles of the yard. Frowning, Philip set his saddle on the stall door. Hugo, he knew, would still be sound asleep. So who…?
    “Hello! Sorry I’m a bit late.” Geoffrey waved and headed for the tack room. As he passed, he flung Philip a grin. “I guessed you’d ride early. I won’t keep you.” With that, he disappeared into the tack room.
    Philip smothered a groan and dropped his head against his horse’s glossy flank. When he straightened and turned, he found himself eye to eye with Pegasus. “At least you can’t laugh,” he muttered savagely.
    By the time he emerged from the stable, Antonia had discovered the mounting block and was perched atop the roan, a slim slender figure incomprehensibly controlling the great beast as she walked him around the yard.
    Gritting his teeth, Philip swung up to the saddle; in less than a minute, Geoffrey joined them, leading a grey hunter.
    “All right?” he asked, looking first to Philip and then to Antonia.
    Philip nodded. “Fine. Let’s get going.”
    They did—the brisk ride, flying as fast as the breeze, did much to restore his temper. He led the way but was unsurprised to see the roan’s head keeping station on his right. Geoffrey followed on his heels. It had been years—at least eight—since Philip had enjoyed that sort of ride—fast, unrestrained, with company that could handle