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full advantage
with the coat cut away in front and the wide lapels folded back.
His tight white breeches were so high in the rise that they
disappeared under his beige waistcoat, his torso and legs displayed
in an unbroken line that ended in polished black top boots with
brown leather trim. Maria's eyes kept returning to the fullness in
his crotch, his cock pressed against his left inner thigh,
emphasised by the close fitting buckskins.
    He was
extremely handsome, a stiff collar and black stock wound several
times round his neck, framing his patrician features. He was
bare-headed, his curly-brimmed topper in his hand, and his black
hair fell about his ears and neck and over his brow. But it was his
eyes that captivated her, even from that distance; their power and
persuasiveness. Were they grey or icy blue? He was too far away to
tell, but there was a ruthless slant to his mouth that made her
weak at the knees.
    This was the
man she would ride against! The task ahead seemed almost
impossible. Then their eyes met and she read something in them that
stiffened her resolve. He was mocking her, challenging her, certain
that she would fail and make him the conqueror. Damn him, she
thought, fury welling up. I'll show the arrogant bastard! Who the
hell does he think he is? But this was really of no consequence
against her desire to prove herself to him and end up in his arms
and in his bed, kissed by that arrogant mouth, possessed by that
strong body.
    She guided the
phaeton with a light touch on the reins, and a roar went up from
the crowd as her opponent took his place on his lofty perch. Now
they were much closer and she was piqued because he did not look at
her, staring straight ahead. Grooms attended the horses, checking
that they were on the starting line. The atmosphere was tense.
Silence fell, all holding their breath, everything so quiet that
even the singing of the birds was an interruption. The cloudless
blue sky stretched above them, a glorious English summer, but Maria
was in no fit state to appreciate it, only aware of the straight
track before her and the man beside her.
    'Don't let her
beat you, sir!' shouted a lad from among the throng. 'Can't have a
woman thinking she's as good as us!'
    Laughter
welled up and Maria's rival nodded solemnly in the speaker's
direction. The crowd hushed again as the Master of Ceremonies
lifted his white handkerchief. It flashed momentarily, and then
dropped.
    Maria forgot
everything except the reins in her hands and the team in front.
Freed from restraint, they shot ahead. The phaeton rocked and
bounced as it gathered speed, gravel flying from beneath hooves and
wheels, the scenery a blur of colour. She had no time to see what
was happening to her challenger. Her greys were not yet at full
stretch; she was keeping a little in reserve. Both vehicles reached
the end of the avenue, neck and neck, spraying grit as they turned.
They teetered precariously and then Maria's vehicle shot forward in
a sudden burst of speed, rearing towards the other, her team
plunging madly.
    He swerved.
She crossed his path. He wheeled, and she heard him curse. He was a
pace behind her now. She set her teeth grimly, determined to keep
her advantage, but he let out his team, little by little, a master
horseman. He edged closer to her, gained on and passed her. He cast
her a glance in which she read triumph. Infuriated, she was almost
on her feet. Ahead lay the turn and both took it at reckless speed.
They tore down the stretch that marked the end of the second lap.
Four more to go, and they took three without either gaining
advantage, two perfectly matched contenders. The spectators were
wild with enthusiasm, betting furiously, Maria's performance
causing a change of heart among many. They began to applaud
her.
    The tension
mounted as the dust-splattered phaetons went into the final round.
He was half a length ahead, his team full-out, their ebony backs
white with foam, responding as he shouted encouragement.