Page 92 of Marry in Scandal

“Catch me if you can!” Laughing, she urged her horse into a gallop. The sand was firm and they flew across it, her horse’s hooves splashing in the shallows. She could hear his horse coming up fast behind her. “First one past that stump is the winner,” she called back, and pointed to a tree stump lying high up on the sand past the tide line. It was low and smooth, about two feet high.

She raced toward it and readied herself for the jump. But at the last instant her horse balked, and Lily found herself flying through the air.

She landed with a thud. And lay still. Unmoving.

“Lily!” Ned, just seconds behind her, flung himself off his horse and knelt down in the sand beside her. Her eyes were closed. She lay still and pale, not breathing.

“Lily, oh, God—” He grabbed her hand.

Her eyes flew open and she dragged in a long ragged breath. “Winded,” she gasped, and Ned’s own heart began to beat again. She gasped painfully for air and he could do nothing to help her.

She was alive, that was all he knew.

“Where are you hurt?” He ran his hands feverishly over her body.

“Not hurt, winded,” she wheezed. She sat up, still gulping in air.

Ned sat back on his heels and watched her. His heart was thudding crazily. He’d thought he’d lost her, thought she’d killed herself.

“That was a stupid thing to do. Never do that again!”

She shrugged. “Most horses refuse a jump at some stage.”

“You shouldn’t be jumping at all!”

She frowned. “Why not?” Her breathing was smoother now. His pulse was still wildly erratic.

“It’s too dangerous.”

She looked at the fallen stump. “It’s barely two feet high. My first pony could have jumped it in his sleep.”

“I don’t care.” Ned drew in a slow, deep breath, seeking to present a calmer, more controlled appearance. “You are not to jump again.”

“Because I fell? I’m not hurt.”

He stood and put out a hand to pull her to her feet. She picked up the skirt of her habit, walked across to where her horse was calmly cropping grass and gathered the trailing reins. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.

She looked surprised. “Getting back on, of course. Will you give me a boost, please?”

“No, you’ll ride back with me.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Are you angry with me?”

“No.” Ned didn’t know—or want to consider—what he was feeling. All he knew was that for a few appalling seconds he’d thought she was dead. “But you’re not riding that wretched beast again.”

“He’s all right. It’s the first time he’s balked. You should always get back on a horse after you’ve taken a toss.”

“I don’t care.” He collected the reins of her gelding, mounted his own horse and rode to the stump. “Up!”

She gave him a long thoughtful look, and for a moment he thought she was about to be stubborn, but then she gave a shrug and capitulated. She climbed onto the stump and gave him her hand. “On the count of three.” He swung her up in front of him so that she was sitting more or less across him, in his lap.

They rode in silence. She was sitting bolt upright. He drew her back against him, and when her body softened against him and she laid her cheek against his chest, something inside him settled.

Ned tried to think of something to talk about—other than what had just happened—and he recalled that they’d been talking about school. Before she’d almost killed herself.

“When were you sent away to school?” he asked her.

“It was after Mama died. Papa sent us—Rose and me—off to Bath, to Miss Mallard’s school there—the place where Cal and Emm’s wedding breakfast was held.”