Kate rose onto her horse with her expression set, her back straight and shoulders squared, sitting astride in blatant disregard for the proper fashion for a female rider. Her mount wheeled with his forelegs prancing and steam snorting from his nostrils. “Prepare to see as much of my shapely derriere as you ever shall, and from a great distance.”
With that, she kicked her mount into action. The huge red blur roared past Simon just as he settled in the leather seat. His mare reared in surprise. He cursed and laughed and gathered the Arabian under control, spinning it around to gain her head. Then he shouted and the little horse exploded gamely in pursuit. The two horses weaved along the forest path, trees flashing by on both sides and branches slapping at them. Simon saw Kate breaking out of the forest and into the open ground.
Kate leaned low over the red stallion’s withers. His glossy coat shone in the stark morning sun. His long legs ate up the terrain, flinging clods of dirt into the air behind them as they raced at breakneck speed over the rolling Surrey countryside. Beside them ran the long, graceful form of the Irish wolfhound, keeping even with the horse’s ferocious pace.
As Simon broke into the open, the wind screamed past his cheek, making his eyes water. He could barely make out Kate and her stallion across the hills. She rode with wild abandon, her sure hands held tight to the reins. The ground was too uneven and too littered with obstacles for the animal to be given its head. A herd of fallow deer gazed at them in the distance over their upturned noses before breaking into a run through the morning mist. The wolfhound swerved to give chase.
“Aethelred, heel!” Kate commanded so firmly that Simon heard it across the distance, and the hound fell back into stride alongside his master.
A hedgerow waited in front of them so Kate guided the horse to a high knob. The pounding muscles gathered, then they were flying over the obstacle with plenty of room to spare. Kate leaned forward, her hands and knees steady. They landed with a jolt but she never lost her seat. She slowed the stallion, waiting for Aethelred to find his way through the hedge. The horse reared and danced in annoyance. Then the broad-chested hound broke through, loping toward them, his pink tongue lolling.
Simon drove the Arabian now, sensing a chance to gain ground. Kate turned back and smiled. She waved her arm and gave the stallion his head. Like a thunderclap, he broke down the open field, his giant strides swallowing up the miles until they were gone from Simon’s view.
Moments later, as he approached the east wing of Hartley Hall, he saw Kate standing on the patio outside the library. She was pretending to be bored. She looked up at him approaching and began to tap her foot. Simon came on in a leisurely post, reining in before her with a gallant doff of his hat.
“Glad you could make it,” Kate said quietly.
Simon patted his horse’s glistening neck. “An uncommon combination in my steed. Savage and slow.”
“Perhaps you don’t know how to get your mount to respond properly.”
“No.” He swung out of the saddle. “That can’t be it.”
The wry smile on Kate’s face was beautiful. Exertion had given her a reddish flush and the beating of her heart was visible in the pulsing of a small patch of bare skin at her collar. All doubt and fret was gone from her sharp-eyed gaze. She was capable and fearless in this moment. He needed that power from her almost like an element in a magic spell.
Simon handed the reins to a stable boy and before Kate could turn, he took her hand. “Sit with me, Kate.” He was happy that she merely drew a breath as he led her to chairs on the edge of the grass. She gave him a quick glance to show that she was grateful to him for buying her a few more minutes away from her pressures. She leaned back, eyes closed, soaking in a bit of cold-morning sun on her face. They sat together quietly.
Coffee was brought and Hogarth came too, carrying a large envelope, which he handed to Simon. “This came for you while you were out, sir. Special courier.”
“Malcolm?” Simon took the package, but when he didn’t recognize the handwriting, he sat back, deflated.
“The courier said it was from Sir Henry Clatterburgh.”
Simon unwrapped the string and lifted the flap of the envelope. There was a sheaf of papers inside. He pulled them out and saw notes relating to the murder at St. Georges. There was a smaller envelope sealed with wax clipped to the first page. Simon cracked the seal and removed several sheets of paper.
He said, “It’s dated yesterday. Simon—Forgive the tardiness of my reply to your last note, as indeed I had no intention of replying—so forgive my stupidity as well. Here is information you may find useful. You perhaps know of the second slaying at Christ Church Spitalfields three days ago.” Simon looked up with alarm. “A second murder?”