"To the stables." It really was dark, so he let her catch up and took her hand in his. It felt oddly intimate. He had walked arm in arm with ladies his whole life, but it was different to walk through the trees in the dark, feeling only the clutch of a woman's hand. She had a small, delicate hand for such a shrew.

"Why the stables?" she said. Then she stopped, pulling him to a halt. "You're not thinking of riding to the village to find a pub, are you?"

The scorn in her voice stiffened his backbone. "Actually, no." And he hadn't been. That was too demeaning, as if he were—indeed—in servitude. "I have a horse on the point of foaling."

They followed the path by avoiding the pitch black of the woods around them rather than by actually seeing their way. He could hear only little rustlings in the woods. For a moment his stomach roiled, and then quieted.

"It sounds as if we're walking through a huge abandoned house," Imogen said. He could hear the fear in her voice. She was holding his hand tightly.

"Amazing," he said laconically. "You're actually showing an emotion that characterizes ladies. Afraid of the dark, are you?"

She didn't answer. They walked into the yard surrounding a long row of whitewashed stables. A boy started to his feet as they walked in the door, rubbing his eyes.

"You shouldn't sleep with the lamp lit," Rafe said, his voice harsh. "You could start a fire."

"Yes, sir," the boy stammered. "Yes, sir, 1 know that. I just dropped off for a moment, sir."

Rafe unhooked the lantern. "Why don't you go to your bed? We'll blow this out when we leave."

"I can't, sir," the boy said. "Mr. James said as how I was to stay because Lady Macbeth is expecting to foal, sir, and if she makes a sound, I'm to go wake Mr. James, sir."

"I looked at her this afternoon, and I doubt she'll foal tonight. But I'll bring the lantern back to you."

They walked down the alleyway between the stalls. None of the horses seemed to be sleeping. They were standing in their clean, spacious stalls, stamping their feet and whickering anxiously as Rafe and Imogen walked down the aisle. "It's the foal coming," Rafe said. "They can tell, and they don't sleep."

"I would guess this is Lady Macbeth," Imogen said, stopping.

The mare had glossy, swollen sides. She turned to look at them, a bit of hay stuck to her nose in a way that made her look comical, like a clown wearing cat's whiskers.

"She won't have the babe tonight," Rafe said.

Imogen had her hand out, and the mare began snuffling, licking her palm for the salt. "She's lovely," Imogen breathed. "Oh, you're a beauty, aren't you?"

Rafe walked on, carrying the lantern, and after a moment she ran to catch up. "You could have waited while I greeted that mare," she said crossly.

"I haven't time for a girl's palaver with ponies," he said.

"Oh? Because you have important things to do, do you? Out here in the middle of the night?"

Rafe thought about how much he disliked Imogen. "I'm thinking of taking a ride."

"A ride? In the dark?"

He liked the idea more and more. "You needn't join me. You're not dressed for it."

"I can ride in anything!" she said, just as he knew she would. "But where will you go?"

"You look awake," he said to a cheerful-looking gelding with an arching nose and sweet eyes.

"He's not heavy enough for you!" Imogen exclaimed.

He liked that she knew horses so well. "For you," he said. Then he turned and bellowed down the stables. "A side saddle, if you please."

Imogen's eyes were huge in the light of the lantern. "I'll take my own mare. Where is Posy?"

"You can't. I sent her to the north pasture yesterday."

"I'm not going sidesaddle in the dark on a strange horse," she said. "It's unsafe. I'll ride him astride."

"In that dress?" he flicked a glance down at her dress. Of course it had practically no bodice; none of her garments did.

"I'm sure I can manage," she snapped.

The boy came, puzzled, and then swung an ordinary saddle, rather than the sidesaddle, onto the gelding. "He's called Luna," he told her. "In a foreign language, that means sun. Or maybe moon."

Rafe took his own thoroughbred, a huge animal with a barrel chest.

"Well, he should be able to manage your weight," Imogen said. He felt another surge of dislike. Maybe she wouldn't be so cocky riding down a strange road in the dark.

"Let's go," he said, leading out his horse and allowing her to take her own. He had sent the boy back to the far end of the stables, with the lantern. Now the stables were lit only by the chilly light of the moon.

"I hope movement makes you throw up," she said suddenly. She had figured out why he wanted to go for a ride in the dark. Rafe grinned, his first real smile in days. Too bad she couldn't see it.

Outside he swung onto his horse without offering to assist her. A woman who thought to ride astride in an evening gown had no need of his help. But he did look around. She had deftly backed Luna to a mounting post, and a second later she was on the horse. Luna stood quietly enough, his ears flicking back and forth, while Imogen rustled about with her skirts.

"Right," she said. "Let's go, then."

Rafe couldn't see how she'd arranged herself. In fact, he'd never seen a woman ride astride. If she hadn't been the shrew that she was, he would have found it incredi-bly arousing. Presumably her legs were hugging the back of the steed—

"Are those your undergarments?" he asked. Her legs seemed to be clothed in white.

"Yes," Imogen said casually. "French pantaloons. Quite useful for riding, if only Papa had been able to afford such a thing back when we used to ride without saddles."

He grunted and moved off toward the road. The last thing he needed to do was stare at her legs. He had enough problems.

At first they both minced their way down the road. The moon slipped in and out of clouds, and when it was hidden the road would suddenly disappear. Rafe guessed she must be frightened. Once he thought he heard a gasp. But he kept his horse ahead of hers, relishing the idea of Imogen with wide-open, terrified eyes. It would do her good.

There was a ripping noise behind him.

"Imogen!" he said sharply, swinging about. He didn't want her so terrified that she fell from her horse.

At that moment the moon sprang from behind a cloud, covering the road and the trees with a silvery trembling light. Imogen held up a stretch of cloth. She was laughing, with not a sign of terror on her face. Then she let it go.

"It was in my way. Isn't this brilliant? I love riding at night!"

He watched her skirt fly into a ditch. Now all she wore was the low-necked top of her gown and those white pantaloons.

"Isn't that uncomfortable?" he asked.

"Nope." She grinned at him. "Want to have a race?"

"A race? In the dark?"

"Yes!"

"No! You're risking your horse's fetlocks. There might be a hole in the road, and he'd have no time to adjust."