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fisted her hands as the need to stomp her foot and scream threatened her composure.
    “Did you enjoy the sets?” Minerva asked.
    “Yes, but I fear I feel a headache coming on.” Annabelle never suffered from megrims, but she didn’t trust herself to not compromise herself further tonight by seeking out the answers she wanted. Besides, Markham had promised she’d receive her answers in the morning.
    She needed to get a good night’s rest because after tomorrow morning, she had a feeling her world would be different. She scoffed. Who was she fooling? Her world was already different. No longer did she have vague suppositions to heat her blood. Now she had the memory of firm lips against her own, a hard body clasped to hers and a hollow ache between her thighs to remind her there was more to be had between a man and a woman.
    Relief washed across Minerva’s face as she took a deep breath. With a hand to her belly, she said, “Oh, good. Well, not good that you feel a headache coming on, but I fear I’m not feeling at all the thing either.”
    Guilt rolled through Annabelle when she noticed Minerva’s paler than normal skin. “Where’s William?”
    Minerva waved a hand. “He’s around here somewhere, but we can take the carriage and send it back for him. Business will undoubtedly keep him out late.” She craned her head, but stilled as her complexion blanched even further. “I don’t suppose you see Lady Markham, so we can make our farewells?”
    Without really looking for their hostess, Annabelle grasped Minerva’s elbow and led her to the door. “No, but I’m sure she’d understand.” And Annabelle didn’t quite feel up to facing Lady Markham at the moment, not given the strange encounter with Lord Markham and her own unsettled nerves over the kiss with Gareth. Besides, if Lord Markham were to be believed, she’d be seeing his wife soon enough.
    ****
    The cool morning wind whipped at Annabelle’s skin and kissed it with dew. She laughed and encouraged Bella into a canter. She’d been annoyed when William had first brought the horse home and shared the mount’s name. It was a joke in poor taste, but then he hadn’t named the filly, and what a sweet one she’d turned out to be.
    A small frown teased her brow. William—who was normally ensconced in the library by the time she and her sister-in-law left for their ride—had answered Annabelle’s knock on Minerva’s bedroom door with a worried look. He’d waved off her offers of assistance and sent her out for her morning ride.
    She wouldn’t have left, but the promise of meeting Lady Markham had beckoned. Annabelle had been awake most of the night. Achy from the sensation of fullness in her breasts and hollowness in her sex, she’d been unable to get comfortable.
    Sometime near dawn, her body had quieted, only to become once more agitated during her normally relaxing morning ride. Even with Bella’s smooth gait, Annabelle’s small breasts jiggled, her nipples rubbing against the soft linen of her shift, and each of her mount’s steps renewed the throbbing at the apex of her thighs. It was all so distracting she could hardly remember what questions she wanted answered.
    A second set of hooves matched Bella’s cadence, then increased beyond it. Annabelle leaned forward over her mount’s neck. Whoever was behind obviously wanted a race, and who was she to deny them? She’d been too long denied herself.
    No more. Why should she care about the strictures of English Society? She was American after all. She laughed as the mare kicked into a gallop. Each strike of Bella’s hooves reverberated through Annabelle, abraded her nipples to hard points and stoked the slow burn between her thighs to a raging inferno.
    Last night’s brief image of Gareth and she racing, of her astride him, flashed to mind. Annabelle’s heartbeat thundered in time with the pounding of hooves echoing along the otherwise deserted Rotten Row. The early hour deterred only the