Despite the unshakable attraction between them, Maeve and Lucian are uninterested in love and marriage; especially since they hate one another and couldn't think of a worse match.
• • •
London, 1815
Maeve Langston's aversion to the opposite sex has...
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Maeve had always been comfortable on a horse. Ever since her first pony, Apple pie, she had enjoyed riding. Although her twin had grown tired of it over the years, Maeve knew she never would.
She and her family were having a picnic at Hyde Park. With her father, they had come on horseback, while the rest of her family had traveled in the luxurious family coach.
Maeve looked at her surroundings, enjoying the view from her stallion, Sleipnir. Delighted to be riding again, she bent forward and petted the powerful neck of the animal, enjoying the fine texture of his sleek fur on her naked palm. She always enjoyed mounting her companion without any gloves, so hers were tucked into the pockets of her riding skirts.
Sleipnir had been a formidable gift from her father, for her eighteenth birthday, poor Apple Pie being too old and short for her. She had received a horse, and Ailia a new wardrobe. Maeve had no doubts as to which one got the best gift. The entirety of the wardrobe her twin had received was now out of fashion, but Sleipnir was still at the top of his game.
It was a magnificent thoroughbred, from a bloodline of champions. He was taller than the average of his race, with over seventeen hands from the ground to the top of his withers. He was registered as a palomino, which meant his coat was golden-yellow, his mane and tail flaxen. His color was very light, though, and it reminded her of tea with a splash of milk, and he had white markings on his back legs and from his forehead to his nuzzle. Her father was mounting his Arabian, a gray mare named Osiris, after his previous horse, Horus.
They were strolling around the park while the rest of the family was enjoying the sun on the grass. Maeve wiggled uncomfortably, not used to the sidesaddle. When they were alone in the family estate, she was allowed to ride with one leg on each side like a man, because her father judged it safer. However, a proper lady could hardly appear in a public place with widely parted legs, as it would be deemed indecent. So instead, she was forced to ride like so, risking breaking her neck in order to follow the social protocol.
As they followed the graveled paths of the park, they would now and then cross other riders, and they saluted them with a silent nod. Maeve constantly had to keep her horse steady. She could feel he wanted to trot and gallop, as the poor animal had been stuck in his stall for weeks, despite the grooms taking him out every day.
Her father was always up for a good race. Certain he wouldn't say no to some action, she was about to ask him when she heard a horse trotting toward them. She turned to the incoming rider, and her heart skipped a beat when she recognized his strong build and tall shape.
Lord Worthington.
He was mounting an imposing quartet horse, an American breed. The coat was hard to determine, between bay and brown. The dashing man mounting it was wearing beige riding pants, black knee-length boots, and a jacket with a finely embroidered pattern she couldn't quite make out.
As he came closer, Maeve's father noticed him and turned around too. The baron quickly caught up and slowed his horse next to hers.
"I thought it might be you," Worthington declared with his forever stern expression, grazing the rim of his hat. "Lady Langston. Your Grace."
