Felicity had been bouncing up and down for over an hour; her cheeks were flushed and her thighs throbbed. “Stable Boy!” she cried out imperiously, “Slow down!”

“Endurance is the highest art,” The Stable Boy said, his voice husky from exertion. “You told me you wanted to learn how to ride.”

“And I’m handling him well, don’t you think?” she asked archly.

“A stallion always answers to a woman’s touch,” he replied, pulling on the bit. “Come, I’ll race you to the finish.”

With a peal of laughter, Felicity spurred her horse and tried to catch up to The Stable Boy. The ripe sun beat down on them as they galloped. Felicity could feel the sweat trickling down into her decolletage as she rode, and the wind tumbled her hair into glorious disarray. The half-tamed stallion coursed beneath her. “Onward, Zalathal!” she urged, striking the crop against the Spanish steed’s rippling rump.

“Faster, Lara!” cried The Stable Boy, whispering into the ear of his Moorish mare.

They surged past the rounded bales of hay. The dusty land roiled beneath the horses’ hooves; The Stable Boy left a white and turbid wake. The envious billows of reeds swelled to whelm Felicity’s track.

It was a dead heat all the way to the stables. They finished together.

Inside, The Stable Boy slid down from the horse with the grace of a panther. “Allow me,” he said, and easily encircled her dainty ankle with his hand.

She had not yet recovered her breath in the aftermath of the race, but at his touch she almost purred. Yet Felicity feigned disdain. “I can get off by myself.”

“You could, milady.” His thumb pressed oh-so-lightly into the hollow of her ankle. “But it may go easier if I help you.”

She took his hands and, as if by accident, trailed his fingers up the length of her leg. “Ready?” she asked.

As she dismounted, his face was submerged in the warm, diaphanous folds of her riding habit. He could smell her perfume intermingled with the musky essence of her being. He felt the muslin sweep down his face, at first in abundance, then diminishing where it closed around her waist, and then there was nothing between them, only his own breath intensely hot against the rising swell of her bosom.

Felicity had felt every hard muscle as she slid down his unyielding length. She could feel her own body quiver, as though she had lost control. He held her against him for an instant without letting her feet touch the ground. Their eyes were locked together, and in his hazel-flecked gaze she saw a smile dissolve into the ruthless determination of a predator. Deliberately, tantalizing, he let her feet touch the ground. Still he did not release her. Felicity, her whole body trembling, tangled her fingers in his hair and pressed herself even closer. Her eyes closed, and she inclined her lips in invitation.

Someone cleared his throat impatiently. “Well, well, darling,” Frederick drawled, emerging from the shadow of the stables, “You have been busy this morning.”

Felicity whirled to face her spouse. “I’m surprised you’ve already picked yourself up from the floor,” she shot back acidly. “Did it take a long time to wash off all the vomit?”

Frederick just looked at her and The Stable Boy with a faint sneer.

The Stable Boy quickly picked up a pitchfork to mask the bulge in his trousers.

“I hurt my ankle riding,” Felicity lied, gesturing to the Stable Boy, “and Abernathy was helping me.”

“His name is Abernathy?” Frederick drawled, clearly amused.

Felicity ground her teeth. She had no idea what The Stable Boy’s name was, and she didn’t care.

“Perhaps you should get something for your...ankle,” Frederick suggested. “It would be such a pity if you just stood there with it throbbing.”

With a muttered curse, Felicity flounced out of the stables. As she passed Frederick, she limped dramatically for emphasis.

Alone there with The Stable Boy, Frederick’s sarcasm gave way at once to fearful anticipation. This was the man who had appeared to him in Felicity’s bedroom. Surely there could have been nothing of great importance in that fleeting vision. He tried to calm himself as he spoke.

But though he described the coming months’ tasks with precision and authority, he was barely conscious of his own speech. Zalathal’s flanks were dark with sweat, and The Stable Boy, now shirtless, was pouring cool water from a bucket all down the curve of the beast’s spine. Frederick gave himself completely to the scene before him. He wondered what The Stable Boy would say if Frederick offered to rub him down.

This would be the decisive moment. It had to be. And was not Frederick the master of his own estate? Was not The Stable Boy, in fact, his possession? As Frederick’s mind ran right up to the precipice, he felt for the first time in his life that he was speaking clearly.

“Stable boy,” he said. “There’s something I need you to do for me, something wholly beyond the sphere of your usual obligations.”

“Yes, Viscount?” replied The Stable Boy. His expression revealed neither resistance nor eagerness, though a peculiar movement of his eyes might have indicated that he knew what was coming. “And where is this task to be performed?”

Frederick breathed in the barn’s hot air and felt the blood quicken in his veins. The Stable Boy took a single step in Frederick’s direction, and by this gesture Frederick knew that the two men understood one another.

“Here,” Frederick said. “Now.”

Flowers had bloomed outdoors up against the barn’s western wall. Bumblebees swirled lazily by, settling now and then to fertilize the open blossoms.

Frederick’s voice could be heard through the slats of the barn wall. “You shall be rewarded handsomely for this,” he gasped.

“I know,” said The Stable Boy.