She nearly jumped when Sebastian ran a finger along the back of her hand. Eyes wide, she met his gaze.
His lips lifted lightly, but his gaze was sharp. “I wondered, mignonne, if you were sufficiently recovered to risk a ride. You might find the fresh air more invigorating than a slow stroll around the gardens.”
Her heart leaped at the thought of a ride. And on horseback they wouldn’t be that close—she wouldn’t be risking any contact that might give her away, that might test the walls she was trying to erect around her heart.
Letting her lips curve, letting her eagerness show, she nodded. “I would like that very much.”
He waved negligently. “As soon as you’re ready.”
They met in the hall half an hour later, she in her riding habit, he in long boots and a riding jacket. With a wave he ushered her on. They left the house by a side door and crossed the lawns, strolling under the bare branches of towering oaks to a stable block beyond.
He’d sent word ahead; their mounts stood waiting. A huge gray hunter for him, a frisky bay mare for her. He lifted her to the mare’s saddle, then gathered the gray’s reins and mounted. The beast shifted, snorted, eager to be away; the mare danced.
“Shall we?” Sebastian raised a brow.
Helena laughed—her first spontaneous reaction since reading Fabien’s letter—and wheeled the mare.
They left the stable yard side by side, stride for stride. Sebastian held the gray in.
The horse shook his head once, then settled, accepting the edict, accepting the masterful hand on his reins. Inwardly smiling, Helena looked ahead.
Despite the month, it was clear, but the morning chill had yet to leave the air. Soft clouds filled the skies, blocking out the weak sun, yet it was pleasant riding through the quiet fields, empty and brown, already touched by winter’s hand. There was peace here, too. Helena felt it touch her, soothe her.
She’d ridden since she could stand, the stocky ponies of the Camargue her steeds. The activity required no conscious effort, leaving her free to look around, to appreciate, to enjoy. The mare was responsive, easy to manage; they rode without any need for words, she wheeling as Sebastian did, following him across his lands.
They topped a rise. To her surprise, the land beyond lay flat, rolling before them to the horizon. She’d never seen such a sight before, but Sebastian didn’t pause; he led her down the gentle slope into that seemingly infinite expanse.
A raised path led between two fields. They followed it, then Sebastian angled down into the pasture and set the gray to a canter. Helena followed—and suddenly realized the pasture was wet, waterlogged, yet not marshy. Sebastian let the gray stretch his legs; she matched him, fearlessly keeping pace, feeling the wind rush to meet them, then racing away through her hair.
Despite all, she felt the heavy cloud that lay over her heart lift, ease. Blow away.
They rode on through the morning, stride for stride, the sky wide and windswept above. The call of larks and waterbirds was the only sound to counterpoint the rhythm of the horses’ hooves.
Then another path—a dike—appeared. The horses took the slope easily, then Sebastian wheeled and reined in. He glanced at her.
She met his gaze, a smile on her lips, a laugh bubbling up. “Oh!” She dragged in a breath. “It’s just like home!”
“Home?”
“Cameralle is in the Camargue. It’s”—she looked around—“not the same but similar.” Gazing up, she lifted her arms to the sky. “Like here, the sky is wide and open.” Lowering her arms, she stretched them to either side. “And the marsh runs forever.”
She grinned and set the mare ambling beside the gray. “Many think it too wild a place.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him smile.
“And the occupants too wild for decency?”
She laughed and didn’t answer.
It wasn’t hard to keep her worries in check for the rest of that magical morning. In the wilds of the Camargue she had always been free; she felt the same sense of freedom, of being unfettered, here. Of being allowed to be free.
Even after, when, tired but refreshed, they cantered back to the stable, she managed, by dint of will, to keep her mind free of Fabien’s contagion. She was still smiling when they reached the house. Sebastian led her to a side door, held it open, and ushered her in.
She entered, then stopped. The door gave directly into a small parlor, not a corridor as she’d supposed. The door clicked shut as she turned. Then Sebastian was there, and she was in his arms.
Lightly held, not seized. Cradled like something precious, something he wished to own.
She looked into his face, into those blue eyes, and saw that truth etched in the blue.