glare could melt the polar ice caps. Why does that make him appear even sexier? I don’t have time to ponder such mysteries. I must escape. Get away. Bolt to fresh air.
“Suit yourself.” I tap my gelding’s haunches and he responds in an instant. Damien, to his credit, assigned me to a placid beast, one who would be perfect for a beginner. My husband isn’t the monster he wants to pretend. Nor does he wish to risk my neck—or the life of his unborn child.
But this animal is clearly well-schooled, and when urged knows how to run. And right now that’s what I need...speed.
I’m galloping halfway down the road when Damien catches up with me. He’s bareback on an Arabian.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he rages. “You told me that you couldn’t ride.”
“You didn’t listen,” I fire back. “You assumed I had limited equestrian experience.”
“You answered no!”
“Because I have advanced experience, Your High-and-Mighty-Ness!” I veer off the road, click my tongue, and my horse flies over a fence with feet to spare.
“Good boy,” I murmur, patting the side of his thick neck, feeling the corded muscles and pure strength. I haven’t been on a horse in months. Good lord, it feels good.
From the crash behind me, it sounds like Damien isn’t an amateur. He rejoins me and our horses race, stride for stride. My hair flies behind me, the ribbon tying my plait unable to withstand the wind we create.
Something rips loose within me and I let out a whoop of delight, reveling in this one heady moment of freedom, of just being a girl in the sunshine and fresh air, going faster and faster until my heart threatens to pound out of my chest.
We reach a river by an ancient stone bridge. “You deserve a drink, my friend,” I croon to my horse, dismounting and leading him to drink.
“Pudding,” Damien says flatly.
“Excuse me?” Is the prince hungry or has he become addled by the ride?
“The horse I gave you. His name is Pudding. Or as the groomers call him, Puddin’. He has never been considered a racehorse. If I hadn’t seen you ride him with my own two eyes, I would never have believed it.”
“I see. Well, it appears there is more to Puddin’ than meets the eye.” I tie him off to a willow tree next to the water where he can slake his thirst and enjoy nibbling the thick sweet grass.
“And you.” He dismounts and draws in close. So close. And when he reaches out and lifts my chin, forcing me to stare directly into his eyes, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“What are you doing?” It’s a wonder that I can whisper the question with my mouth this dry.
“I don’t know.” His voice is flint on steel. “Fuck.” The desperate rasp sends a shudder along my spine. “Back in the meadow, when you were riding? You cried out, and for a moment, I swear, I remembered.”
“What?” My hand trembles. “What memory did you have?”
“I don’t know. It’s like trying to look underwater. Everything is murky. Time feels distorted. All I know is that I was there with you, and you made a sound.” He frowns. “Do I sound insane? Do you have any idea what I am talking about?”
A faint flush creeps up my cheeks. I pull my hand from his and walk to a small cluster of wildflowers, bending to pick a few. “Who can say? Apparently I have a reputation for being...noisy.”
I think of the sounds I made in his arms. Whimpers. Cries. Gasps of pure pleasure.
I toss the blossoms to the grass. How I wish I could forget. My curse is that I can remember everything in perfect detail.
“My brother Nikolai used to bring me here to go fishing,” Damien said after a long moment. “That is a memory that I cannot erase. He loved this bridge. It was always one of his favorite places. I hated to fish but always agreed to go.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I idolized my brother. Both of my brothers. I’m sure they considered me a pain in the ass, but they never told me I couldn’t tag along. And they looked out for me.”
“You aren’t close now.”
“No.” Darkness returns to his eyes. “I’m better off alone. People who get close to me have a nasty habit of winding up hurt. Or worse.”
I don’t want to give him comfort. I don’t want to risk touching him and seeing what feelings might rise to the surface for me while I’m nothing but a stranger to him. But my heart overrides my head.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I approach him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
“No one is better alone. Trust me. I’m something of an expert in the subject.”
He is stiff, but eventually his hands find their way to my waist, and he holds me tight, burying his face in the crook of my neck.
He lets out a shuddering breath. I take one in return. And at this moment, that’s enough.
Damien
SHE CRADLES MY face in her palms. Her eyes search mine, and I know what she wants to see. Recognition. But other than a moment of déjà vu, this woman is a stranger to me. A beautiful, headstrong, drive-me-crazy stranger.
She reaches up, rubs a thumb along the scar above my brow.
“Does it still hurt?” All of the earlier haughtiness disappears from her voice.
I shake my head.
She strokes a finger gingerly along my nose, and I close my eyes.
“Why does this injury seem fresher than the others?”
“It didn’t heal correctly,” I tell her, then blink my eyes open to meet her gaze. “After weeks of recuperation, I was rewarded with having the doctors break it again. Though I’m not quite sure I approve of their handiwork.” I grab her wrist and lower her hand, but for some reason I don’t let go. “Still crooked, but it’s the best they could do with how badly it was injured.” I paint on my devil’s grin. “Now I have a whole face full of reminders of all that I’ve done to put my family in danger.”
“You’re beautiful,” she blurts.
Her words are too unexpected for me shutter my reaction. My eyes go wide.
“I don’t see your scars, Damien. I don’t see your past. All I see is a man who has punished himself for far too long. A man who suffered great loss in his life before I even met him—and who suffers even more so because of me.”
A tear streaks her cheek, and I instinctively wipe it away. Whatever happened or did not happen between us, she suffers
