Excerpt of Taming Tessa by Brenda Hiatt

Chapter One

Leicestershire, England

October 1816

"Easy, fellow, it's only an owl's shadow," Lord Anthony Northrup said as the horse he was leading along the deserted road shied yet again.

Already he was beginning to regret the favor he'd done young Ballard by purchasing this skittish hunter from him, but he was careful to keep his irritation from his voice so as not to upset the beast further. Justifiably famous for his skill in handling difficult horses, Anthony had been sure he could handle this chestnut better than the inexperienced Mr. Ballard.

Perhaps leading him back tonight hadn't been the best plan, however. His own mount was a placid, well-trained beast, unlikely to react to the nervousness of the new horse, but he'd underestimated the chestnut's spookiness. He'd be glad when he finally reached his hunting lodge with both animals.

For several minutes he continued without incident, riding Cinder, his gray gelding, at a slowtrot through the gathering dusk with the new chestnut following on the lead. The road from Melton-Mowbray was mercifully empty at the moment, but Anthony knew that was unlikely to last with so many men arriving in the Shires for the start of foxhunting season.

Sure enough, a moment later he heard hooves approaching from behind at a quick trot. He glanced back and saw horse and rider silhouetted against the rolling fields that were fading from green to gray in the twilight. Slowing Cinder to a walk, he maneuvered both horses closer to the verge to give the other rider ample room to pass, in hopes of avoiding an incident with the skittish chestnut.

His hopes were dashed when a rabbit suddenly erupted from the hedge bordering the road, right under the chestnut's nose. Predictably, the horse spooked and reared, then lunged forward, dragging the lead rein across Cinder's neck. Anthony's gelding shied away from the sudden contact, dancing sideways even as the chestnut reared again, nearly pulling Anthony from the saddle.

One of the chestnut's descending forelegs caught on the lead rein, wrenching it from Anthony's grasp. Cursing, he vaulted to the ground to make a grab for the lead before the horse could bolt, but he was too late. The chestnut swung away from him, then galloped away up the road, the lead whipping behind.

With another curse, Anthony turned back to Cinder, but before he could remount to give chase, the other rider swept past him at a gallop, already in pursuit of the chestnut. Vaulting into the saddle, Anthony followed. He hadn't seen the fellow's face, but assumed it must be someone he knew, to spring so quickly to his assistance.

He and Cinder galloped only a furlong or so before reaching their quarry, for the chestnut had somehow managed to tangle his reins in the thick hedge that lined the road. Unfortunately, the horse was in full panic, bucking and kicking at the hedge, tangling the reins even more tightly as he whinnied with rising hysteria.

The other rider dismounted and took a couple of cautious steps toward the frightened beast. Judging by his stature, Anthony realized he could be no more than a lad.

"You'd best stay clear," Anthony said, dismounting as well. "He's in the devil's own temper and could do you an injury."

"Nonsense," came the reply.

Anthony stared, for the voice was undeniably feminine, despite the fact that the rider had been riding astride and wore breeches. Before he could process this remarkable anomaly, she took another step toward the panicked chestnut, leaving her roan mare standing quietly.

"Come then," she said soothingly, "what seems to be the trouble?"

To Anthony's amazement, the horse instantly stopped kicking and stood, trembling, with his ears pitched forward.

The woman continued to approach the still jittery chestnut. "There, now. It's not so bad, is it? Look at what you've done to yourself," she said to the horse in a singsong lilt that seemed to hold the beast's complete attention.

A moment later she had the lead in one hand and with the other deftly untangled the reins from the hedge. When she laid one small hand on the horse's neck, he gave a great shudder, then stopped trembling. Ducking his head, he turned to nuzzle her ear.

Smiling, she patted the chestnut's nose, and Anthony just caught her whisper, "I miss you, too, Zephyr." Then she turned and said aloud, "I don't think he'll give you any more trouble, sir," and handed him the lead.

Anthony had been watching in amazement, but now he thought he understood why the horse had responded to her. "Thank you. You seem to have -- "

He paused, for the rising moon gave him his first good look at her face -- and a lovely face it was, framed by a few honey-brown curls that had escaped her riding cap. The breeches outlined a fine pair of legs, causing his thoughts to veer down a totally different path.

"Horses like me," she said simply, clearly not realizing he'd heard her whispered comment to the chestnut.

Her dark eyes met his, and a spark of sympathy, of connection, passed between them. Anthony felt something deep inside him stir in response. Lust, of course. He was long familiar with that feeling. Anything beyond that was doubtless only the result of the moonlit setting and the unusual events just past.

"So it would appear," he finally replied. Shaking off his bemusement, Anthony managed a grin. "And I can't say that I blame them, Miss -- ?"

To his disappointment, she did not supply a name. "I'll be on my way, then," was all she said. With a fluid motion, she was back in her saddle and a moment later was cantering away down the road at a pace he had no hope of matching with two horses to manage.

He watched her appreciatively until she was too far away to see clearly, then turned to remount Cinder and continue his brief journey, still bemused by the mystery of the beauty in breeches ...