An Honourable Thief. Anne Gracie

Devenish took little notice. His mount, Sultan, a big black stallion with a gleaming coat and a proud arched neck, demanded most of his attention. The horse caracoled and danced with high spirits and too many oats, taking offence first at an urchin here, shying at a butcher’s boy and his cart there; he reared in apparent fright as a dog ran close to his hooves; he danced sideways along the cobblestones, tossing his head in disapproval at the flapping skirts of a couple of maidservants, clutching baskets.

      Mr Devenish smiled, enjoying Sultan’s mischievous antics. His stallion was well under his control; the horse needed a run as much as the master.

      The park, in contrast to the streets, was almost deserted. The leisured classes had not yet arisen, and the rest of the world had little time to dally in parks. The morning air was fresh, crisp and cold. Mr Devenish took a deep breath, enjoying the bite as it hit his lungs.

      Sultan pranced and snorted, eager to get moving. Mr Devenish urged him into action and then, as no one else was around, he gave Sultan his head, relishing the contrast between the warmth and power of the spirited beast under him, and the whoosh of cold air through his body. Sultan’s hooves pounded on the turf, echoing in the near silence.

      He passed a couple of rabbits nibbling on the sweet, damp grass. He scattered some birds feeding off bread-crumbs left by some child the day before. He passed a couple of men in frieze overcoats lurking by a clump of rhododendrons. They looked out as he came towards them but stepped back in a hurry as Sultan thundered down towards them. He idly wondered what they were doing there, but soon forgot them as he swerved to avoid a gaggle of indignant geese.

      After a time, man and mount were breathing hard, and Hugo could tell that just as the ride had swept the cobwebs from his brain, so his horse had raced the excess energy from his body. He allowed Sultan to slow to an elegant canter. Hugo smiled. One of the things he loved about this particular horse was the way he moved so smoothly from one gait into the next. Hugo breathed deeply. He was feeling refreshed, invigorated, alive. And hungry. He could hear another horse galloping in the distance. Galloping hard and fast.

      He looked around and saw another rider, a lady in a plain dark blue habit with a black hat crammed low over her hair. Another early riser. Soon the park would begin to fill with others, who, like him, preferred the relative quiet of the early morn to the crowded fashionable hours of the afternoon.

      He watched the lady rider. It was unusual for a female to rise so early, but he soon perceived that this was no ordinary female. Most females he knew preferred to walk their horses, or, at most, to canter. This woman galloped. Hard and unfashionably, like he and Sultan had. The mount she rode was undistinguished; that much was obvious, even from this distance, but she rode magnificently. He had never seen a better seat on a lady. She had certainly almost grown up on horseback. He wondered briefly if she was a lady—there was no groom accompanying her that he could see.

      He shrugged and turned his horse in a slow circle and headed back, much the same way he had come.

      Suddenly he noticed the regular beat of the other horse’s hooves had come to a halt. He glanced back over his shoulder, idly, then swore. He wrenched Sultan around and thundered back the way he’d just come.

      The two ruffians in frieze overcoats he had seen earlier had accosted the woman. One of them had grabbed the horse by its bridle and was fighting the lady for its control. She was giving as good as she got, beating him over the head and arms with her riding crop, all the time urging the horse to move. Her horse reared and snorted but could not pull away. The second man grabbed the skirt of her habit and pulled at it, trying to unseat her.

      Hugo let out an oath and urged Sultan to gallop faster.

      The woman unhooked the leg which gripped the pommel of the sidesaddle and kicked the second scoundrel hard in the face. He reeled back. Hugo heard the man shout in pain. He also heard the threats the man made towards his female attacker and his blood boiled.

      “Belay that, you villains! Leave that woman alone!” he shouted, wishing he had worn spurs.