“Easy, boy, easy . . ." Soothcoor coaxed, attempting to approach. The horse whinnied, his eyes rolling as he kicked at the Earl. When all were far enough away, the animal came down next to Catherine, instantly calmer, and nudged her with his nose. Catherine groaned.
A crowd was growing, and suggestions were made from all corners about how to proceed, but no one could venture near for the horse stood guard. Kirkson called for a pistol, and young blood trotted off to a carriage where he claimed he carried a brace of pistols under the seat. Soothcoor and Chilberlain argued against it while Susannah, revived from her faint, called to her cousin, pleading with her to regain consciousness.
Catherine’s eyes fluttered open, and the horse gently lipped her face in the manner of a privileged dog. She smiled, knowing it was Zephyrus, and reached up to stroke the animal’s nose. A renewed cry of fear swept the crowd, and she was enjoined to be careful, for the horse was obviously mad and needed to be destroyed. She laughed, and hanging on to the bridle, pulled herself up.
Kirkson took the pistol the young man brought from his carriage and carefully loaded it. “Stand away, Miss Shreveton. Move slowly so as not to startle him.”
“Just what do you think you’re going to do?”
“Destroy the beast.”
“You will do nothing of the kind!” Catherine declared, throwing her arms around the horse.
“Stand away, lest you would have the animal’s blood all over your gown,” Kirkson coolly declared.
“You're mad, man,” Soothcoor exclaimed.
“You could hit Miss Shreveton. Leave done. The animal seems calm enough now,” Chilberlain said.
A murmur of horror rose from the crowd.
“I believe Sir Philip’s pride to be injured,” drawled the Marquis, strolling casually in front of Catherine and the horse. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. He turned to face Kirkson, his body directly in line with the pistol.
“Stefton, you’re back,” exclaimed Catherine stupidly.
He did not turn to look at her, his attention centered on the gun. “As you see, little one.” The Marquis’s words were spoken languidly enough, but every muscle in his body was tense, and the expression on his face made words of greeting from others in the area die within their throats.
The gray of his heavily-lidded eyes gleamed like a Damascus steel sword while his black brows drew together, one slightly elevated, and a sneering smile curled his thin lips.
“Out of my way, Stefton. The horse is mine.”
“Do not be a fool any more than you can help,” Stefton said in a measured, quiet voice that floated eerily in the air. “Think, man. Shooting a horse in Hyde Park will scarcely curry you favors with the beau monde. Not at all good ton, you know,” he added in a bored tone.
Kirkson looked from the horse to the murmuring crowd and back, a heavy frown pulling down his handsome feature, his eyes becoming beady and suspicious.
“I tell you what, Kirkson,” the Marquis said, drawing a snuffbox from his vest pocket and a taking a pinch of its contents. “I will buy the horse from you at twice what you paid for him.”
“Why?” Kirkson demanded, the gun beginning to sink.
Stefton smiled enigmatically. “I remember the first time I saw that horse ridden by an excellent rider. I have fond memories of that day, so I suppose purchasing the animal might be seen as a quixotic gesture.”
Kirkson stared suspiciously at the Marquis for a moment; then, he seemed to make some decision, for the pistol rose again.
Seeing this, the crowd became agitated. Cries were heard from throughout the crowd telling him to take the Marquis’s money. Ladies were crying “For shame!” at him for wishing to shoot the animal in Hyde Park without regard to their sensibilities. Public sentiment ran strongly against him.
The gun wavered uncertainly; then, he threw it on the ground and turned on his heel to stalk off, angrily pushing his way through the crowd.
“I’ll send over a draft first thing in the morning,” Stefton called after him.
Kirkson raised his hand in curt acknowledgment but otherwise did not turn around.
Catherine, smiling triumphantly, thanked the Marquis while the crowd edged forward, but not too close, ever mindful that minutes before, the horse that now stood quietly next to Catherine was rearing and plunging. “Your arrival was most fortuitous, and I am extremely grateful,” she said. “You will not regret your purchase, either.”
He turned toward her, his expression now a blank mask. “We must get you to a doctor. You were knocked senseless for a few moments.”
“Nonsense, my lord. I am perfectly fine, I assure you.”
He ignored her assurances. “Will the animal take a rider now?” His voice was strangely empty. His eyes drifted down to her arm and the ripped fabric of her sleeve from the lash of the whip.
