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‘Lovely idea,’ Fliss said lightly, feeling her cheeks turn pink as she took in his raised eyebrows and confident stance. ‘Thank you for the necklace, by the way.’

Kit broke into a wide grin. ‘Did you like it?’

‘I love it,’ she said softly. ‘But you knew that already.’

‘I saw you admiring it. I wanted you to have it … And thank you for the cognac – Hennessey X.O. has always been my favourite … as you knew.’

The eye contact between them was unflinching, then, wordlessly, she headed for the tack room and Kit followed. They picked out hats, saddles and bridles, then went back to the horses – Fliss chose the grey mare named Desdemona, Kit the enormous black gelding called Hercules in the neighbouring stall. They chatted easily as they tacked them up before leading the horses out and mounting them. Fliss readjusted to the airy feeling of being so high off the ground, the horses’ hooves clip-clopping on the cobbles as they strode out of the yard.

‘Shall we head towards the lake?’ Kit suggested, and Fliss nodded.

The views were glorious as they took the path eastwards, the frosted vista stretching right across the valley where the hills disappeared into the horizon. The sun had a warmth to it, and it was the kind of day that made you feel glad to be alive. The horses walked along easily, Fliss still finding her rhythm in the saddle. She didn’t have the opportunity to ride nearly enough in the States – you didn’t find too many stables in New York City – though she sometimes rode at Jeff and Henry’s place in Saratoga Springs. She wondered how they were getting on, and whether they would miss her today. She had already messaged them to wish them happy holidays, but perhaps she would FaceTime them whilst she was getting ready.

As they moved away from the manicured grounds of the Hall and towards the open fields, the horses’ ears pricked up, clearly eager to go faster. Fliss squeezed her mare gently with her calves and Desdemona broke into a trot, kicking up lumps of grass on the soft earth, damp bracken brushing against the horses’ legs. It took only a few minutes for them to reach the lake, and they followed the bridle path that led around the outside, looking back towards Clarendon Hall in the distance. It was perched at the top of a gentle rise and was truly magnificent from this angle. It really was a beautiful house, Fliss thought, the stone warm in the sunlight and the east wing wreathed in ivy, as smoke rose from the chimneys. It looked like something from a storybook.

The horses slowed as they came to a fork in the path – they could either carry on and complete a circuit of the lake, or head right, which would take them across the fields towards a copse.

Kit, on Hercules, was just ahead and he turned back to look at Fliss. His eyes were sparkling, and he looked healthy and vital. ‘Do you want to head back?’

Fliss shook her head. ‘Not yet.’ She was enjoying this too much, out on the horses, being away from everyone. Just her and Kit.

‘Let’s see what these guys can do,’ Kit grinned, pulling gently on his right rein and nudging Hercules in the flanks. The horse jolted to life, delighted to be given free rein as he streaked across the field at a gallop, Kit rising up in the saddle and urging him on.

Fliss, determined not to be left behind, touched Desdemona’s sides with her heels. The mare was all too ready to follow and the two animals raced across the open countryside at breakneck speed. It was totally exhilarating and adrenaline flooded through Fliss. They were going so fast that if she made one false move she could fall and hurt herself badly. But she trusted her horse to be surefooted, instinctively remembering what it was like to ride like this. It felt joyous, the cold wind whistling past her cheeks, her heart hammering, endorphins pumping.

They quickly covered the ground between the lake and the wood, and before Fliss knew it Kit was slowing down, bringing his horse to a canter, then a trot and finally down to a walk. Fliss did the same, following him as they ambled into the cluster of trees, the bare branches interlocking overhead. It was so peaceful in here, only the sound of birdsong and the rustle of creatures in the undergrowth, perhaps a fox or a hedgehog, maybe even a deer. They came to a small clearing and Kit dismounted, tying his horse’s reins around a branch and clapping him enthusiastically on the neck. Hercules was panting and Kit loosened the girth to let him breathe easier. Fliss slid down from the saddle and did the same for Desdemona, then the two horses cropped companionably at the grass.

Fliss’s breath was coming fast and she knew that her eyes would be bright, her complexion pink. She took off her riding hat and shook out her hair, welcoming the cool air that rushed through it.

‘That was amazing!’ There was something about the exertion and the adrenaline, the blood pumping through her veins, that made her feel wild and reckless.

Kit stepped towards her and she looked up at him. He had taken off his hat and his dark hair was messy, his eyes dancing, his powerful chest rising and falling. God, it was wrong but she wanted him.

A strand of hair had fallen across her face and Kit reached out to brush it off. His touch was like electricity jolting through her. His hand stopped, suspended in midair for a moment, before he brought it back to her cheek, brushing his fingers over her soft skin, his thumb finding her lips, gently tracing their outline.

Fliss knew she should move away but she couldn’t. It was as though she was hypnotised, rooted to the spot, her eyes wide as she stared up at him, knowing her longing must be written all over her face. She could see it reflected in him too, that expression she had never forgotten. Desire. For her.

‘Fliss …’ he said, his voice husky. Just that one word said everything, rendering her powerless as he called her name.

It took a herculean effort, but ‘No, Kit. We can’t,’ she said, though all she wanted to do was give in to him, give in to her desire. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t. It would blow both of their worlds wide open, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t be responsible for that.

Kit exhaled raggedly, running his hands through his hair. ‘Fliss, I’ve never stopped thinking about you. Never. Tara and I …’ he began, and Fliss winced to hear her friend’s name. ‘Our marriage is dead in the water. We’re only staying together for George. I know that sounds like some clichéd claptrap, but it’s not, I promise you. Surely you can see that?’

Fliss swallowed, thinking back to the distance she had observed between Kit and Tara. They were polite with one another, a cool disinterest, though Tara was as visibly possessive as ever when Fliss was around. Other people’s marriages were unknowable, but it didn’t seem like love as she understood it. She recognised that the same thing that had happened between her and Brandon – the detachment.

‘Tara’s having an affair,’ Kit said bluntly, and Fliss gasped.

‘Who with?’

‘I’m not sure, though I have my suspicions. It’s not the first time either,’ Kit said grimly.

Fliss digested this new revelation. Then she shook her head. ‘It still doesn’t make it right. It can’t be tit for tat, an eye for an eye. I don’t want to get caught up in a war of attrition.’

‘That’s not what I’m saying, I would never do that,’ Kit insisted. ‘Our marriage has been over for a long time. We’ve both known it. But Fliss …’ His eyes raked over her hungrily, then his expression softened as he stepped closer, taking her hand. ‘You’ve made me remember what love should feel like. The longing, the excitement, the passion … It was always supposed to be us. We both know it.’

Fliss closed her eyes and breathed deeply as he continued.

‘I knew it when you married Brandon,’ he said quietly. ‘Even though I was married to Tara, and life should have been good. I hated the finality of you getting married to someone else. It’s why we didn’t come – I took a job to make sure I wasn’t available. It broke my heart, Fliss.’