Wicked lessons from the Luna

Very early morning

*Rexton*

Next morning:

Dear Goddess, but she sits on a horse well.

I watch as Luna Moonsdowne trots a dark brown Arabian along the riding trail. I arrived at six. She at seven. I don’t know why Gina's offhand comment about her sister riding in the early morning has stuck with me, or why I had felt a burning need to see her.

Perhaps because my body is in urgent need of s****l release, although I won’t find it here. Better to tell myself it is part and parcel of my strategy to ensure Gina is well situated, but the lie mocks me.

At this hour, no one else is about. The daft she-wolf hasn’t brought a groom with her, or even the blasted butler. What if she is accosted, what if some ne'er-do-well recognizes quality when he sees it and decides he would like a taste?

I kick my gelding into a gentle gallop, following a path I know will intercept hers. She must have heard me approaching because she brings her horse to a halt. When I am near enough to do the same, I find myself staring at the business end of a very small pistol, clutched tightly in her gloved hand, her gaze uncompromising and harsh.

Apparently, the she-wolf sees to her own defense and doesn’t require assistance.

“Luna Moonsdowne.” I speak calmly, evenly, the way I might to a skittish filly. “It would be a shame for your sister to lose her solitary suitor so shortly after acquiring him.”

“Would it?” She asks.

I am reassured that she sounds quite doubtful. “Indeed. I assure you that she would mourn my passing. A great many she-wolves would, in fact, mourn my passing.”

“I hope you are not counting me among them.” She huffs.

“I would not be so presumptuous.” Although the truth is: I do hope she would feel a bit of sorrow at me leaving this world.

“I do suppose bringing Gina sorrow would defeat my purpose in wanting to see her happy.” She slips the pistol into a pocket in the skirt of her riding habit. “I don't recall seeing you here in the mornings before."

“To be sure, I'm certain you haven't. I don't usually make it a habit to get up at such an ungodly hour, but I was curious regarding the report you delivered to your sister after our afternoon in the park.”

“My report?” She asks.

She sounds thoroughly confused when I know she isn't. “Come now. I'm certain you outlined my good qualities and what you might have perceived as my... bad.”

“Not arrogant, are you, to think we would spend time discussing you?” It is stated, not asked.

“I'm simply rather convinced I was the topic of conversation once I delivered you home. I shall make it easy on you and share what I believe you told her. How's that?”

She shifts in the saddle, and I wish she weren’t buttoned up so tightly in her forest green riding habit. A bit of white lace peeks out from her cuffs and above her collar. I wish we were at my personal estate where we would have room to gallop madly over the flower-dotted meadows. I have no doubt she would give me a good race, that her hat would go flying off, her pins would come loose, her hair would tumble down. I long to see it cascading along her back, over the horse's flank. A vision of her without clothes suddenly flashes before me. Lady Godiva... I have no doubt Luna Moonsdowne would rival her in beauty.

“I would indeed be very much interested in what you believe I relayed to my sister, but alas, I have finished with my time in the park and must be home.”

“I'll escort you.” I say.

She shakes her head. “Not necessary.”

“As a gentleman, I must insist. Besides, it is certain to put me in your good graces.” I say.

“Do you not think you are there now?” She asks, raising a brow.

“I do not.” I know I am not. She looks at me as if she wishes she could squeeze the trigger.

I give her my sweetest smile. “Please, Luna Moonsdowne, in spite of what you might think, I do wish to ensure your sister's happiness. Knowing what you are telling her about me could aid my cause and, in the end, yours, as I believe you want the same thing for her. And I fear we got off on the wrong foot.”