The horse caught the change in my tension, Henry said. He stopped dead. I didn't. I went over his head, hit the top of the wall, and fell into the rocks on the other side.
Shattered my collarbone, broke three ribs, and spent two days lying in the freezing rain before a shepherd found me. He finally turned to look at her. His dark eyes were bleak, holding a vulnerability he had never shown another living soul. I bought Balthazar because I watched him clear a six-foot hedge in Leicestershire without breaking stride.
Henry said quietly. I bought him because I thought if I owned the beast that could conquer this wall, it would erase the fact that I am completely terrified of it. He let out a harsh, self-deprecating breath. I failed the horse, just like I failed the jump.
Basia stared at the duke. She saw the heavy, suffocating chain of his own expectations dragging him down. He was a man trapped behind a wall of his own making, paralyzed by an old fear. Ruin snorted violently, plunging forward a step, his massive chest straining against the martingale.
He was looking at the wall, too. His ears were pricked tightly forward. He wasn't afraid of it. He was sizing it up.
You didn't fail the horse. Basia said, her voice cutting sharply through the wind. Henry looked at her surprised by her tone. You gave him to me, she said.
She tightened her grip on the reins, feeling the immense coiled power beneath her saddle. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs, a wild, reckless rhythm. You wagered 50 guineas I couldn't sit him for three minutes. I did.