The sun shone brightly overhead, enough so that the customary sunhat she wore became more of a cumbersome weight to Victoria rather than protection from the sunlight. She freed her hair from its confines, stuffing the hat pins in the pocket of her dress and flinging out the hat somewhere far, far away. Francisco chuckled, a dark and rich sound that filled her like melted chocolate. "The poor hat."

"When something burdens me, I see no point in allowing it to stay," Victoria responded, unsure if she was still referring to the accessory.

"Then I shall take that as a warning, and pray that I never become a burden to you," Francisco replied smoothly, leading her to the stables.

The sound of horses whinnying and grooms making conversation, the scent of hay and animal mingled together, was a familiar and comforting one to her. She felt free, unfettered already as her hair was now that the hat had been gotten rid of—there were few things that brought her more pleasure than a ride, bringing her the exhilaration and excitement that rarely was permitted in the life of a high society lady.

"Have you ever seen a Filipian racehorse?" Francisco asked her, his hair escaping the dull coif that most society men wore theirs in, and falling over his tan forehead—he had a similar complexion to hers. His voice rose and fell with tangible anticipation. "They are the most magnificent creatures, and their speeds are simply unbelievable."

"I've seen them," she admitted. Blake went to the races with his friends occasionally, and on those same occasions Victoria had liked to sneak along with them. "Though it is riding them that interests me the most."

He turned to her, a grin curving his lips, and she felt her pulse quicken, her hand on his arm simultaneously feeling like not enough contact and all too much. "Then how would you like to race one with me, Victoria Rutherford?"

"Really?" Her voice rose more shrilly than any lady of genteel upbringing's ought to, but she did not care at all. "You would allow it?"

"What is there to allow?" A divot formed between his brows. "I am not your father nor are you a child whom I am tasked to care for. You do as you please. We are simply companions, enjoying a ride together."

Companions. There was truth in that, surely, but there was also pain, unwanted and sudden. It would be easier to be friends with him rather than be courted by him—it would hurt less, surely, if and when things fell apart. Yet it hurt now to think of him simply as a friend—to continue rumination on these matters would bring only conflict and distance between them, spoiling such a lovely day. Better to focus on the majestic horses in front of her, the handsome man at her side.

"Allow me to introduce you," he said with a sweeping flourish as the grooms readied the horse for riding. "Lady Victoria, meet Lady Lightning. Lightning, Victoria."

She reached out her hand for the pale horse to nuzzle. It released a whiffling noise, and she laughed, more loudly than she intended to.

"And the other racehorse we have is Bolt," he informed her, and now she didn't bother to stifle her giggle at the sight of the dark horse, the complete opposite of Lightning.

"A matched pair, are they?" Victoria asked with a grin.

"I named them perhaps ten years ago," he admitted. "So I will confess that their names are not the most... inspired."

She let out a full-blown laugh this time. "I wish to challenge you to a race."

"Any stakes?" Francisco asked, agreeing easily.

Victoria pursed her lips, leaning against the wooden gate of the stable, looking up at him. She felt very brave, suddenly, a shadow of the girl she had been before flickering to life. "If I win, I want a secret of yours."

Was it only her imagination or did some worry, some guilt pass boring his dark eyes? "And if I win..."

She felt her breath hitch, her heart stop while she waited for his answer.

"A kiss," he suggested, a coy smirk on his face. The nearest hint, a ghost of a real smile, but it affected her all the same. "If the lady agrees?"

"Your stakes mean nothing to me," she said, courage trickling through her veins like blood. "I am destined to win."

• • •

Lightning did live up to her name. Victoria felt as though she were flying, felt as light as a bird, leaving behind all her troubles and all her worries... as well as Francisco. Laughter escaped her lips, free of anxiety and self-consciousness as she was now, the wind whipping through her unbound hair and ruffling her clothes. When she rode, she did not use a sidesaddle as most ladies did but with a standard one, utilizing her split skirts.

"I won!" she shouted. She yanked on the reins, pulling Lightning to a stop, her heart still hammering as hard as the horse's hooves had been on the ground. Silence descended, save for the sounds of insects buzzing and birds chirping. "Francisco?"

There was no answer; her breathing quickened, the sound seeming to grow so loud that it was all she could hear. Tori gritted her teeth, willing herself not to be frightened. She had, after all, been riding at a very high velocity, so he could have simply been left behind... 

Just as she had formed that thought, a dark shape came barreling past her, a triumphant chuckle ringing in her ears. It was Francisco, on Bolt. "We haven't reached the clearing. The race isn't over yet, Tori!"

Victoria urged Lightning onward, though she was unsure of the terrain that lay ahead, though this was surely beyond the boundary of the Mendozas' property... She cared for nothing but the horse beneath her, for nothing but the freedom that sang in her bones as it had not for a long time. And she was beginning to regret that decision, that recklessness, when she emerged from the thickets of jungle and saw not a clearing as she had expected, but a pool of water. There was no time to stop, only to squeeze her eyes shut and hope, pray, for a miracle—

She sailed off of the racehorse and landed in the water. Spluttering, her clothes soaked and hair plastering to her face in clumps, Victoria emerged. She heard laughter, and felt something warm brush her shoulder.

Francisco, standing on the edge of the pond, his hand extended to hers. He was equally drenched, yet made it seem handsome, alluring. "Won't you let me help you up, my lady?"

"Did you know this was going to be here?" she asked, her happiness fading to annoyance. "Did you?"

"Well..." He looked uncomfortable for the first time she had since she had met him. "I—"

She took his hand and pulled with all her might, dragging him down into the water with her. Victoria emitted a shriek that was the least of the unladylike acts she had committed today.

"I am going to drown you!" She screamed, struggling to keep afloat.

Adrenaline rushed through her; the water was cold but Francisco was warm, his skin golden in the sunlight and looking unfairly attractive, whereas she likely resembled a drowned rat. He easily put an end to her struggles, lifting her kicking and screaming over his shoulder.

"I hate you!" She ineffectually hit at the small of his back, not really meaning it, not really meaning any of the horrid things she said.

But there was passion there, a fire that seemed to have been rekindled by him, that burned fiercely under her skin and refused to be extinguished again. He gripped her waist, his hands never wandering to some more indecent place as he waded out of the pond, dripping water onto the grass. Francisco gently set her down on the bank, sitting next to her. Their clothes were uncomfortably damp; she saw him peel off his jacket and felt her heart lurch.

"What are you doing?" Victoria felt some small part of her ladylike, genteel upbringing return to her. "Put that back on!"

He gave her a crooked grin. "I am attempting to get warm. I will catch cold in these damp clothes, and then die as low agonizing death of consumption. Do you truly want to have a man's death on your hands?"

"I won the race," she said, changing the subject and looking away from the way his sopping wet shirt clung to his well-defined chest and arms. "I can ask you a secret."

"No," he argued. "I won the race—hence why I was there to help you out of the pond, not that you were very grateful about it."

"Why should I thank the man who was the cause of my near-drowning?" Victoria challenged, wringing out the linen material of her split skirts. It would wrinkle terribly once dry, but she was more concerned with getting dry in the first place.

He released a heaving sigh that seemed more playful than really burdened. "You were not close to death. I would have saved you."

"And what if you had not?" The hysteria in her voice was real now. "What if we had drowned? The both of us?"

"Victoria." He put a hand on her back, rubbing slowly in soothing circles. She pushed him away. She did not know what she wanted, but it was not to be soothed. She wanted to be angry, to be fuming, even if it made no sense, even if it was pointless.

"I loved someone, once," she murmured softly. "Or at least, I thought I did. But I risked my life for him, and he loved another woman."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry that he did not love you enough to care."

"But what I loved about him," she continued as though he had not spoken, "was that he made me feel free. He was exciting and he was my secret, a secret I kept until he married someone else. You make me feel as though I am truly, truly alive, and as though I am invincible. But I do not want that. I don't want a love like that anymore. I want security. Stability—"

"Or are you scared, Victoria?" Francisco wondered aloud. He was half-dressed now, jacket and shirt hung up on a tree branch above their heads. She tried, and failed, not to let her gaze drop to the contours of his torso. "Are you scared of being hurt? Do you really want someone to ground you? Or are you a trapped bird whose cage has just been opened, yet you are still blind to the way out?"

She considered his words. Thought on them, and found them to strike a chord in her, of some emotion that she had locked away and buried in order to avoid them. In order to satisfy her fear of rejection, of loneliness, of the unknown, and yet it would not whet her appetite for adventure if she allowed those desires--the desire for him--to go unfulfilled.

His hand reached out, slowly enough to give her time to move away. She did not shy away, did not back down, as he cupped her face gently. "I won the race, didn't I?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice breaking, unsure of exactly what it was that she agreed to. "Yes."

Francisco leaned in and kissed her. It was gentle, not the least bit harsh or demanding, and could even be considered chaste... Yet it  made her feel as though she were truly, truly flying. She tangled her hands in her hair, and felt him bite down on her lip savagely, as though surprised, as though she had hit a nerve. Victoria pulled away, and saw blood on her palm where it had brushed his ear.

"What is--are you injured?" she asked, a numb feeling overtaking her body.

"No," he reassured her. "I am fine, Victoria."

"Then why on earth are you bleeding?" She reached up to look at his ear. "Let me see it."

"I said I was fine!" That was the first time she had heard him use such a cold voice; it made her stumble back, eyes wide. 

"I was only attempting to help," she said, perhaps a bit petulantly. 

"I know." His tone softened. "It is truly nothing. I mean it. I am not injured."

"So one of your hobbies is spontaneous bleeding?" She folded her arms over her chest, her damp sleeves falling over her fingers. 

"I..." he gave a bereaved sigh. "I pierced my ear."

"If you are expecting me to call you a rogue, or a pirate--"

He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed again. "I am not.

"Then you shall be waiting a millennium or two," she went on. "I am far from a proper lady myself, and any gentleman who courts me--"

Victoria stopped herself. A grin overtook Francisco's face. "Are you calling this a courtship?"

"I thought you called us companions," she countered. 

"Well, then, Lady Victoria Rutherford..." he stood, and offered her his hand once again. "Will you accept my hand in courtship?"

She stood with him, accepting his hand. "I shall."