Love Became Theirs by Barbara Cartland Page B

and she emerged the winner from their battle of wills.
    Henri, who owned the animal, congratulated her.
    "Castor is lively, but you have the trick of making him obey you."
    "Thank you," she said lightly, "but that shouldn't surprise you. A governess has to know the art of commanding obedience, with horses as in everything."
    "Ah yes! In everything! I think, Mademoiselle Governess, that this describes you. You are – now, what is the English word?"
    "Bossy," Rona informed him merrily.
    "Ah yes! Bossy!"
    "But this is an insult," roared the Russian. "A woman doesn't like to be called bossy."
    "That depends how bossy she actually is," Rona pointed out. Meeting Henri's eye with a teasing glance, she added, "she might be glad of it, as a way of signalling the slavish obedience that she expects."
    "You see?" Henri declared triumphantly.
    "Well it seems a strange sort of flirting to me," the Count grumbled.
    "But sometimes," Henri took up her theme, "a man is too obstinate to listen to her. Actually, if we are honest, from the day of his marriage he is struggling to be the head of the house, and not just an obedient man of no distinction in it."
    Rona laughed.
    "I am sure that will never happen to you," she said.
    "I wish I were as certain. I'm afraid, in case I fail, and find myself trampled on by pretty feminine feet."
    "A woman has to be very strong to fight a man," Rona mused. "The best thing is to entice him, so that it's too late before he realises what is happening."
    Henri grinned.
    "You are incorrigible," he said, "and I am really sorry for your husband when you marry, as I'm quite certain you will always get your own way."
    "I'll fight for it," Rona observed, "if I think I'm right – "
    "But a lady always thinks she's in the right," said Peter's voice.
    Somehow he had slipped in behind her, and listened to the conversation.
    "I don't admit that for moment," she retorted. "However I'm always ready to bow to any man whose ideas are better than mine."
    "Aha! And there's the catch," said Peter. "Who decides whose ideas are better? Why, the lady, of course."
    "And that's how it should be," Rona declared, to general laughter.
    Then something happened that took everyone's attention from their merry party. Behind them there were shouts of anger and dismay, galloping hooves, followed by the sound of gunshots. Everyone looked around to see a group of very young men on horseback, tearing down the path at speed, firing pistols into the air as they went.
    Henri made a sound of disgust.
    "They are racing, which is forbidden here. Also they seem to be drunk."
    "In that case, they're probably Englishmen," Peter observed wryly, moving his horse so that he could shield Countess Emilia.
    "I'm sure one of them is Russian," Count Rostoy said, gallantly willing to share the blame. "But whatever they are, it's disgraceful before ladies."
    "You're right," said Henri. "Let us take the ladies aside."
    But before they could move the horsemen were upon them, firing madly into the air, and making a commotion that unsettled the animals. Everyone looked to their mounts, and quietened them, but the horse that became most agitated was Rona's.
    A particularly loud shot made Castor rear so that she had to fight to keep her seat. The next moment he had bolted.
    She had known he was spirited, but as he thundered away she discovered that he was far too strong for her. She fought grimly to hang on, but he resisted all her efforts to control him, or even to guide his direction.
    People fled from her path. She had no idea where she was going, or what was going to happen. She could only cling on and pray.
    She was vaguely aware of two other horses being hard driven and coming up beside her, one each side. She thought the rider on the left was Peter, but she dared not look. It was taking all her skill and concentration to avoid being thrown.
    Then she saw a stretch of water just ahead. She pulled on Castor's head, but he kept pounding on. A man's hand reached out