Fox, Hunted

I put my hand atop his. "It's just an excuse for lots of pet dogs, isn't it? Not that that's not reason enough; I adore dogs."

His left hand stayed on my thigh, sliding a bit higher; the other touched under my chin as he looked into my eyes. I met his gaze shyly. He was older than me by quite a bit, maybe fifteen years, with sharp features and a subtle smile that never quite went away. His hair and eyes were nearly black. "The hunt ban just means we have to get creative."

I wasn't sure what he was getting at. "Anyway, I'm sure you have lovely foxhounds," I said, "I wish I could meet them. And I'll try to remember not to call them 'dogs' but you may have to remind me again. I may be somewhat tipsy."

"Perhaps you should meet them," said Hector thoughtfully. He looked in the distance for a moment, then back at me. "Are you good at running, Miss Fox?" he asked."