Because I knew no one had ever broken Elena Lombardi. That fucker Daniel Sinclair hadn’t even come close. I’d grown up around horses in England, learned to ride about the same time I learned to walk, and I knew all about the wild, willful beasts. Elena reminded me of an Arabian, she had all the raw power and majesty of the stead, but someone had mistreated her, taught her to bite and shy away from the rider. I knew with the right training and a patient master, she would be glorious.
