Beyond Innocence by Emma Holly Page A

brother and, despite Edward's wooden manner, she could see the sentiment was returned.
Nor could she fault Edward's politeness. Everywhere they went, he introduced her as their cousin.
Shy as she was, she couldn't help being gratified at being seen with these impressive men.
    If only the elder of the two could have been a little warmer!
    He was not ugly, she decided. To be sure, his build wasn't as lithe as Freddie's, but he was every bit as tall. His shoulders were broader, his limbs heavier and more powerful. His face was interesting if
one looked past his glower. His expression had an intensity and an intelligence which was impossible to ignore. True, his brows overhung his eyes, and his nose was as sharp as Aunt Hypatia's. His forehead, however, was truly noble, his jaw strong, and the most exacting critic of human beauty could not have found fault with the sensual perfection of his mouth.
    His hands, she thought with a peculiar inward shiver, were also nice. They were large and careful and capable. She found it hard to imagine the task they could not do.
    When they all went riding in Rotten Row, her pride in the brothers' company was so great she felt the glow of it in her cheeks. Freddie's style turned every eye and Edward, who rode a magnificent, deep-chested black stallion, was so imposing the other horses sidled away at his approach. His hands seemed barely to move upon the reins. Freddie's gelding frisked with high spirits, but Edward's horse behaved as if he were too proud to do anything except precisely what Edward asked. Florence found this astonishing. In her experience, stallions were rarely fit for anyone but madmen and braggarts to ride—and Edward was clearly neither. He called the beast Samson, for his long caramel-colored mane.
    Florence 's bay mare, leased from a local stable, seemed inordinately fond of the big black horse. She was a pretty creature, with a gait as light as a cat's, but if Florence 's attention strayed for even a moment, she would shoulder over to Samson and rub her muzzle against his neck.
    "She's in love," Freddie teased the dozenth time Florence tried to wrestle the mare away. "Edward, you'll have to bring Buttercup back to Greystowe for Samson's harem."
    Florence had heard such talk before, of course. Back home, horses and their breeding were as great a topic of conversation as the weather. Nothing Freddie said should have embarrassed her. For some reason, though, maybe because Edward's eyes were on her, or because the mare chose that moment to press even more amorously into Samson's side, a great wash of heat poured through her limbs. From head to toe, her body pulsed with the fiery tide. Florence had never experienced the like. Sweat prickled between her breasts and where her thigh was jammed against Edward's burned as if his leg were made of coal.
    With a soft cry, she thrust out her hand to keep from being crushed between their mounts. Her palm caught Edward's hip, right where his buff-colored breeches stretched across his groin. His leg was harder than she expected. Her fingers curled in reaction and, as a muscle shifted abruptly beneath her touch, the strange throbbing heat intensified inside her.
    Edward wrenched away with a curse. "For God's sake," he exclaimed, his color high, "watch where you lay your hand."
    "I—I—"said Florence , but before she could get the apology out, he was tearing through the trees towards the Serpentine's banks, clods of turf kicking up beneath Samson's hooves.
    Mortified, Florence tried to contain her tears. In all her life no one had spoken to her so coldly. Of course, she could not deny she deserved it. He must think her twice the fool: first for not controlling
her horse and second for having the temerity to touch him where no lady should. That she hadn't meant to hardly mattered . Worst of all, there were witnesses to her shame. Two young women in jaunty feathered hats had stopped beside the sandy path, and now were tittering behind