Fair Juno by Stephanie Laurens

features held a touch of harshness, but the impression might be due to his tan. Helen blinked and found his grey eyes laughingly quizzing her. She prayed her blush was not detectable. ‘I’m so sorry. You should have woken me earlier.’
    ‘No matter.’ Martin reached for the harness he had left on the wall of the stall. He had wondered what colour her eyes would prove to be in daylight. Pools of amber and limpid green highlighted with gold, they were the most striking features of a remarkably striking package. He thanked his stars he had not seen her in daylight before being forced to spend a night by her side. Her blush suggested she felt much the same. Martin knew for a certainty that relaxing with rakes was much easier in the dark but he did not want her to retreat behind a correct façade. He smiled and was relieved when she smiled back. ‘The roads are only just dry enough to attempt the curricle.’
    Helen followed him outside, pausing to breathe deeply of the fresh morning air. She saw him struggling to harness the restive horses and went forward to help, approaching steadily so as not to spook the highly strung beasts. Catching hold of the bit of the nearside horse, she crooned sweet nothings and stroked the velvet nose.
    Martin nodded his approval, pleasantly surprised by her practical assistance. Together, they efficiently hitched the pair to the curricle.
    Holding the reins, he went to her side, intending to lift her to the box seat.
    ‘Er—I left the blanket and your coat in the loft.’ The words tumbled out. Helen prayed that he would not notice her fluster. Panic had risen to claim her at the mere thought of him touching her again. After the past ten minutes’ surreptitious observation, she could not understand how she had had the nerve to survive the night.
    One black brow rose; the grey eyes rested thoughtfully on her face. Then he handed her the reins. ‘I’ll get them. Don’t try to move ’em.’
    He was back in two minutes, but by then she had steeled herself for the ordeal. He stowed the blanket and coat behind the seat, then reached for the reins. Helen relinquished them. An instant later, his hands fastened about her waist. A moment of weightlessness followed, before she was deposited, gently, on the seat.
    As she fussed about, settling her skirts, Helen reflected that new experiences were always unsettling. Just what it was she felt every time he touched her she could not have said—but she had no doubt it was scandalous. And delicious. And very likely addictive, as well. Doubtless, it was one of those tricks rakes had at their fingertips, to make susceptible women their slaves. Not that her late and wholly unlamented husband had had the facility. Then again, she amended, giving the devil his due, Arthur had never hadmuch time for her, the gawky sixteen-year old he had wed for her fortune and supplanted within weeks with a more experienced courtesan. However, none of the countless admirers she had had since her return to social acceptability had ever affected her as Martin Willesden did.
    The curricle jerked into motion. Her eyes fell to his hands, long, strong fingers managing the reins. His ability probably owed more to his undeniable experience—the experience that glowed in the smouldering depths of those grey eyes. Whatever it was, wherever its origin, he was dangerous—a fact she should strive to remember.
    The sun found her face; Helen tilted her head up and breathed in the fresh scent of rain-washed greenery. Her mental homily was undoubtedly apt, but, try as she might, she could not take the threat seriously. This was an adventure, her first in years. She was reluctant to allow strictures, however appropriate, to mar the joy. The situation was, after all, beyond outrageous; decorum and social niceties had necessarily been set aside. Why shouldn’t she enjoy the freedom of the moment?
    ‘We should reach Ilchester for a late breakfast.’
    Helen wished he had not mentioned food.