Shining Threads by Audrey Howard Page B

had seen before. He could do no more than stand and stare, mouth slack and eyes wide with astonishment, since she was wearing a shirt and
breeches more suitable to a male than a female.
    ‘Where’s that boy?’ she shouted, her clear voice carrying above the crash of hooves on the cobblestones, the cries of the men and the creak of the pulley which was being used
to winch some machinery to the first floor of the mill.
    From across the yard a young lad darted amongst the activity, avoiding men and carts and horses until he reached the girl, catching the reins as she threw them at him, pulling the peak of his
cap as he did so.
    ‘Give her a good rub down, Sam. I shall be here for about half an hour and she’s hot. We’ve been out since dawn up to Longworth Moor.”
    ‘Yes, Miss Tessa.’
    Miss Tessa! Miss Tessa Harrison! He should have known, of course, for who else could it be? This was the girl about whom the manufacturing class of the whole of the Penfold Valley
whispered and, by God, he could see why. He stared quite openly, unable to do anything else since she was undeniably the most magnificent young woman he had ever seen. Any female so dressed would
be bound to attract attention but it was not just her clothing which drew every male eye in the yard to her, though that was indecent enough. It was the way she tossed her imperious head, the
defiant stare which did not really see the low-born beings about her, the square and challenging set to her shoulders and the graceful way she strode across the yard towards him, masculine
in its arrogance and yet eternally female in its fluid movement. There was insolence written in every line of her taut young body but its symmetry was spellbinding to these men whose own wives
revealed little of their bodies to them, and then more than likely only when the candle had been blown out. Her young breasts, unbound beneath the silk of her shirt, bounced joyously as she walked
and Will felt his breath catch in his throat.
    Bloody hell! How did she get away with it? She must be no more than sixteen – that was what the clerk in the counting house had told him – the daughter of a well-known and
well-regarded woman, the niece of one of the wealthiest men in south Lancashire. A female of her class could lose not only her reputation but with it the chance of a good marriage which was her
destiny in life, so he had heard, if she were to be seen talking, unchaperoned, to a man who was not a close relative. Not a whisper of gossip, even of the most innocent, must touch her. She would
be guarded like a precious jewel, always accompanied by another lady and never, never allowed to be alone with a gentleman, not even the one she would marry. Dressed like schoolgirls in modest
gowns were the ones he had seen in their carriages, usually in white, bonneted, gloved, every inch of flesh which might be considered indecent hidden from sight and not even the turn of an
ankle revealed to any man until they were married.
    But Miss Tessa Harrison’s legs, the soft curve of her booted calf, the long, firm muscles of her thigh, the twin globes of her buttocks, all rippled beneath the fine stuff of her breeches
and her eyes looked challengingly into his, not caring, or so it appeared, for her own reputation, nor indeed considering whether she had one.
    When she reached where he still stood rooted to the bottom step of the stairway which led up to the counting house, she stopped. There was a deep silence for several tense moments as she waited
for him to move aside. Her gleaming grey eyes, or were they silver he wondered in awe and confusion, cat’s eyes, the pupils outlined with a thin black line, stared directly into his. In that
first fleeting moment he felt a strong urge to step hurriedly out of her path, to fumble with his forelock as the inferior orders were expected to do to those above them, to go bright red and mouth
some humble greetings – but something in him would not allow