with a questioning gaze. “You will be waiting, won’t you? I shan’t be long.”
“Take all the time you need.” God, he prayed she would leave him standing here all day and never come back. How was a man to keep his sanity, if such delicious baggage sashayed around in clothing that suggested more than it actually showed?
Stormy ran all the way to her rooms. The riding habit of green velvet with ecru piping lay already on the bed. She slipped out of her breeches and into the dress with its divided skirt.
Surely, it was all right to ride astride? She wasn’t about to wrap her knee around the pommel and sit the horse in that ungodly way.
For a second she debated whether she should wear the tiny feathered hat that went with the dress, but she decided against it. It would be in her way, when she raced ahead. And race ahead she would. She would challenge that pompous man. Grinning from ear to ear, she clattered down the curved stairway and bolted out the door.
Her exuberance faded, when she saw the chestnut gelding at the mounting block already saddled with one of those side saddles she so thoroughly despised. Arms akimbo, she tapped one booted foot in a staccato rhythm and stared at André with utter contempt. “You don’t expect me to ride like that across the fields? Surely, you must be jesting. I am used to sitting astride.”
André’s lips compressed into a reproving line. “Mademoiselle, if you wish to be shown about the English countryside, then I must insist that you do so in the manner of the English ladies. Either you sit side-saddle or you may stay home. Better yet, a groom could drive you in the carriage.”
Her eyes sent daggers his way, but she stomped toward the waiting horse and would have mounted him, had André allowed her to do so. But ever the gentleman, despite his rakish looks, he reached for her and lifted her onto the saddle as if she weighed next to nothing.
The warmth of his hands, his scent, and sheer power of him stole her breath. She meekly settled herself in the saddle. Shocked by all the male magnetism, she simply wrapped her knee around the pommel and grabbed the reins. Her heart beat an erratic tattoo, while she fought hard not to let him see that he had managed to shake her self-confidence.
“What’s my mount’s name?” She tossed her head to let him know she wasn’t about to give way meekly.
His lips quirked with mischief, and he didn’t meet her gaze. “I believe it is Sugarplum.”
It was an outright lie, but her disgusted snort gave him a small sense of satisfaction of having put one over on her.
Actually, he hadn’t missed the flash of insecurity in her eyes and it didn’t sit well with him. He really didn’t want to subdue that enticing wild streak in her. He only wanted to tame her a little. Lust curled through him at that thought. Clenching his hands into fists, he rolled his shoulders to loosen their tightness and marched over to his own mount Without a word he vaulted into Rebel’s saddle and rode a few steps ahead.
Stormy watched his straight back and the way he sat his horse with the ease of one who had been born to ride. She was content to let him stay in front, so she could check his backside to her heart’s content.
She grinned. He did indeed have a nice backside and a trim waist. For the first time she truly noticed the breadth of his shoulders. No wonder he was such a magnificent fencer. Her eyes strayed to the dark hair that curled lazily over the collar of this shirt. She envied the wind STORMY HEIDE KATROS
30
the opportunity of ruffling the thick mass, because she itched to run her fingers through it. La, come to think of it, she wished she hadn’t been quite so distraught moments earlier and taken a better look at his chest. She suppressed an impish grin. It was so naughty to think about the glimpse of bare skin the open collar had afforded her. But thoughts were unrestricted, so why shouldn’t she dwell on his superb
“Take all the time you need.” God, he prayed she would leave him standing here all day and never come back. How was a man to keep his sanity, if such delicious baggage sashayed around in clothing that suggested more than it actually showed?
Stormy ran all the way to her rooms. The riding habit of green velvet with ecru piping lay already on the bed. She slipped out of her breeches and into the dress with its divided skirt.
Surely, it was all right to ride astride? She wasn’t about to wrap her knee around the pommel and sit the horse in that ungodly way.
For a second she debated whether she should wear the tiny feathered hat that went with the dress, but she decided against it. It would be in her way, when she raced ahead. And race ahead she would. She would challenge that pompous man. Grinning from ear to ear, she clattered down the curved stairway and bolted out the door.
Her exuberance faded, when she saw the chestnut gelding at the mounting block already saddled with one of those side saddles she so thoroughly despised. Arms akimbo, she tapped one booted foot in a staccato rhythm and stared at André with utter contempt. “You don’t expect me to ride like that across the fields? Surely, you must be jesting. I am used to sitting astride.”
André’s lips compressed into a reproving line. “Mademoiselle, if you wish to be shown about the English countryside, then I must insist that you do so in the manner of the English ladies. Either you sit side-saddle or you may stay home. Better yet, a groom could drive you in the carriage.”
Her eyes sent daggers his way, but she stomped toward the waiting horse and would have mounted him, had André allowed her to do so. But ever the gentleman, despite his rakish looks, he reached for her and lifted her onto the saddle as if she weighed next to nothing.
The warmth of his hands, his scent, and sheer power of him stole her breath. She meekly settled herself in the saddle. Shocked by all the male magnetism, she simply wrapped her knee around the pommel and grabbed the reins. Her heart beat an erratic tattoo, while she fought hard not to let him see that he had managed to shake her self-confidence.
“What’s my mount’s name?” She tossed her head to let him know she wasn’t about to give way meekly.
His lips quirked with mischief, and he didn’t meet her gaze. “I believe it is Sugarplum.”
It was an outright lie, but her disgusted snort gave him a small sense of satisfaction of having put one over on her.
Actually, he hadn’t missed the flash of insecurity in her eyes and it didn’t sit well with him. He really didn’t want to subdue that enticing wild streak in her. He only wanted to tame her a little. Lust curled through him at that thought. Clenching his hands into fists, he rolled his shoulders to loosen their tightness and marched over to his own mount Without a word he vaulted into Rebel’s saddle and rode a few steps ahead.
Stormy watched his straight back and the way he sat his horse with the ease of one who had been born to ride. She was content to let him stay in front, so she could check his backside to her heart’s content.
She grinned. He did indeed have a nice backside and a trim waist. For the first time she truly noticed the breadth of his shoulders. No wonder he was such a magnificent fencer. Her eyes strayed to the dark hair that curled lazily over the collar of this shirt. She envied the wind STORMY HEIDE KATROS
30
the opportunity of ruffling the thick mass, because she itched to run her fingers through it. La, come to think of it, she wished she hadn’t been quite so distraught moments earlier and taken a better look at his chest. She suppressed an impish grin. It was so naughty to think about the glimpse of bare skin the open collar had afforded her. But thoughts were unrestricted, so why shouldn’t she dwell on his superb
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