Waking Up With the Duke by Lorraine Heath Page A

ordering her about, but neither could she deny the wisdom in his words. The last thing she needed was to be incapacitated when she had so many guests to see after. So she stayed where she was, gingerly testing her own foot. Surely it would be fine by evening.
    She watched as Ainsley removed his gloves. To provide more comfort to the horse, she supposed. His fingers were long, elegant, his hands large. He stroked Cassie’s withers, murmuring softly, giving all his attention to the horse as though it were the most important creature in the world. She suspected he did the same with the ladies who warmed his bed. She did not want to consider what it might be like to have those capable hands skimming over her flesh. It had been so long, so very long, since she’d been caressed intimately. Walfort seldom touched her without her initiating the contact, and then it was merely a brief joining of their hands or a quick brush of his knuckles over her cheek. She doubted that Ainsley would do anything swiftly. He would linger, entice, stir passion to life. She couldn’t hear the words with which he soothed the horse, but the rich timbre of his voice carried toward her, sending shivers of such intense yearning through her that she nearly lost her balance.
    Taking a deep shaky breath, she gathered herself up. It was only because of Walfort’s stupid proposal and Ainsley’s inappropriate words on the bench in the garden last night that her mind was wandering to these dark, forbidden places where she’d long ago buried her desires. Through gritted teeth, she cursed them both soundly.
    Unfortunately, at that moment Ainsley crouched, his breeches stretching tightly over his backside and muscular thighs. It was quite obvious that he did not spend his entire day indoors. He did not lollygag about. He was firm and sculpted as though by the hand of a great artist. She imagined how the ladies must have taken such delight in running their own hands over a body that was certain to please.
    Good Lord, it was suddenly so remarkably hot. What strange weather they were experiencing this year.
    He gingerly examined Cassie’s leg, and Jayne lamented that she’d been so quick to brush off his wanting to ascertain the extent of her injury. To have him knead her calf, her foot . . . to simply be touched with tenderness. She longed to have it in her life once more. Perhaps she should consider taking a lover. Although Walfort might not be so keen to accept a child who didn’t carry Seymour blood.
    “How—” Surprised by the strangled sound, she cleared her throat. “How does she fare?”
    Still crouched, he twisted around, the front of his breeches much more impressive than the back. She jerked her gaze up to his, expecting to see him mocking her, but if he had any notion regarding where her eyes—and thoughts—had strayed, he gave no indication. A spark of gratitude she didn’t want to feel wormed its way through her.
    “Fortunately, it’s not broken. Just a slight sprain I think. But she’ll need to be walked back to the stables. I can do that if you’d like to take my horse.”
    “A lady does not ride astride.”
    “I can replace my saddle with yours.” He unfolded his body, a study in perfect balance and movement. “Although to be honest, I’ve always thought the sidesaddle looked like a torture device.” She detected a slight challenge in his gaze.
    How did he know that she’d long yearned to ride astride? It seemed a much more pleasant way to travel, but to spread her legs over the horse, in front of Ainsley—it seemed like a rather naughty endeavor. “I’ll walk her back.”
    “Coward.” His voice was low, yet teasing.
    “I’m not,” she insisted. She glanced around for her riding crop, located and retrieved it. If he continued down this path, she might use it on him.
    “I’ll at least accompany you back to the manor,” he said.
    “I see no need. I’m quite familiar with our grounds.”
    “I must insist. The bore