Meet Merlin. As though the creature were of some account to him, like his dog. Christy watched, fascinated, as Lord Braybrook petted the old horse…something told her Merlin was no longer in the first flush of youth. His lordship’s hands were gentle, rubbing the ears, stroking the arched neck. Then something was produced from a pocket and whiffled up out of his hand with an appreciative crunch and snort.
‘Come.’ His lordship spoke abruptly. ‘Hold out your hand. Quite flat and still.’ She obeyed and he placed a sugar lump on her palm. Horrified, she stared at it. Old though he might be, judging by the noise he’d made munching the last lump, Merlin had teeth. Large ones. In perfect working order. But before she could protest, or drop the sugar, soft whiskery lips took the treat with amazing delicacy. The teeth, again, dealt with the offering in a fashion anything but delicate.
A delighted thrill went through Christy. Without thinking she stroked the long nose and found it velvety. Liquid dark eyes blinked at her wisely, and then…that same velvet nose was shoved against her chest and rubbed up and down with great enthusiasm.
Caught unawares, Christy staggered back hard against an immovable wall. A wall with arms that steadied her effortlessly. A shocking warmth stole through her and for one heart- stopping instant she relished the male strength surrounding her. A delight promptly banished by hot embarrassment, but before she could react, strong hands grasped her shoulders and eased her away.
‘I beg your pardon, Miss Daventry,’ said his lordship in obvious amusement. ‘Merlin is a gentleman, but he is very fond of sugar. Are you all right?’
‘Perfectly,’ she said, ignoring her racing pulse.
Davy, from his perch on the little chestnut, said in pleased tones, ‘Look, Julian! Merlin has slobbered all over her chest.’
Christy looked down. Sure enough the braided front was a mess. She gulped and met laughing blue eyes that were pointedly not looking at her…chest.
‘Don’t worry, Miss Daventry. I’m sure it will come off.’
‘But, Lady Braybrook won’t like—’
‘Nonsense,’ said Lord Braybrook. ‘She always grumbled about that trick of Merlin’s. He has slobbered on it before. Besides, she gave you the habit. It’s yours now.’
Christy flushed. Besides the habit, Lady Braybrook had given her a number of gowns, saying she never wore them and that they were unsuitable for Lissy. They were even more unsuitable for the governess. Of course, a lady’s maid was given her mistress’s cast-offs, so perhaps it wasn’t too improper.
‘Can we go? Please?’ begged Davy.
Matthew had mounted, and one of the grooms was about to put Lissy up. Christy gulped as the groom linked his hands for Lissy’s booted foot and threw the girl into her saddle. Dear God. If he did that to her, she would go straight over the saddle and land on the ground.
‘Miss Daventry?’
Lord Braybrook’s voice sounded oddly distant.
‘Is there…is there not a mounting block? I don’t think the way Miss Trentham was—’
‘I’ll put you up, Miss Daventry.’
Unresisting, she was led around to the saddle. Balanced against Merlin’s side, clutching the stirrup, she lifted a foot. His hands grasped her waist and lifted her. She gasped, and found herself perched on the saddle. For a moment his hands stayed at her waist, then dropped to her hip, steadying her. That was all. Wasn’t it? Her body hummed, as if…as if he had caressed her. Nonsense! He was making sure she was safely in place. She sat up as straight as possible, and the disturbing hands released her. She sighed in relief, thinking her ordeal over.
Wrong. His lordship was busy arranging her right leg safely over the pommel, long fingers gripping her knee as he pushed it into position. She froze, desperately trying to ignore the intimacy of his touch. Ridiculous. He was merely showing her how to sit. There was nothing intimate about it. Then his hands were on her left ankle as he adjusted her foot in the stirrup. She had to remind herself that she was wearing a boot. That he was not really touching her ankle. More accidental touches as he shortened the stirrup leather. Then he caught her foot again.
‘Keep your heel pushed down, Miss Daventry,’ he instructed, doing it for her. ‘That helps to keep your, er, seat, firmly in the saddle.’
That was a relief to know. She felt like a bug perched up there. Merlin seemed a great deal taller than he had from the ground.
‘Now—your reins.’
Christy looked down at the reins. She had picked them up. She knew that much. But what should she do with them?
His lordship showed her. ‘Just hold them lightly,’ he said, long fingers guiding hers to the right position, and showing her how to shorten the reins. ‘They are not to help you balance. Only to guide him. You must only feel his mouth. A light contact. And keep your thumbs on top.’
Her hands were gloved, but his touch felt just as shockingly intimate as it had on her legs. He stepped back and looked her over. She blushed.
‘Very well. At least you don’t have to be told to keep your back straight,’ he commented. He walked around to his own horse and mounted with fluid grace.
Ridiculous to glow at such off-hand praise. Determinedly she sat even straighter in the saddle.
Merlin snorted and took a couple of steps. Stifling a gasp, as her balance shifted, Christy clutched at the saddle, but Merlin came up against the end of the leading rein and stopped. She straightened at once and glanced across at his lordship, but he seemed not to have noticed.
Any more than he had noticed how scared she was. Stupid. It was years since she had fallen off that horse of Harry’s, and Merlin was much quieter, but still…she forced herself to breathe deeply.
All women had waists, Julian reminded himself. Discovering Miss Daventry’s waist under the slightly-too-large habit might have been a surprise, but not one that should have had his hands lingering, marvelling at the suppleness of the curve, and then drifting to her hip.
With a swift glance at Miss Daventry to assure himself that she was secure in the saddle, he tugged gently at the leading rein and put his own mount into a walk. Miss Daventry’s face blanked as Merlin moved, but she gave no other sign, beyond sitting very straight and still.
He had been trying to believe that Miss Daventry must be as shapeless as her gowns. But she wasn’t. She disguised her body as effectively as she hid her true nature. Under the dowdy clothes she was slender and lissom as a willow. She would be sweet, warm…sweet? Hell’s teeth! If she knew what he was thinking now, and as he settled her in the saddle, she’d be a virago!
Miss Daventry might have an elegant figure and a neatly turned ankle, but she was a bundle of prickles. For which, he admitted, she could not be blamed. A wise woman in her position avoided drawing mens’ attention, unless she wished for a career in the demi-monde. Governesses and companions always held themselves slightly apart.
A lonely existence…
‘Where shall we go,’ asked Lissy, bringing her mare up beside them. ‘Miss Daventry, you choose.’
Julian noted that Miss Daventry looked somewhat startled at being consulted. She demurred.
‘Oh. That’s very kind, Miss Trentham, but I do not know this part of the country at all, so—’
‘I like the river,’ said Davy, hopefully.
Lissy sighed theatrically. ‘Not the river again, Davy!’
‘No, Davy!’ said Emma. ‘Not everyone likes waiting while you watch for trout that never appear.’
Davy