Page 16 of My Rogue, My Ruin
“Briannon,” he said, grasping the bridle. Her eyes widened at the familiar use of her name.
“Release my horse at once,” she said.
His fingers tightened on the reins. “As a gentleman, I cannot in good conscience allow a lady to ride home unescorted in such…charmingattire. I must insist on escorting you.”
He watched her struggle to gather an immediate response, which would have most likely been as salty as the look on her face. She took a deep breath, and though Archer kept his eyes locked with hers, he still enjoyed the heave of her chest.
“Fine,” she managed to grind out through clenched teeth. “Where is your horse?”
“I don’t have one.”
“But you’ve injured your ankle, and we’re miles away from either of our homes. How do you mean to—” Her voice broke off as she took his meaning. “Oh. But it’s…well, it’s indecent.”
As if riding a horse bareback in men’s breeches was not.
“Very well. If you wish me to hobble along on my one good ankle…” Archer began with purposeful melodrama, warming to his ploy.
“Of course not,” Briannon quickly said, worrying her bottom lip. It was luscious and full, and Archer had to force his gaze elsewhere as a sudden desire to tug that lip between his own overtook him. “But…but as you’ve pointed out, I don’t have a saddle.”
“I don’t require one, either,” Archer said, enjoying her most fiery blush yet.
What he was suggesting was highly inappropriate, but there was no chance in hell Archer was going to allow her to go riding off alone looking like that. These forests might have been divided between their two estates, but that didn’t mean there weren’t trespassers from time to time.
“And as far as indecency, I’m sure I don’t need to provide you with a lesson on decorum. I think it’s safe to say that we are now far past that. Frankly, I am injured. I turned my ankle trying to get to you before that boar. You would be doing me a great service, and I would be in your debt.”
Everything inside him warned that this was a terrible idea, but his body buzzed with excitement at the scintillating prospect. “It will be faster. You won’t come to any harm, I promise you. Think of it as us waltzing. It will be over before you know it.”
Briannon seemed unconvinced, but eventually, she nodded. “Fine. But if you fall off, I am not responsible.”
Fall off.If he managed to do something that inept, he had better split his head on a rock and be done with it.
“Agreed.”
He pulled himself up behind her rigid body and Briannon turned the reins expertly, the horse cantering toward the thick wood. Archer tried to hold himself away from her, but the minute the horse’s natural gait took over, the space between their bodies disappeared. Hewasgoing to fall off if he didn’t hold on to something. It was either going to be her or the horse. Mindful of the situation, he slid his arms below hers and grabbed hold of the reins.
She twisted to see him. “What are you doing?”
“Would you rather I put my hands about your waist?”
If it were possible, her body grew more rigid as she faced forward again. “They are fine where they are.”
He almost grinned at the prim comment, but then Briannon clicked at the horse, and they were flying through the woods, jumping fallen logs with ease. She rode with the natural ease of a born athlete, Archer noticed, her movements fluid with those of the horse…and with him. His body rocked in tune with hers as they soared over the jumps, and he fought to keep himself from responding to the seductive motion of her trim hips bracing against his thighs. Archer ground his teeth together, suppressing the immediate carnal response of his body.
“Where did you learn to ride without a saddle?” he asked to distract the train of his thoughts.
“Gray.”
It seemed Lord Northridge had taught his little sister all manner of strange pursuits. Distracted by windblown movement across Briannon’s slender nape, Archer inspected the scattered strawberry-blond tendrils of her hair that had escaped from her tweed cap. He had an indescribable urge to wind his fingers through the strands, but of course, kept his hands firmly on the reins. Archer eased back on them, Briannon’s own hands fisted lightly in the mare’s chestnut mane, and their mount slowed. There was no rush to return her to her family just yet.
“May I inquire as to why you chose to dress as a man for this morning ride of yours?” he asked.
She was already sitting as inflexible as a maypole, but right then he felt her stiffen even more.
“I did not think I would meet with anyone.”
And riding astride would have been impossible in a skirt, Archer guessed.
“What will your mother say, I wonder, when you return home in your brother’s clothes with a man upon your horse?”
