Page 20 of Surrender Your Grace
“When it concerns your safety, yes.”
Upon closing the door, he began unbuttoning her jacket.
Her hands flew up to stop him. “Whatever are you doing?”
“Removing this ridiculous contraption.” He brushed her hands aside and finished unbuttoning her riding jacket then pulled it off her shoulders and started on her blouse.
“You can’t mean to strip me of my clothes here in the stable where anyone could walk in and see,” she protested.
“I’ve no intention of stripping you naked, merely the cage.These cages contort you into unnatural shapes, and I won’t risk you being injured when the boning pokes through.”
“This isn’t the dark ages, Andrew. They no longer use bones, but metal!”
“Even worse,” he declared. “A fall, or even a sudden twist, could cause a fatal impalement by your undergarments.”
“That has never happened. I can assure you.”
“No, you cannot,” he insisted. “You said yourself you aren’t used to riding. I won’t have you galloping throughout the countryside trussed up like a Christmas goose.”
“But without it, people will think I’m loose.”
“If someone looks at you and sees scandal because of a missing corset, I’ll set them straight. Now hold still.” He worked through the buttons with more care than she expected then grimaced at the knotted laces. “Damn women’s trappings.”
She arched a brow.
With rising frustration, he pulled a knife from his boot and sliced the corset free. Linen and steel dropped to the straw-covered floor.
“That was one of my best corsets, I’ll have you know. It was quite expensive.” She huffed at him under her breath.
“Good, not wearing one will save me coins. Your waist is slender enough that you don’t need one, anyway.”
“Not near enough to be fashionable. You’ll have me looking provincial! All the ladies will talk.”
“Let them. I care not.”
“But isn’t that why we married? To prevent scandal?”
“There’s scandal and then there’s nonsense,” he muttered. Then his voice lowered a fraction. “Now, stop grumbling, or I’ll take you over my knee right now.”
“I’d suggest you wouldn’t dare, but I know you would,” she muttered as she glanced around the tack room at the straps and riding crops hanging like sentinels on the walls.
Her mouth snapped shut.
“Smart girl,” Andrew said, approving. He tied and buttoned her riding costume with practiced ease, adjusting the jacket and skirt before placing his hands gently on her waist.
“There. I can easily span your waist without it.”
“You have large hands, my lo—uh, Andrew. I will be mortified if we come across a neighbor or acquaintance.”
His earlier pique evaporated, and he observed in a lighter tone, “We are riding the grounds of our estate, not the fashionable hour in Hyde Park.”
“But in London…”
“I suppose you must,” he conceded, although from his put-upon expression, not liking it. “I would never subject you to gossip or ridicule. Maybe I can propose the outlawing of those ridiculous garments next session in the Lords.”
“You jest. Surely!”
“Do I?” he countered. “Forgive me if I prefer you breathing freely.”
