Page 14 of The Mistletoe Countess
The horseman was barely a slip of a person. Lithe. Petite. Who from the party fit such a description?
“Oh, my dear Lord Astley.” The voice coming from the rider sounded oddly familiar—and not at all like a young gentleman. Heat rushed from his body as the stranger swished off the riding cap, releasing a bountiful swath of fiery hair.
Grace Ferguson! His mind drew a complete blank in response.
“What sort of mess have you gotten yourself into this morning?” Her breath puffed into the cool air.
She rode closer, examining him from her perch. All thoughts of her being a young man fled his mind at the sight of her fitted riding suit. “What are you doing all the way out here on foot?” Her gaze widened, and she slipped from the horse. “Oh dear, are you hurt?” Her riding breeches offered a view of her slender legs as she approached. Frederick’s mouth went dry. He averted his gaze.
Grace Ferguson is not Lillias. Grace Ferguson is not Lillias.
“Of course I’m not my sister. She hates riding.”
Had he spoken aloud? Clearly, he was going mad. “You’re…you’re riding astride?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock know my bad habits, but like the best of people, they keep my secrets safely hidden from my father.” Her grin crinkled her nose. “He finds the whole idea of riding unsavory. I’m not sure why. It’s one of the most exhilarating experiences in the whole world.”
His mind shot directly back to their kiss. He cleared his throat. “How is it that you are out so early?”
She gestured toward her breeches, an invitation his wayward gaze didn’t need. “As I said, to truly ride the way I love best, I must do so early enough not to humiliate my family, so as you see, here I am.” He attempted to stand up straighter as she approached, but the shift in weight produced a wince.
“Youarehurt.” She rushed forward but came to a stop just before touching him. He could tell she wanted to, not as a romantic reaction, but in complete abandon to assist. The woman kept him in as much uncertainty of the next action as a feral horse in training.
“I’ll ride to the house for help and be back in half an hour.”
He pressed a hand to his head in a vain attempt to recollect himself. “You can’t get to the house and back in half an hour.”
Her grin took such a playful turn it almost inspired his. “I’ll bet all your pocket change I can.”
He shouldn’t indulge her, but the glimmer in those eyes teased him into action. “I’ll take that wager, Miss Grace.”
She rewarded him with her dazzling smile, pushed the hat back on her head, and with the ease of familiarity—and the assistance of a nearby tree trunk—swung herself back on the horse.
“I shall wait under the shelter of this tree, in the instance the storm arrives before you return.”
She followed his gesture to the horizon, and her face paled. “Oh dear. I…I hate storms, especially thunderstorms.” A flicker of worry puckered her brow. “And it’s coming rather quickly, isn’t it?”
“I’ll be fine with a little rain.”Frozen rain, more like.
“I’m sureyouwill.” She slid from her mount and marched over to him, lips pierced with purpose. “ButIwon’t, because then I’ll worry about you. So let’s ride back together.”
“Ride together?” And his thoughts plummeted to holding her in his arms again. He shook his head. “I don’t think that would leave the best impression with your sister.”
Grace glanced back to the house, her teeth nibbling at her bottom lip. He could almost see her mind working up a solution. She liked solving things, which could be either an asset…or utterly terrifying. “We’ll take the forest trail all the way to the stables.” She tipped a smile over her shoulder. “Besides, why would she ever be jealous of me?”
The poor girl really didn’t see herself as viable competition at all, but with a kiss between them, her presence took up much more residence in his thoughts than it ought. No, she wasn’t as exquisite as her elder sister, but there was a prettiness about her, an intelligence in her expression—and those eyes? They nearly sparkled with, well, he wasn’t certain, but whatever it was, it drew him toward her.
She moved to assist him onto the horse.
“I can mount on my own, Miss Ferguson.” He growled out the words. The very idea of her pushing on any part of his person in assistance made him want to attempt to hop all the way to the house on one leg in escape. He gentled his voice. “If you’ll bring the horse around.”
Gritting his teeth to keep from moaning, he placed the weight on his good leg and slung the painful one over the horse. He gave his throbbing ankle time to settle by adjusting himself in the saddle, and then he turned to his companion, offering his hand. She grinned up at him with such unfurled joy, his lips responded quite helplessly.
With a firm tug, he brought her up to sit in front of him. Wafts of rosemary and mint hinted from her hair, and he almost leaned into the scent, but that meant he’d squeeze even closer to her, and the intimacy of their situation was already nigh unbearable.
“Would you like to take the reins or”—her light voice flittered on the breeze—“I can take the reins and you can…um…hold on to me.”
The very idea of putting his arms around her small waist had him nearly inching off the backside of the horse. “I’ll take the reins.”
