Page 19 of His Wife, the Spy
He put an arm around her waist and coaxed her to the edge. “I won’t let you fall.”
She trembled with each step, but she took them.
Jasper craned to look over her head and watch the couple battle and flirt as they skimmed close to the cliffs. “Are any of us free, Miss Pearce?”
Her smile faltered, and the shutters muted the sparkle in her eyes. The wind grew colder around them.
“We’re all freer than some, but not as free as others, I suppose.” She turned toward her horse, leaving Jasper to follow as he saw fit.
He bent to help her into the saddle. As expected, she balked.
“I can wait for a stable hand.”
Jasper didn’t relent. “Wareham will cheat and claim his horse was too restless to wait.”
“Fine, then.” She put her foot in his hands and allowed him to help her mount. Her soft wool skirt teased his wrist, and her simple scent was the perfect complement to a spring picnic.
He watched her until she was settled. “Give the mare her head, Miss Pearce. It’s as close as you’ll come to flying today. None will catch her.”
Jasper was still speaking when Wareham leapt with a whoop meant to startle his opponents in the race. “First to the other side of the lake—by land and not by water!”
Jasper charged from the rear, low over Ceff’s neck, the dark mane tickling his cheek. He gave Kit a mocking salute as he sped past.
Only one other rider caught his attention. Annabel had swung wide of the pack. Lying almost flat, she seemed to be floating on her horse’s ribs, as though her riding cane was all that was keeping her steady. She’d lost her hat, and her hair streamed behind her like a banner.
Jasper veered to the left to give chase, and his smile widened as the ground leveled beneath Ceff’s thudding hooves. Annabel had surveyed the course and found the fastest ground, and the safest for her horse.
He arrived at the finish line half a length behind Annabel. Fiona came third, tied with a swearing Raines.
Jasper didn’t know the rest of the rankings. He didn’t even know the basis of the argument that had broken out between Miss Bainbridge and Miss Wallace.
Annabel’s eyes were sparkling over her wide, brilliant smile. Her cheeks were pink from the air, and her loose hair framed her face. She draped over her horse’s neck in a celebratory embrace as they walked to the stables.
“Did you hear me, Rabbit?” Fiona asked.
“Hmm?” Jasper urged Ceff to follow, which took little encouragement. His nose was in the air, searching for the mare’s scent.
Fiona shoved his shoulder. “Did you ask me to take care of Annabel so she’d take care of me?”
He shrugged, and she shoved him again.
“I don’t know whether to be angry that you insist on sheltering me or pleased that you trust me enough to befriend a young lady who has turned your head.”
Jasper glanced at the woman he loved like a sister. She didn’t know everything about his life, and she didn’t need to. If she wanted to think he was besotted with Annabel Pearce, so be it. It would make things easier.
“Tell me everything she said.”
Chapter Five
“No.” Elizabeth spunfrom the mirror for Ruth, the maid, to unlace yet another gown. “I need something that will catch the marquess’s attention, since I was shunted to the garden this morning.”
Annabel took the moment to survey her own reflection, frowning at the gray dinner dress. She’d chosen a fabric with a shadowy pattern to make it seem less institutional and governess-like, but everything seemed drab after spending the morning on horseback in her riding habit—racing, no less.
She’d won that race and Fiona Allen’s friendship—and the attention of the man every woman wanted. Annabel could still feel his arm around her waist and see his wild smile as they’d raced side by side.
She paid for her fun all afternoon, whispered about by the young ladies and ostracized by their chaperones. Even the guests who hadn’t been there were punishing her, especially Elizabeth. No amount of praise for her painting, and it had been sincere, had stirred her from her sulk.
“You should have known there would be a picnic.” Elizabeth twisted one of her curls into place, sparking Annabel’s memories of when her hair had been in something other than braids and pins that scraped her scalp.
