Page 64 of A Rake's Redemption
“I…I don’t know, my lady,” Fern replied. “Elsie came down the hall and I had to move.”
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.Why couldn’t the stupid maid have remained a moment longer? This was unacceptable. The only mistress Alexander Ashley would be having in the future was Miranda.
The Duke of Dansworth’s ball was in less than a month, but Inis would not be attending. Miranda directed another smile at Fern.
“I will have one more assignment for you.”
…
“I really doona like a sidesaddle,” Inis said two afternoons later as she and Alex rode toward Hyde Park.
Alex gave her a muted look, and she supposed she shouldn’t be grumbling. He had, after all,finallyagreed to let her take Goldie back to the park. But the blasted saddle with its high horn meant to keep her leg in place was uncomfortable and unbalanced her. Goldie was also sidling sideways, unused to the uneven weight.
“As I mentioned several days ago, I am trying to establish you as a lady. And ladies ride sidesaddle in proper habits with divided skirts.”
The divided skirt was another thing Inis didn’t like, but she held her tongue. It was bulky compared to the breeches that hugged her legs. Not only did the extra material get in her way, but she was constantly having to tug the hem down so her half boot or—heaven forbid—her calf would not show.
“We could have come early this morning when thetonwas still lolling abed,” Inis said. “No one would have seen us.”
“But that’s precisely the point,” Alex answered. “I want you seen in public several times before the ball, albeit under carefully controlled conditions.”
What he meant wasguardedconditions, although Inis wasn’t about to argue. The fewer times she had to mingle or interact with theton, the better. The short exchange at the theatre had given her an idea of the kind of interrogation she would face at a whole evening of exposure. She’d already started considering which far-flung O’Briens who had vague claim to old titles she might use to cast a red herring across the path of inquiry, but she would still have to be careful not to give away too much information.
“You do agree with me that your image should be improved in time for George’s ball? And that we are on a short schedule?” Alex asked as they rode through the Alexandra Gate.
“I suppose,” Inis said and then widened her eyes as she looked to her right. “Is that a race track? I dinna see it the last time we were here.”
“That’s Rotten Row, not a sanctioned track,” he answered as two young hellions galloped by. How many times had his father berated him for doing the same thing? Too many to count.
“I want to try,” Inis said.
“Try what?”
“Racing. Well, galloping. If Caroline and your friend are going to spread it about that I rode in breeches on a dare, I canna just change into a meek bit of fluff, can I? Besides, I want to see how Goldie handles the sidesaddle.” Inis tapped the filly’s flanks. “Come on.”
“Wait. You cannot…” Alex found himself talking to the wind. He nudged his gelding forward and, unlike his stallion, the horse broke into a frustrating, slow canter.
His scalp prickled a split second before he saw the catastrophe about to take place. A carriage entering through Albert Gate began to cross the track. He saw Inis attempt to rein in, but Goldie shied, leaping sideways. Inis swayed in the sidesaddle, and Alex could see her fighting for balance. He cursed as he kicked the gelding to a gallop, but he was too late. Inis flew forward over the filly’s withers and landed with a solid thud on the ground. Goldie halted and hung her head.
Alex slid off his horse before it came to a complete stop beside the filly and dropped to the ground beside Inis. She looked dazed and then grimaced at him.
“Don’t move,” Alex said as he slid his hands over her shoulders and arms and checked her ribs. His fingers wanted to linger there, but he made himself slide his hands along her legs to check for broken bones.
A part of his brain reminded him he’d done a similar examination of her body when she fell down the stairs. It seemed the only times he could touch her the way he really wanted to were times when those thoughts shouldn’t even be intruding. But he couldn’t deny his desire for her was growing.
A crowd was gathering as Inis sat up, attempting to untangle her skirts. One side had hiked up, and Alex tugged the hemline down. It was an improper move on his part—much too intimate—but he was not about to leave nearly her whole leg uncovered for the gapers in the group. He helped her stand, felt her wobble a bit, and put a supporting arm around her waist. Another highly inappropriate move, but he didn’t really care.
“We can take her home in the carriage,” the woman whose husband caused the accident called out.
Alex turned, for the first time recognizing the man as the Earl of Pickford, one of George’s cronies whose wife Alex had thankfully not seduced.
“She will ride with me,” Alex said, lifting Inis before she could protest and putting her on the gelding’s back, then vaulting up behind her. The countess gasped.
At any other time, Alex would have grinned as he leaned over to catch Goldie’s reins. Within the hour, the gossip would be spreading about his mysterious houseguest and his totally improper behavior, but for now all Alex wanted to do was get Inis home and tucked safely into his—her—bed. To rest, of course.
As they rode away, he realized what he really wanted was Inis in his bed.
…
