Page 60 of In the Prince's Bed
As Katherine blushed furiously, Alec dismounted, then reached up to lift her down beside him.
Even after the groom led the horse away, Alec kept his hands firmly on her waist. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you back there in the ring when I—”
“No,” she whispered, still breathless from their kiss.
A faint smile played over his lips. “I could tell you were nervous about letting me skewer the pear, so I improvised.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You broke my rules about kissing.”
His eyes glittered in the light of the field lamps. “That’s what happens when you give me rules.” With a grin, he tugged her closer and lowered his head. “I have to go out of my way to break them.”
With a laugh, she wriggled out of his arms and headed toward the outbuilding where she’d changed clothes earlier. “Rather publicly, don’t you think?”
Catching up to her, he laid his hand possessively on the small of her back. “Were there other people there? I didn’t notice.”
Another laugh bubbled up inside her. “You really are incorrigible.”
“And you’re magnificent.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Am I?” she asked coyly.
What was wrong with her? She was never coy. It must be the cursed costume—it made her feel like someone else, someone free to answer the invitation in his eyes. She reached up to remove her mask, then thought better of it. People still milled around who might connect her with the lady who’d come out here with Lord Iversley.
“I can’t think of any other woman who would adapt so quickly to performing,” Alec said. “You were wonderful. And the audience loved you—I wasn’t the only one eating out of your hand.”
She eyed him askance. “I hardly think my little pantomiming compared to your spectacular riding. No wonder Wellington wanted you to train his cavalry.” She straightened her mask. “I do wish I could ride like that.”
His hand swept up her back. “I meant what I said about teaching you. You’re a good rider. You could master the easier tricks without any trouble.”
“If I had the horse for it.” She sighed. “Even if I did, Mama would never allow it. It’s one thing for me to do something like this on a whim—it’s quite another to make a practice of it.”
“But you won’t always be under your mother’s control. If you marry me, you can do as you please.”
Her head shot around, her gaze locking with his. With a dark smile, he slid his arm to encircle her waist, but before he could do more, the maid who’d dressed Katherine earlier came running up to them from the nearby outbuilding. “Sorry, miss, but I can’t help you dress just now. I have to help the others with the finale.”
“It’s all right,” Katherine said. “I can manage on my own.”
The maid turned to Alec. “And forgive me, sir, but we need your uniform. We can make do without the breeches and Hessians, but—”
“No problem.” Alec removed the plumed hat thing, then stripped off the blue jacket, black stock, and red-and-gold sash of a dragoon officer. “Senhora Encantador is used to theatrical necessity, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He handed the uniform to the maid.
“Of course,” Katherine choked out, the sight of him in shirtsleeves making it hard for her to breathe. “But you do look dashing in it.”
“Any man looks dashing in a uniform,” he retorted.
But no other man could look like Alec, in a uniform or out. Even after the maid scurried off, Katherine couldn’t stop staring at him in his thin linen shirt and form-fitting white breeches, his collar hanging open to reveal a few dark chest hairs.
Goodness, but he was one fine figure of a man. There’d certainly been no padding beneathhiscoat, nor did his shirt appear to hide stays like the ones Papa had worn to hold in his thick belly. It was all pure Alec.
Pure, handsome, tempting Alec.
He knew what he did to her, too, the rascal. As she stared at him, desire leaped in his face. Opening the door to the outbuilding, he pulled her inside and closed the door. The light of the single low-burning lamp revealed a completely deserted dressing room.
Everyone was in the finale except them. She and Alec were alone.
Her heart skipped a beat as he drew her into his arms, then reached for her mask.
“No,” she whispered, staying his hand. “Let me be Senhora Encantador a while longer.” Senhora Encantador could kiss him without reproach, whereas Miss Merivale could not. “Who chose my stage name, anyway?”
