Page 7 of Marry in Scarlet
“Does his lordship know ye’re going out in public like that?”
George grinned. “It’s Hampstead Heath. I want a proper ride.”
“It’s no’ fitting, Lady Georgiana, ye know that.”
“It’s a split skirt, see.” She flipped up one of the panels of cloth that just barely covered her breeches.
He snorted. “It’s a man’s saddle.”
“No, really?” she said sounding amazed. “And yet here I am, mounted and ready.”
He’d opened his mouth to argue, but she’d cut him off. “Oh, don’t be stuffy, Kirk. You know perfectly well I’ve ridden astride dozens of times—even when Cal’s been with me.”
“Aye, at dawn,” he said. “When there’s no’ a soul about. But it’s broad daylight and we’ll be riding through the streets. Ye’ll cause a scandal, Lady Georgiana.”
“Pooh, nobody will recognize me.” She pulled out a man’s cap and crammed it on her head, tucking in her hair, which was short anyway. She tugged the bill down, almost over her eyes. “See? Now come on.” She put an end to the argument by trotting out into the street.
He pursed his lips but followed, looking gloomier than ever.
“Have you ever ridden with a sidesaddle, Kirk?”
He didn’t bother answering, just gave her an expressive look.
“No, of course not. And why is that? For all that men tell us that sidesaddles are soooo much better for ladies and are as safe as houses, you won’t get a man on one—and why? Because they’re silly, that’s why. And it takes more skill to ride with them, not less, because sidesaddle you only have the reins and your crop and your balance, whereas astride you can control your mount with your thighs as well—”
“Lady Georgiana!” Kirk said in a pained voice.
George hid a grin. She’d forgotten; ladies didn’t have thighs, or if they did they weren’t to be mentioned.
“So if I want a really good ride, it has to be astride,” she finished. There was nothing better than to ride at a fast gallop, bent low over her horse’s neck, the wind in her face, and the feeling of being at one with the powerful animal beneath her. Bareback was even better—it was how she’d first learned to ride—but she wasn’t even going to try for that. Not in London. But one day, when she was free...
It wasn’t as if she disliked her current life. Not really.She didn’t much like London, with hundreds—thousands—of people living almost on top of her—or so it felt. And she didn’t like the dirt and smells. Why was it that London dirt seemed so much worse than country dirt?
And London noise never stopped. Even at night there were rumbling wheels, shouts, bangs and arguments, and though the country was also full of noise at night—the scream of a vixen, the hooting of an owl, the far-off barking of a dog—they were peaceful noises.
But there were things she liked about this life. Cal had initially dragged her into the family, kicking and fighting—she’d never had a family and was sure she didn’t need one—but to her amazement, she liked it, liked the feeling of belonging, liked the companionship of her aunts Lily and Rose, who were more like sisters. And her aunt by marriage, Emm, who was sister, friend and mother all rolled into one—Emm was a blessing. She’d even come to like Cal, bossy-boots that he was.
The great-aunts—well, Aunt Dottie was a darling, but she could do without Aunt Agatha. Howdareshe offer her up to that cold, snooty duke?
The farther they got away from London, the more George’s mood lifted. The traffic thinned; the noise and dirt and chaos of the city fell behind them. Browns and grays gave way to a thousand shades of green, and the air felt cleaner and fresher. She took great deep breaths of it and felt lighter and more energized.
Sultan too felt the difference and started to dance a little with anticipation. She felt the leashed power rippling through him and gathered her reins.
“Careful now, Lady George,” Kirk murmured. “He’s verra fresh still.” Lady George, not Lady Georgiana—she was forgiven her breeches, then.
Kirk, the silly old dear, was certain Sultan was too strong, too spirited, too male for a lady, and had said so repeatedly. She’d lost count of other men who’d told her the same thing, in various ways.
But she’d bred Sultan, had been there when he was born, had raised him from a colt and trained him. They understood each other.
Besides, George, titled or not, was barely a lady.
An ill-trained, boyish, impertinent hoyden...She pushed the thought aside. She didn’t care what the duke said about her.
The heath stretched before them. There was not a soul in sight. She tugged down her cap. “Come on, Kirk, race you to that big old oak on the edge of the forest.” And without waiting, she took off. Her dog, Finn, streaked after her.
***
“Now, isn’t this better than spending the afternoon at Jackson’s?” Hart gestured to the scene in front of them, an endless sward of green, fringed by a tangled, shadowy forest.
