A Taste of Desire(49)
Thomas surfaced from his reverie to find her staring expectantly at him. He came swiftly to his feet. A surreptitious glance down revealed no betraying bit of bulges marring the clean line of his jacket, though his erection still lingered about as if hoping for some form of appeasement.
“Will you require a sidesaddle for your mount?” Long strides carried him to her side.
“No, I ride astride.”
Her statement conjured up images of her atop him, her long legs straddling his hips in wanton abandon. He didn’t dare allow his gaze to venture below her neck. “Why is that?”
She paused and cleared her throat before she spoke again. “My mother believed sidesaddle to be unsafe.”
“A suffragette, was she?” he teased. It was either make light of it or take her where she stood.
“No!” Then as if she realized the sharpness of her tone, she continued mildly “Merely a sensible woman.”
Thomas detected in her an unspoken distress and knew there was something far deeper in her simply spoken words than Amelia would ever reveal.
“Come, let us walk down to the stables. It is not far from the house.” And a walk on a crisp, cool autumn day would do wonders for his unflagging libido—or so he hoped.
They completed the walk down to the stables in relative silence. They spoke nothing of the kiss—and again, would not. The viscount had said not a word about her attire. Again, it appeared that was not to be mentioned or discussed.
Minutes after the groom had left them with two of the finest horses she’d ever seen, Amelia stared up at a beautiful chestnut mare and a black thoroughbred. Now she and the viscount would ride the grounds together as if the kiss had already faded into the annals of time, and the practice of women parading about in leather breeches and riding a horse astride were a common enough occurrence.
While Lord Armstrong affectionately stroked the thoroughbred’s mane, the mare poked its mouth around the pockets of his riding jacket, as if hoping to find some kind of treat. “This is Lightning. You will be riding her today.” He nodded at the mare.
Amelia reached up and gently rubbed the silky, brown hair just above her muzzle. “She’s beautiful,” she said, in a quiet soothing voice. The horse nickered softly, pawing at the dirt with her front hoof.
Securing the thoroughbred’s reins on a wooden post, Lord Armstrong retrieved the mare’s reins. “Lightning is eighteen hands. You’ll require some help to mount.”
“I can manage on my own.” Then she looked at the height of the foot strap for the saddle, which was a far cry higher than what she was accustomed to.
“Don’t be stubborn. I’ve had grown men unable to mount her on their own.”
“Well, I can,” she said her teeth gritted in determination. Jerking the reins from his hand, she raised her leg, and neatly inserted her booted foot into the stirrup, but found she lacked sufficient leg strength to pull herself up. Undaunted, she tried again, hoisting herself a little higher, but not enough to propel her onto the saddle.
Lightning remained perfectly still while she attempted to mount a third time, also to no avail. Amelia sent a fleeting glance in Lord Armstrong’s direction. His expression was blank save a knowing glimmer in his eyes.
He cleared his throat the last time she came back down on one leg, the other still propped in the stirrup, her breath heavy from her exertions. “Will you allow me to assist you or do you mean to waste away the morning struggling to prove you are more accomplished at this than most men?”
Amelia threw him a disgruntled glare over her shoulder and then jerked her head in an angry nod. “My horse is not quite this tall,” she muttered.
“Then should I locate a mount of a more appropriate height?” He appeared to be holding back a smile.
Why the blazes hadn’t he done that from the onset? Amelia emitted an indelicate snort. “Hardly.”
“Then let us get on with it.”
His assistance, however, consisted of his hands coming in contact in some form or another, with the entire length of her leg. When she finally sat atop the horse, her flesh was prickly hot and her composure somewhat shaken.
“How is that?” He watched her as he took his time removing his hand from her leather-clad leg. But she was too busy fighting the discomfiting sensations coursing through her body to slap his offensive hand away. Agitated, she hastily tried to adjust her skirt so it covered her leg. However, the movement sent her foot into the mare’s side and sent her off in a canter while she desperately fought to gain full control of the reins.