Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant. Helen Dickson
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I was playing a part.’ Frowning, she continued to inspect the breeches. ‘I doubt they’re my size.’
‘I have a good memory, Lucy.’
She flushed, lowering her gaze so she didn’t have to see the knowing look in his eyes. ‘Four years is a long time. I’ve put on weight.’
‘In all the right places if my eyesight is to be believed. I assure you I had these made with all good intentions in mind. Do not fear that I’m making sport of you. You will find it easier and more comfortable to ride a horse wearing breeches. It’s more practical. As a woman you will attract attention—some of it unwelcome. For your own safety, it will be better if those we meet think you are a male to begin with.’
‘You’ll be telling me to cut off my hair next.’ When he didn’t say anything she glanced at him sharply. ‘You want me to cut my hair?’
He grinned. ‘You have beautiful hair, but you will not be as conspicuous with short hair. It’s—practical. It will soon grow.’
Lucy didn’t relish the idea of cropping her most prized asset, but perhaps he was right. She would attract less attention and it would be less trouble. ‘Very well. I’ll have Polly cut it before we leave.’ Shaking her head, she glanced dubiously at the breeches once more. ‘I’m becoming more confused by the hour. These breeches look awfully tight. I really don’t think they’re my size.’
‘They’ll do for the time being. Go and put them on. We’re wasting time. I want to assess your horsemanship and you cannot sit astride a horse in that dress—pretty though it is.’
Without further argument, Lucy left with the offending garments.
Feeling terribly self-conscious, she reappeared ten minutes later. The breeches, which disappeared into riding boots, were skin tight, showing off her long and perfectly shaped legs, the short jacket cut so high to reveal her attractive round derrière. Nathan admired the sight with glowing eyes, before cocking an eyebrow and ushering her outside.
* * *
The coach carried them north out of town and approached a pair of tall iron gates. A gatekeeper stepped out of the keeper’s cottage and after Nathan had spoken to the man they were permitted to pass. They swept along a curving drive with extensive lawns to the right and left of them. Lucy’s eyes became fixed on a large imposing house that appeared against a backdrop of sweeping parkland, rising to a height of three storeys. Evidently it was the property of a man of some consequence.
‘What a beautiful house,’ she murmured, unable to tear her eyes away from the twinkling expanse of mullioned windows. ‘Who does it belong to?’
‘A relative of mine. My uncle. He’s away in foreign parts at present.’
‘Is he a spy, as well?’
‘No,’ Nathan replied, helping her out of the coach. ‘He’s a gentleman. Come along. I’ll introduce you to your mount. We’ll ride out so you can get used to being back in the saddle. Tomorrow you will receive instruction on how to use a firearm—something small that is adaptable to a woman’s hand. You will have to learn how to use a dagger. I pray you never have to use either weapon, but it’s as well to be prepared for every eventuality.’
The stables were at the back of the house, a dozen stalls set around the stable yard. Most of them were occupied. Grooms and stable boys were going about their daily chores. Nathan was familiar to them and they greeted him in a friendly enough fashion. One of the grooms approached them, leading a chestnut mare.
‘Come and make friends. Her name is Jess and she’s as docile as the proverbial lamb.’
Lucy loved her. It was good to be back on a horse, to ride across the vast green acres of parkland. However, not having had the opportunity to ride for a long time, she was soon stiff. Nathan informed her she sat like a sack of potatoes and held the reins all wrong. She told him to take a flying leap and said she was going home. He told her she’d leave over his dead body. She said it was not a bad idea.
A look of sorely strained patience crossed his face as he caught her by the waist and lifted her down from the saddle after one particularly gruelling session. ‘God help me if I ever injure my back,’ he quipped.
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