A Regency Virgin's Undoing: Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin / Paying the Virgin's Price. Christine Merrill
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way she held herself, carefully self-contained at all times, and the way she was leaning into him, unguarded and fragile.
Because of that fragility, he was a danger to her. Though his mind might want to reach out and comfort, his body felt the flesh-and-blood woman beside him and wanted a much more earthy connection. The movement of the horse shifted her against him and he had idle thoughts of stretching his fingers upwards to graze the bottoms of her breasts. And each change in gait raised a fresh fantasy as she rocked against him. Walking brought to mind a languid afternoon of love making. A canter made him think of a quick coupling and fear of discovery. And as he nudged them to a full gallop, he thought of a night of wild, uncontrolled, vigorous …
‘Mr Hendricks!’
He pulled on the reins, bringing the horse up short, suddenly afraid that she had guessed the contents of his mind or felt his obvious physical response. ‘My lady?’
He glanced around him, checking his surroundings, his watch and his compass, and comparing the results to the last mile marker he had seen to pretend that their progress had been the only thing on his mind.
‘Could we stop to rest? I think—’
‘An excellent idea.’ He practically leapt from the horse, helping her down and stepping quickly away from her. ‘The stand of trees over there looks quite inviting.’ He waited for the rebuke that must be coming. There should be shock and outrage, or at least some sign that she feared to be near him.
Instead, she was biting her lip as though unsure what to say or do next. Then she gave a hesitant nod and half-muttered, ‘Perhaps that is it. I need to rest.’
He let out a sigh of relief. She did not seem to be worrying about him at all. ‘Was the ride tiring for you?’ He offered her an arm to help her over the uneven ground as they walked the horses towards a stream by the grove.
She gave an uneasy laugh. ‘I fear I do not make the best passenger. I could not seem to sit still.’ There was a gruffness about her words, as though they were more denial than total innocence. But the look in her eyes was confusion, and perhaps embarrassment. It seemed he was not the only one affected by their nearness.
‘It did not bother me overly,’ he said, for it hardly seemed fair to call such pleasant sensations an annoyance.
‘All the same, I do not think I wish to ride that way any longer. Is there no other way?’ She was looking at him, vulnerable and desperate, trusting that he would understand and help her. And though he wanted nothing more than to tumble her in the grass, or sweep her into his arms and back into the saddle, he knew that he would not.
He stared at her, wondering if he dared suggest what he was thinking. ‘There is a way that we can make better progress, if you are willing to take certain risks.’
‘Anything,’ she said eagerly, then looked at him, trying to appraise his plan and regain some of her old composure. ‘Well, nearly anything. What do you suggest, Mr Hendricks?’
He went to the other horse and pulled down his bag, removing the clothing he had stashed there. He held them out to her. ‘Leather riding breeches, Lady Drusilla. And I have a spare shirt as well. If you were dressed in a less feminine way, you could ride astride with more comfort.’
‘Men’s clothing?’ she said, clearly appalled. ‘You expect me to wear breeches?’
‘From a distance, you would be mistaken for a boy. It would lessen the risk of someone recognising you as the Duke of Benbridge’s daughter.’
‘But it is very improper. I do not think I could …’
‘They will fit,’ he assured her. ‘While you appear to be …’ He cleared his throat, trying not to comment on the shape of her, which was as far from a man’s as he could imagine. ‘Well, at least we are of a similar height and, in most ways, I am larger than you. If we can cobble together a disguise out of spare clothing from my pack, it would do quite well for you.’
She touched the clothes gently and he noticed how fine her hand looked, lying against the leather. ‘Would it add so much to the speed of our progress?’
‘You will find that men’s clothing is much less restrictive for trips like this. We will be able to move more quickly and will stop before returning to populated areas, to allow you to change into something more appropriate to your gender.’
‘And no one would ever know?’ she asked hopefully.
‘I will certainly tell no one,’ he said. ‘It is much better, is it not, that Lady Drusilla not be seen travelling alone with a strange man?’
She gave a little shiver at the thought. He did not know whether to be angry or flattered by it, for at least it proved that she recognised him as a threat and not some neutered tool. ‘That is probably true. If the story of this trip gets out, I have already done great harm to my reputation. Can the addition of breeches make it worse?’
He smiled encouragingly. ‘Very well, then. Take these and step behind the trees to change. If you run into difficulties …’ He thought of her half-dressed body and realised that there was not a damned thing he dared to do for her. ‘Make a brave attempt.’
He waited where he was as she took the proffered clothing and concealed herself. To prevent temptation, he turned his back on the scene as well, so that he would not catch even a glimpse of bare skin through the sparse leaves.
Or, worse yet, he might catch himself straining to see something. Though he had managed to keep his eyes respectfully averted for most of last night, after the ride they’d just shared, his will was not so strong.
He heard her return a short time later and turned to find her standing with hands spread before her, in a gesture that sought approval. ‘Is this all right?’
‘Yes,’ he responded, trying to modulate his own voice and looking hurriedly away. ‘Yes. That will be quite satisfactory.’
Dear God.
When he’d made the suggestion, he had not given two thoughts to it. They were his own clothes, after all. He had seen them before.
But never like this. The shirt was full, and covered her to the throat, obscuring the curves underneath it with billows of fabric. But it was far too thin. The dark peaks of her breasts were displayed plain for anyone who wished to look. The tender budding tips jutted against the cloth. And his eyes strained to see, like dogs at the end of a lead. He forced them back to her face, and stripped off his topcoat and handed it to her. ‘Perhaps this will help.’
It did not. Not really. Her legs still protruded from the tails of the coat and the shapeliness of her calves was not obscured through the heavy stockings. The leather of the breeches pulled tight against her thighs and her nicely rounded bottom. The buff colour looked almost like bare skin. And it all seemed to settle into that final crease at the top of her legs, drawing his gaze to a place that he should never look, but that he very much wanted to admire. They were alone, far from interruption, and only a few buttons separated him from paradise.
He turned away from her, busying himself with the harnessing of the horses, trying not to notice the increasing tightness in his own trousers, then pulled his glasses off, folded them and tucked them into the pocket of his coat.
‘Mr Hendricks,’ she said, ‘will you not need those to see what you are doing?’
‘Resting my eyes for a moment,’ he assured her. ‘It has been a long day, has it not?’ He turned back to the horse and raised the stirrups as though this were the only thing on his mind. ‘You must manage in your own boots, I’m afraid. Even if I had spares to offer, mine would fall off your feet.’
Such dainty little feet.
He rummaged in his pack for a soft hat. ‘Here.