The Dangerous Debutante. Kasey Michaels
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fading as he realized perhaps he’d been just a tad too proud of himself. “At least that’s what Mr. Courtland called it. ‘She seems heartless, but she wouldn’t hurt a fly, not on purpose,’ he told me, ‘so just fold on under like a blanket on a bed, and she’ll come around and stop her nonsense.’”
Morgan tried to raise a wave of anger, but found that, try as she would, humor was winning out. “I’ll kill that stick of a brother of mine,” she declared without heat, and then began to laugh. “Oh, Jacob, I don’t know which of us is the worse. You for being so truthful, or me for being so bad. And here I am, going from worrying Papa and my meddling brothers to yet another meddling brother. Why do men think they are here to protect us fragile females? How I long to be in charge of my own life.”
“There’s many who’d say you already are,” Jacob said, his smile wide as he felt that, just this once, he’d had the final word with her.
“Not really, Jacob, but I soon will be, I promise you that. Starting now. That ostler’s taking forever. What do you say we saddle Berengaria together?”
Jacob shook his head. “No, Miss Morgan,” he said, suddenly very serious. “I know my place, and you have to be learning to know yours. You just stand yourself there and be a lady while I go take care of Berengaria.”
“Yes, Jacob,” Morgan said with mocking obedience, lowering her head so that she could look up at him from beneath her dark lashes. “I’ll be very good, I promise.”
Jacob sniffed. “And I’ll be very quick, because you won’t be very good for very long.”
Morgan watched him go, idly tapping the riding crop against her gloved hand, and wondered if perhaps it was time to stop teasing Jacob as if they were still children. He’d almost said something they would both regret forever. He didn’t love her, not really. But he might think he did, and that would be too bad, because her affection for him was real, but quite different in nature. She could never be in love with Jacob. It was much too easy to control him.
Feeling rather ashamed of herself—yet unable to help rejoicing that she would get to ride Berengaria into London, which had been, after all, the point of the entire exercise—she turned on her heel and began to stroll around the yard of the country inn. Perhaps someone would see her in her lovely new riding habit and be impressed all hollow. She’d like that, and it would be a good omen perhaps, a hint of how she and her wonderful new wardrobe would be received in London society.
Except, she realized, frowning, she was very much alone, save for a man just now leading his mount into the yard. No, not leading the stallion, for the reins were loosely tied up on the saddle. The horse was following him like a faithful hound, not looking at all subservient, but more as if he accompanied the man only because it pleased him to do so.
Morgan laughed out loud at the sight, then concentrated her attention on the animal.
The stallion was magnificent. Beyond magnificent. Nearly white in the sunlight, its hindquarters dappled-gray, with a thick silvery mane that flowed to its shoulder, and a proud tail that nearly skimmed the ground.
Not a huge stallion, although the chest was fairly massive for its size, which had to be between fifteen and sixteen hands. Probably closer to fifteen. The ears were small and perfect, and when the horse turned toward her, as if aware she was admiring him, Morgan saw huge, intelligent eyes in a finely shaped head with a slightly convex nose.
Without a thought to convention—something she was definitely unaccustomed to considering at the best of times—Morgan set out across the yard, calling out to the man as she neared, “What a beauty!”
CHAPTER THREE
ETHAN TANNER LOOKED TO his right at the sound of the female voice, and was quick to agree. A definite beauty. He watched, caught between amusement and fascination, as the young woman advanced toward him, walking with the confident, long-legged stride of a man, except that she was most amazingly female.
Lush. Tall, but far from angular. The breeze whipping through the inn yard all but plastered her divided skirt against her long thighs with each step she took, clearly delineating them, and Ethan unexpectedly felt a familiar stirring.
He continued his inspection of this exotic beauty whose appearance was so at odds with the current fashion, which centered on petite, blue-eyed blondes.
Her nearly black hair was brushed sleekly back from her head, probably twisted into a knot at her nape. God, he hoped so, because a man should be able to see that dark silk tumbled over her bare breasts and back before he lowered her onto his bed. The green shako hat was set at a provocative tilt on her forehead, while a thick, sleekly curved lock of almost shoulder-length hair caressed the creamy ivory skin of her flawlessly beautiful face.
She came closer, and Ethan’s inspection continued unchecked by any thought he might be staring like some starving fool with his nose pressed against the pastry shop windowpane.
Dark winglike brows over unusual gray, smoky eyes that seemed to hint at all the sensuous mysteries of the ages. High cheekbones that gave her a slightly exotic look. A wide, full mouth that lifted faintly at the corners.
Her riding habit was of the first stare, although it was doubtful any modiste had ever dreamed any of her creations could be so flattered, or look so circumspect and so wanton at one and the same time.
As a package, taken altogether, Ethan decided, this woman was Original Sin. And Adam had his full empathy.
He amazed himself at his almost embarrassingly poetical mental impression of the female, although he was not surprised to feel eminently attracted to her face and form. This female was fashioned to be alluring. This female who, he finally realized, was so blatantly ignoring him.
“Alejandro, you’re being admired, you lucky bastard,” he drawled quietly. “Bow to the lady.”
Morgan, still fairly oblivious to anything save the magnificent horse, stopped short when the stallion turned toward her, then slowly, gracefully, bent his left knee to the ground as he extended his right leg and lowered his head.
“Oh, you brilliant, handsome boy!” Morgan walked straight up to the horse and placed her gloved hands on either side of its muzzle before planting a kiss between his ears. “What’s his name?” she asked, looking adoringly at the stallion.
“Alejandro,” Ethan answered. “And damn me if I don’t find myself jealous of a horse. Here now, up, you toadeating sycophant.”
Alejandro smoothly stood up once more, and swung his handsome head toward Ethan, showing his teeth in a horsey smile.
Morgan laughed in genuine delight, neither seriously considering the hinted flattery nor insulted by the swear word. After all, she knew who she was, how she looked, and she had grown up at Becket Hall, with brothers who rarely watched their words around her. “It’s as if he understands you,” she said.
“If so, he’s got the advantage of me,” Ethan said, his gaze still drinking in the sight of this gorgeous woman. This gorgeous, well-dressed, unchaperoned woman who didn’t seem to entertain the slightest hesitation to speak with an unknown man.
“Is he Andalusian? I’ve seen a few drawings, but this is the first time I’ve ever—”
Morgan had at last drawn her attention away from Alejandro, to speak with his owner. Whatever she’d planned to say—had she planned to say anything?—became lost as she looked at him.
Simply looked at him. As if she’d never seen a male of the species until that moment.
His eyes attracted her first. Nearly straight brows, low over long, green eyes, with the whites accentuated by thick, dark lashes, those eyes seemed amused and unreadable at one and the same time, as if the laugh lines that fanned from the outside corners could be genuine, or were just a clever facade meant to keep anyone from looking any deeper.
His nose was magnificent. She’d never thought a nose could be described that way, but this one could be—so wonderfully