An Accidental Seduction by Lois Greiman Page A

“’Tis God’s own truth,” he said, and sobered just a tad. “I but thought you might wish to be rid of the mud that sullies your slippers.”

Chapter 8
    S avaana held her image with an iron grip. Two days had passed since their trip to Darlington. Two days since Gallagher had looked at her so strangely and inquired about her slippers. What kind of man would concern himself with a little mud on one’s footwear when in her company? She was a comely woman. A rare beauty, in fact. A hundred men had told her as much. But what did she expect from a rough-cut Irishman?
    She sighed. Beneath her, Daisy plodded serenely along. Savaana refrained from glancing wistfully at the dark gelding beside her, for she would not make the mistake of riding him again. The Irishman must do something to earn his keep, after all.
    “Is something amiss, my lady?” he asked, turning to gaze at her.
    She didn’t glance to her right. She knew how he would look. Devilishly handsome and ridiculously jovial, with that quirky smile playing around his evergreen eyes and satyr’s lips. Earlier in the ride he had rolled back hisvoluminous sleeves. Muscles would be dancing along his forearms as he kept the restive gelding at bay. She didn’t need to see that.
    “Yes,” she said, and shifted her ankle a bit. It was still a little sore. “Something is most certainly amiss.”
    “Can I do aught to set it to rights?” he asked.
    There was concern in his tone. She wondered if it was real or fabricated. More than a few had faked concern in an effort to win her favor.
    “Absolutely,” she said, and finally turned toward him. And dammit, his idiotic muscles were dancing. “You can cease with the seduction.”
    His brows rose. “What?”
    “The seduction,” she said. “It won’t work.”
    His eyes lit up like mischievous fireflies and his lips quirked at the corners just as she’d suspected they would. “You think I’m trying to seduce you, do you?”
    She raised a single brow. “Yes.”
    “And what makes you think as much?”
    He was dimpling. She didn’t tell him what that did to her equilibrium. That when he smiled like that it made her chest feel too small to accommodate her lungs, made her toes curl in her carefully cleaned riding boots. “I have not just arrived off the boat,” she said. “Perhaps your pedestrian charms will work on some apple-cheeked country bumpkin, but not for me. In fact, why not dimple up to Emily?”
    She stared straight ahead. The sun was shining on the countryside as if it were the first day of creation. And despite the fact that she had worn a riding habit too warm for the weather, the heat felt good against her face. She had removed her gloves some time ago and wished she could do the same with the jacket. But she wouldn’t bare any more skin than absolutely necessary. Still, even overdressed and undermounted, it was heavenly to be out of doors, away from walls and the accoutrements of a civilization she had eschewed for as long as she could remember. The rain had cleaned the air. A crested lark sang from atop a stone wall as sheep grazed around them or scampered away at their approach.
    Gallagher laughed, drawing her attention from the perfection of the day. “‘Dimple up’?” he said.
    “Yes.” She didn’t turn toward him. Didn’t smile, though the sound of his laughter made it difficult to resist.
    “Dare I hope you enjoy my dimples, lass?” he asked.
    “No, you may not,” she said. “But perhaps Emily is the sort to go dreamy-eyed when you turn up your charm.”
    “But not you.”
    Although she didn’t look at him, she could tell he was smiling. Dear God in heaven, he was always smiling. Except when he was looking at her as if he could see straight through her undergarments.
    “Certainly not me,” she said.
    “And what makes the likes of you so hard?” he asked.
    She did turn now. Turned and raised a carefully plucked brow. “Perhaps you have mistaken hardness for