Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride by Elizabeth Rolls Page A

surprised her. Which he admitted, it probably didn’t. If she’d understood Postleton’s less than delicate insinuations, this should hardly stretch her understanding. And at least she wasn’t enlarging Davy’s French vocabulary on the subject.
     
    By the time they reached the stableyard, Christy knew that she had been out far too long. She looked at the cobbles. Down, it always looked further, but how to dismount? Slide? Even as she wondered, his lordship dismounted, tossed his reins to a groom and moved towards Merlin.
    Her body tensed, remembering his hands on her waist, her ankle. No. She kicked her left foot from the stirrup, unhooked her right leg from the pommel, and slid.
    It was much further than she had realised and the cobbles a great deal harder. Her legs gave way, collapsing under her.
    He caught her, hauling her against his chest before she actually hit the cobbles. Shocked, she clung to him, conscious of the mingled odours of horse, leather and warm, slightly sweaty male.
    ‘What the devil did you do that for?’ came the clipped, furious voice. ‘I warned you that you would be sore!’
    Annoyed, she pushed to be free, but her legs wobbled despicably and his lordship ignored her feeble attempt and kept an arm around her.
    ‘You didn’t warn me my legs wouldn’t work!’ she said crossly.
    He snorted. ‘Given that they must feel like chewed string, I didn’t think it necessary!’
    ‘Is Miss Daventry all right, Julian?’ came a younger voice.
    Matthew stood there, his jacket slung over one shoulder. ‘Shall I help her up to the house?’
    ‘Yes,’ said his lordship. ‘If you have seen to your horse.’
    ‘Oh, yes. We walked the last bit to cool them down,’ said Matthew. ‘Take my arm, Miss Daventry.’
    He held it out and Christy took it gratefully, trying an experimental step. Chewed string, indeed! She was furiously aware ofLord Braybrook hovering. Not exactly protectively, more like a hawk waiting to swoop. Her legs held and she tried another step.
    ‘That’s it, Miss Daventry, said Matthew encouragingly. ‘You shouldn’t have jumped down like that, though. Lucky Julian was there. I thought you would land on the cobbles.’
    ‘Damned lucky,’ came a mutter from behind her.
    Determinedly Christy looked back and met the blue eyes.
    His lordship’s face was set hard. She repressed a shiver, trying to ignore the memory of his body, hard and powerful, pressed against her own. As though…as though he owned it.
    ‘Thank you, sir. For the lesson, and your patience.’
    The line of his mouth flattened even further.
    ‘You’re welcome, ma’am. Good day.’
    He caught up Merlin’s bridle and led him away.
    Christy turned back to Matthew. She could recognise a dismissal when it slapped her.
     
    Julian watched her go from the refuge of Merlin’s stall. God help him, he could still feel the imprint of that slender body. Small breasts crushed against him, the faint, rising scent of lavender. And a wisp of escaping hair, curling around her brow. Tawny brown glinting gold. Startled, mismatched eyes behind the misleading spectacles, and soft, slightly parted lips.
    He’d wondered what she would taste like. Not only wondered, but considered finding out. It would be better to see as little of her as possible. Not that there was any danger of seducing her, but he could do without the inevitable frustration of not being able to do so, if he didn’t squash this inexplicable attraction.
    Miss Daventry was dangerous. The more so because she had not the least idea of it. She didn’t even realise the danger she was in. Not that she was in any danger. He was not, definitely not , going to seduce his stepmother’s companion.
     
    ‘Miss Daventry!’
    Christy turned carefully at the autocratic summons, conscious of stiff, aching muscles. She had spent the rest of the afternoonsewing and talking with Lady Braybrook until it was time to change for dinner. Now she wondered if she might have to eat