Rules of Engagement by Christina Dodd

reason of his own kept his mouth shut. Yet what nefarious reason would such an old man have for abetting her in her disguise?
    The answer was—he had no reason. That she even worried about it proved Kerrich had influenced her so that she spied conspiracies everywhere. Kerrich was a menace to sense and honor.
    And safety. Pamela rode around the bend and looked ahead on the path. Cats and mittens, that was Beth stretched out there in Kerrich's arms!
    She experienced an unwelcome jolt of fear. What if the poor child was hurt? Then Kerrich would truly wish to send her back, and demand a new child, a tougher one this time.
    This time she didn't abide any headstrong disobedience from the horse, but kicked it into a trot until she could get to the child—and the man. "What happened?" she asked in a ringing tone.
    "We didn't stand you up fast enough to avoid her censure," Kerrich told Beth. His top hat rested on the grass beside him, and the bush behind him framed him in green and dappled him with sunshine. With Beth in his arms grinning at him, he looked like the subject of a Watteau painting instead of the careless rake Pamela knew him to be.
    Beth rubbed her head. "I'm fine, Miss Lockhart."
    The stableboy rushed to help Pamela dismount, but she swung out of the saddle before he could reach her. "You bumped your head."
    "That's not what hurts the worst, but you'll yell at me if I rub that." With Kerrich's arm under her elbow, Beth rose, and tottered momentarily.
    Pamela rushed forward, anxious as a mother, but Kerrich turned his shoulder and blocked her.
    "Anything broken?" Kerrich led Beth a few steps along the side of the path. "Anything sprained?"
    "No. I can ride more!"
    Pamela swallowed a surprise upswelling of tears. Surely it was nothing more than the fear of her plan going astray with Beth's injury. It couldn't be that she already felt a surfeit of affection for Beth. And certainly not hurt that Kerrich had rudely turned her aside. In that decisive tone that came so easily, she said, "That's enough riding for this afternoon."
    Beth whined, "Ah, Miss Lockhart…"
    "Walk a little farther. Work out the bruises." Kerrich let go of Beth and with his hands on his hips and his head turned as he observed the child's progress, he said, "So, Miss Lockhart, you don't ascribe to the theory that she should get right back up on the horse?"
    And for no reason, Pamela found herself struck mute by his magnificence.
    He stood there, displaying his profile. Each bone in his face thrust at the tanned skin, speaking boldly of his noble heritage. His chin was stubborn, his nose jutted forth, his forehead was high. His lips… ah, his lips were soft and full, sensual and inviting. His fine black woolen riding suit fit him beautifully, sketching the width of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest, his narrow waist and his disconcertingly long legs. He was the most handsome man she'd ever met—and she noticed it! She, who despised men on principle and handsome rakes in particular, suddenly observed this man's physical charms in the same way any adulterer leers at a pretty girl.
    She scarcely knew how to respond, only that she should hide her thoughts under a facade of words. "Knowing how to ride will do her little good should you decide to dismiss her, my lord."
    Why now? Why him? Perhaps it was because, when he wasn't looking at her, she no longer felt the pressure of being the older, genderless Miss Lockhart. But she must remember that Kerrich was a libertine. A liar. A manipulator.
    This morning she had been so busy despising him and wanting to please him at the same time, she hadn't reacted to his sheer, absolute glamour. Now she saw it, saw him, and in a total twist on her usual emotions, she was embarrassed to have him see the riding raiment she had thrown together. One of Lady Temperly's black woolen mourning gowns. An old-fashioned olive-green jacket. And a riding hat forgotten by one of Kerrich's ladies and never retrieved. As if it mattered