Free A Notorious Love by Sabrina Jeffries Page B

alights on a windowsill. To her vast surprise and satisfaction, old instincts took over, prodding her to complete the rest in one easy motion—hooking her right leg over the crutch at the knee and balancing her weight in the saddle.
    When she had her limbs and skirts arranged and all that remained was to have him adjust the left stirrup so she could put her foot into it, she glanced down at him, shocked and elated. Triumphant.
    He smiled approvingly up at her as he reached for the stirrup. “Well, well, how about that? You do ride. Or at the very least you sit a horse properly.”
    The compliment swirled about her like a heady fragrance. She did, didn’t she? Why, she was seated as well as she’d ever been before she’d lost full use of her leg. As that realization sank in, Helena trembled from sheer exhilaration. She’d mounted a horse! With help, of course, and she didn’t know what might happen once the gelding started to move, but nonetheless she’d done it! And she’d soon be riding, truly riding!

    Her excitement was apparently infectious, for he smiled at her as he adjusted the stirrup. His eyes twinkled the way they had at Swan Park last summer whenever he’d teased her. Then he concentrated on fitting her booted foot into the stirrup and his smile faded, replaced by a dark intensity.
    He clasped her ankle. “I s’pose I should have warned you about the riding so you could wear a proper skirt,” he murmured in a husky tone. “This one’s a mite short.”
    Indeed, she felt cool air creep through her wool stocking to chill her leg, which was partly exposed below her hiked-up gown, She tried futilely to jerk her skirt down, but it wouldn’t cover all her calf. A good six inches showed above her boot.
    Six inches that seemed enormously captivating to Mr. Brennan, who slid his hand slowly from her ankle to her calf as if measuring the strength in her leg. His rough hand encircled her lower calf.
    “Are you sure about this, lass? Are you sure your leg won’t be worked too hard?”
    She cringed to think of what lay beneath his fingers—the withered muscles barely concealed beneath her thin stockings. Yet she was acutely aware of his intimate touch, the gentle, near caress he feathered over her lower calf.
    His outspread fingers felt hot where they grazed her skin. What if he slid them higher, behind her knee and up her stocking under her skirts, the way he probably did with his strumpets? What if he brushed her thigh as tenderly as he did her calf now, all the way up to her garter and above, where he could curve his fingers around…
    Her face flamed. Oh, dear, how could she even think of him in this scandalous manner! Mama was right. She’d always said that once a lady ignored one rule of propriety, the rest eroded away like the banks of a river.

    “I’ll…I’ll be fine,” she murmured. “And now if you will kindly release my leg and mount your horse, we can get on with this. You do know the matter requires haste.”
    His slow, sensual grin as he drew his hand back showed he took no offense at her admonishment. “I know too well. But even in a hurry, a man doesn’t waste the chance to explore beneath a pretty woman’s skirts.”
    With a wink, the bold wretch strode off toward his own giant mount. What a shocking thing to say! As if taunting her with her own wicked thoughts. He truly was the most outrageous rascal she’d ever met, and unrepentant besides.
    Explore beneath a pretty woman’s skirts, indeed!
    And why must the phrase evoke such…interesting…pictures in her mind? Why must they grow more elaborate when he mounted his mare, the muscles in his buckskin breeches flexing as he threw his leg over? Her mouth went dry to watch him fit his bottom into the saddle as comfortably as he probably fit a fancy woman into his lap.
    She must not think such things. It was ridiculous, unwise…naughty. Very naughty. The way he would be if he ever dared explore beneath her skirts.
    Her skin still