Free Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin by Christine Merrill

colour looked almost like bare skin. And it all seemed to settle into that final crease at the top of her legs, drawing his gaze to a place that he should never look, but that he very much wanted to admire. They were alone, far from interruption, and only a few buttons separated him from paradise.
    He turned away from her, busying himself with the harnessing of the horses, trying not to notice the increasing tightness in his own trousers, then pulled his glasses off, folded them and tucked them into the pocket of his coat.
    ‘Mr Hendricks,’ she said, ‘will you not need those to see what you are doing?’
    ‘Resting my eyes for a moment,’ he assured her. ‘It has been a long day, has it not?’ He turned back to the horse and raised the stirrups as though this were the only thing on his mind. ‘You must manage in your own boots, I’m afraid. Even if I had spares to offer, mine would fall off your feet.’
    Such dainty little feet.
    He rummaged in his pack for a soft hat. ‘Here. Put this over your hair.’
    She smiled at him in approval and pulled it into place. ‘It is a relief to know that you do not expect me to cut it. There are some things I would not do in the name of disguise.’
    ‘No. Never.’ He hoped that his sigh had not been too obvious to her. But he’d have as soon asked her to cut off her arm as lose that glorious dark hair. He imagined it, down, smooth and thick in his hands. Then he did his best to imagine anything else. For a moment, he tried to think of Emily, who had occupied so much of his thoughts only two days ago. Her hair had been shorter and blond. It was strange how quickly a thing that had seemed so important to him, had faded so quickly from memory.
    The same would likely be true of Lady Drusilla, once he was out of her sphere of influence. It must be, or it would drive him mad. When he glanced back at her, looking into her eyes this time, he could see that she would not. Or almost see, at any rate. For the blurring of his vision without the spectacles made her face soft, more childlike, her eyes large and bewildered, and her mouth rounded into a soft red bow. This was how she would look when he made love to her.
    Which he would never do, he reminded himself. He had no right to even think such things about her. The list of reasons against it was almost too long to count.
    ‘It is time we were going again,’ he said, staring up at the sun. ‘I do not mean to stop until dark. Then we will return to the main road, find an inn and enquire about your friend.’
    He went to her and offered her a leg up into the saddle of the big horse. For a moment, her foot rested in the cradle of his hands, and his face was far too near to her leg. He felt light headed with the desire to press his lips against the place he could reach. Then it was over and she was mounted, the horse dancing until she took control of the reins.
    He looked up critically. ‘You are sure that you will be all right with this?’
    She straightened, stiffened and seemed to grow braver with each passing moment, though her eyes widened at the feel of the horse between her legs. ‘It will be fine, because it must be so. And you are right. I can tell already that it is easier to ride when one can control the beast under one and not perch on it like a decoration.’ She glared down at him, eyebrows and chin raised. ‘And if you ever tell anyone I said that, I shall sack you immediately.’
    ‘Yes, my lady,’ he responded, with a small bow, dropping with difficulty back into the role of servant.
    He rearranged the luggage and mounted his own horse. Then he pointed her in the right direction and allowed her to set the pace, for he did not wish to push her beyond her capacities.
    He watched her ride. For someone with little experience, she had a good seat and showed no signs of fearing the animal he had given her. That was fortunate; he had no wish to end the day tearing across the open country after a runaway stallion, trying