Free Just One Season in London by Leigh Michaels

the telltale bulge in his pantaloons that said he was anything but indifferent. “Then what’s the problem?”
    â€œYou’re proposing to be my mistress for pay. There’s a name for that, though it’s not a pretty one, I’m afraid.”
    Miranda closed her eyes in pain.
    â€œI don’t buy favors from women, Miranda. I only make love to the ones who want me as much as I want them, without money added into the equation. So I must decline your bargain.”
    That was it, then. All that was left to her was her dignity—and there was precious little of that. She stood, shaking her skirts back into place. “Then I must ask you to ring for the butler to show me out, and to summon my groom.”
    He gave a tug to the bellpull. “It’s been entertaining, Miranda, as well as educational.” She was already on her way to the door when he added, “I look forward to our affair, my dear.”
    She stopped and wheeled to face him. “But you said we aren’t going to have an affair.”
    â€œI merely said I wouldn’t pay you for your favors. But we will make love, Miranda. You will be my mistress on my terms, not yours.” He paused just inches from her and brushed his thumb lightly but possessively across her lower lip. “Because you want me as much as I want you.”
    ***
    Lord Randall politely suggested that Sophie wait outside the stables for a suitable horse to be brought to her rather than take the risk of another fright by getting too close to the beasts.
    Instead Sophie marched into the stables to run a practiced eye up and down the big old cob that was being saddled for her. “I’m sure you’re sweet,” she murmured to the animal, holding out a carrot in her palm, “but I outgrew hobbyhorses years ago, and now I prefer something with more spirit. Like… that one.” She pointed at a nearby stall, where a dainty gray mare with four white feet and a blaze on her forehead tossed her head and nickered.
    Lord Randall remonstrated. Sophie strolled into the mare’s stall to feed her a carrot, while she pretended to listen to him. By the time the second carrot was gone, she and the mare were fast friends.
    â€œShe is a bad choice for a rider who’s afraid of horses,” Lord Randall said firmly.
    Sophie smiled at him. “But just look at how perfectly her gray coat sets off the powder blue of my habit. We’ll make a nice picture together.”
    He sputtered. “Color? You chose her because of her color ? That’s by far the liveliest mare in the stable!”
    The head stableman cleared his throat. “Beg pardon, sir, but it do seem that the young miss knows what she’s doing, handling horses as she does. And while Moondust is frisky, she’s not a bad actor.”
    â€œThank you,” Sophie told him. “I can saddle her myself if you wish—and then it’s not your responsibility at all.” Her smile at the nearest stablehand was just as effective as it was on other men, however, and even before Lord Randall had finished his lecture, the groom had led the mare to the mounting block and Sophie was springing up into the saddle.
    Lord Randall looked horrified. He scrambled onto his own mount and followed, rattling away about how she should have more sense. By the time they had crossed the carriage drive and threaded through a copse of lime trees, however, he was nodding and smiling.
    Clearly, demonstration was far more effective than argument where Lord Randall was concerned. She filed that bit of information away for future reference, patted the mare on the neck, and pulled up at the edge of a recently mowed meadow, unsure which direction to turn.
    â€œWonderful sense of humor you have,” Lord Randall called as he rode up. “You had me convinced for a while that you were afraid of horses. What a jester you are, young lady, but you must be careful that people don’t