Free Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant by Helen Dickson

smoothing her skirt with the palms of her hands, she smiled. It was a pretty dress, pink and white sprigged with pretty flounces around the hem and with a modestly low bodice. She felt a nervous anticipation as she waited for Polly to show Nathan in.
    He strode into the room, carrying a parcel beneath his arm. He was wearing a tan jacket and white-silk neckcloth, buckskin riding breeches and gleaming brown-leather boots. His dark hair was ruffled and fell over the top of the scar that ran beside his left eye to his cheek. It gave him a sardonic, mocking look when his face was in repose. Only laughter or a smile softened the rigour of the scar.
    Despite this he was devilishly attractive to look at. Lucy’s pulse raced. She was unsure as to the cause—her handsome riding instructor or her fear of what was in store. He stopped a couple of yards in front of her, gazing at her with a half smile curling on his lips.
    ‘Are you ready to begin your training?’
    ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
    His eyes passed over her. He shook his head. ‘That won’t do. Here,’ he said, handing her the parcel.
    Lucy took it and set it down on the table in front of the sofa. ‘What is it?’
    ‘Open it.’
    Totally bewildered, she did as he asked. Dumbfounded, she stared at the contents, holding them up.
    ‘You would deck me out in these? But—I can’t possibly. Why, they’re indecent and inappropriate.’
    He laughed. ‘You don’t know the difficulty I had getting these made for you. Every tailor thought me mad when I described what I wanted and no one believed that I desired to put them on a woman. I had to pay a goodly sum to have them made.’
    Lucy continued to stare at them. ‘But—they’re
men’s
breeches. I am expected to wear these?’
    He nodded, amused at her dismay. ‘Unless you prefer to be constantly tangled up in skirts. You must have worn breeches in some of your roles on stage.’
    ‘I have—but that was different. I was playing a part.’ Frowning, she continued to inspect the breeches. ‘I doubt they’re my size.’
    ‘I have a good memory, Lucy.’
    She flushed, lowering her gaze so she didn’t have to see the knowing look in his eyes. ‘Four years is a long time. I’ve put on weight.’
    ‘In all the right places if my eyesight is to be believed. I assure you I had these made with all good intentions in mind. Do not fear that I’m making sport of you. You will find it easier and more comfortable to ride a horse wearing breeches. It’s more practical. As a woman you will attract attention—some of it unwelcome. For your own safety, it will be better if those we meet think you are a male to begin with.’
    ‘You’ll be telling me to cut off my hair next.’ When he didn’t say anything she glanced at him sharply. ‘You
want
me to cut my hair?’
    He grinned. ‘You have beautiful hair, but you will not be as conspicuous with short hair. It’s—practical. It will soon grow.’
    Lucy didn’t relish the idea of cropping her most prized asset, but perhaps he was right. She would attract less attention and it would be less trouble. ‘Very well. I’ll have Polly cut it before we leave.’ Shaking her head, she glanced dubiously at the breeches once more. ‘I’m becoming more confused by the hour. These breeches look awfully tight. I really don’t think they’re my size.’
    ‘They’ll do for the time being. Go and put them on. We’re wasting time. I want to assess your horsemanship and you cannot sit astride a horse in that dress—pretty though it is.’
    Without further argument, Lucy left with the offending garments.
    Feeling terribly self-conscious, she reappeared ten minutes later. The breeches, which disappeared into riding boots, were skin tight, showing off her long and perfectly shaped legs, the short jacket cut so high to reveal her attractive round derrière. Nathan admired the sight with glowing eyes, before cocking an eyebrow and ushering her outside.
    * * *
    The coach