Free The Earl's Intimate Error by Susan Gee Heino

I t was unbelievable, impossible, outrageous, and even somewhat offensive. The bedraggled creature he’d allowed to take his horse—his horse, for God’s sake—was a female ? Incomprehensible and infuriating.
    “Oh, he’s marvelous!” the dripping wench rattled, pink-cheeked and grinning.
    She hopped nimbly down from Vesuvius and shook out her chestnut hair. Thick waves of weather-dampened ringlets spilled over her shoulders. Where the devil was the cap she’d been wearing? That’s what had fooled him, no doubt. The hussy had all that glorious hair hidden when he’d first seen her. Plus, she’d been dry then.
    The rain, however, had started up while she’d been riding and had wetted her clothing. Thoroughly. Leaving little doubt as to the gender of the person inside. By God, she had bosoms! Nice, round, womanly ones. Hellfire, how had he missed those?
    Lord Woodleigh gritted his teeth. Just what sort of stable did this Canton fellow keep? Female stable hands? What folly.
    Then again, Woodleigh rethought the man’s innovation as the wench bent gracefully at the middle to grab up a cloth and began rubbing Vesuvius’s slick coat. He was reminded he’d sent his mistress off packing with another man nearly two months ago. This female’s fluid motions—and tight, wet apparel—were nothing short of torturous for a celibate man.
    Perhaps she handled more than just horseflesh for her master. Now that would be a convenient sort of employee, indeed.
    He allowed himself to appreciate the view as she ran the cloth over his animal’s long legs. Yes, a very useful and convenient employee. Did she serve her master exclusively, he wondered, or was she the type who welcomed good English coin from anyone? He was, after all, on holiday and looking for whatever might provide distraction from the unpleasant task that awaited him back in London.
    As the girl worked over Vesuvius, he had to admit he was more than a little bit jealous of the horse.
    “He was an excellent ride,” the girl said over her shoulder as she worked. “Powerful, but a very smooth gait.”
    “I’m glad you approve,” Woodleigh replied. “Not everyone appreciates a powerful mount.”
    “Oh, I do. Most definitely.”
    “He can be somewhat of a challenge, though.”
    “Yes, I could see that in him. He wouldn’t take my commands at first.”
    Woodleigh chuckled. Indeed, he’d never known the animal to take commands from anyone easily. Generally the thoroughbred misbehaved for all but himself, but under this young woman’s soothing touch the beast was as docile as a plow horse. Woodleigh could well understand it, though. He’d be in no hurry to escape her capable, busy hands if it were his own body they traveled over with such purpose and assurance.
    “But I kept him in hand, sir. Wouldn’t give him his head until he had earned it,” she continued.
    Woodleigh choked just a bit. Damn, but did the girl hear herself speaking? Surely she was not completely oblivious to how her words might be perceived. She must be purposely toying with him. And he liked it.
    “I saw you blew him out at the end,” Woodleigh commented, wondering just how far she would go with this.
    “I tried, sir, but he’s not finished yet, I’m afraid. Quite the stamina, this one.”
    “I keep myself fit. Er, that is…I keep my horses well fit.”
    “You do a fine job of it, I can see.”
    “I do a fine job of whatever I put my hands to, I assure you,” he said, hoping at last she might give up on the horse and turn some of her attentions on him.
    He was disappointed. She simply moved from Vesuvius’s left side to his right. Woodleigh had to trail her or risk losing his view.
    She would be a delightful armful, this one. Long and lean, but well formed in all the areas that mattered most. Her confidence around horseflesh only added to her allure, and surely Woodleigh could guess she was no timid maid, not if she went tramping about in wet trousers, handling stallions like