A Regency Virgin's Undoing: Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin / Paying the Virgin's Price. Christine Merrill

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 to save her from a fall. She chose a gait that was not too arduous on horse or rider, but still gained them time over the unreliable coach. It was hard not to admire her almost masculine single-mindedness in pursuit of a goal.

      From his position behind her, he could admire her body as well. Now that the coat hid her form, there was really nothing to see. But his imagination was good, as was his memory. At some point, they would have to stop. And he would sleep in the stable before sharing another bed with her, lest he forget himself again.

Chapter Seven

      Mr Hendricks pulled up beside her, and signalled her to slow her horse to a walk. ‘We shall be stopping soon,’ he said, checking his watch against the position of the sun. ‘While it might be possible to travel farther, we must change horses to keep this pace. We could take a room—’ he corrected himself ‘—rooms. And get some dinner.’

      ‘Or we can hire fresh mounts and continue for a few more hours,’ she said.

      ‘You are not tired?’

      ‘Not if there is a chance that we are gaining on them.’ They’d had no information since the stop this morning. And she must hope that the speed they were moving had closed the distance.

      ‘And you are comfortable as you are attired?’ He looked doubtfully at her borrowed costume.

      ‘I am accustomed to it,’ she said, not wishing to commit herself. It was strangely freeing to go without skirts, as long as she did not think of how it must look. She could bend low over the horse’s neck and gallop if she wished, unencumbered by petticoats, not worrying about the set of her hat or the attractive arrangement of the garments. And while she felt the stretching of unused muscles, it was not so much painful as troubling. There was a guilty pleasure in it that would not be repeated. And she wished to prolong that a few more hours, if she could.

      ‘Very well, then. We will stop at the next inn, and I will check for your wayward carriage and hire us some new steeds. You …’ He looked her up and down before speaking again. ‘You had best remain in the courtyard. Keep your coat buttoned and your hat pulled low. Speak to no one and do not wander off.’ He looked at her again as though he expected to see something he had not noticed before. ‘I am sorry to say it, my lady, but you do not make a very convincing man.’

      And then he laughed, a kind of choking snort as though his proper demeanour had failed him.

      ‘Is there something amusing that I am not aware of?’ she said in a voice that should have frozen him to silence.

      He was still chuckling slightly. ‘You seemed most unhappy with a statement that, in any other context, would have been good news. Just now, you were glaring into the air as though you had wished to hear you wore it better. I found the juxtaposition funny.’

      ‘I do not like to be reminded that I am unable to perform a role to the satisfaction of others.’ She’d had enough of that at home to last a lifetime.

      ‘It is no fault of yours, I assure you,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a less attractive woman might have managed it.’ He laughed again.

      ‘Please do not joke with me about my appearance,’ she snapped. ‘If you thought that I was angling for a compliment, I assure you, that was not the case.

      ‘I am not laughing at your appearance,’ he said in the same mild patient tone he’d used to coax her into wearing his clothes, but stifling a smile. ‘Only at the way you frowned again upon being told that you were attractive.’

      ‘Because it is nonsense,’ she said. ‘Fine words meant to flatter me into a better humour.’

      ‘Give me more credit than that, Lady Drusilla. I have not been in your employ for long, but I am smart enough to realise that it would take more than flattery to put you in a good humour.’ Before she could reprimand him, he shot her another sidelong glance, then turned his attention to the road. ‘This is what comes from reading sermons,’ he muttered. ‘You think too much. If I wished to flatter you, I would have mentioned your pleasant features and your beautiful dark hair. Both comments would have been true. But they would have nothing to do with your inability to disguise such an obviously female body in masculine clothing with any degree of success. And now, if you tell me that the Lord has given it to you, and you deserve no credit for it, then I will take that little book of sermons from your pocket and throw it into the next stream.’

      To put an end to the conversation, he gave his beast a gentle kick in the sides and was off at such a pace that she had to struggle to follow him.

      He needn’t have bothered. Any retorts she had for him had flown quite out of her head. Left in their place was a swirl of words: attractive, pleasant, beautiful and, best of all, obviously female. Somewhere in the midst of it, he had commented on her bad humour. But she was hardly bothered by a comment on something which was seen as a universal truth by those close to her.

      And he had laughed, not exactly at her, but in her direction, as though her temper amused more than it upset him. The negatives he’d thrown into the last interchange were like salt in a pudding, serving to emphasise the sweetness and bring out the subtle flavours of the rest.

      And