The Rake to Ruin Her. Julia Justiss

paths. ‘Still training your gelding every morning?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘In breeches and boots?’ A lovely image, that!

      ‘No more breeches and boots, alas; you and your cousin taught me to be more cautious. Though I still ride early, it’s getting more difficult to avoid company. Lord Stantson has been pressing me to let him ride with me of a morning, but thus far has honoured my wishes when I firmly decline. He’s a fine enough gentleman, but I’ve heard he came here specifically looking for a second wife. Since I’m not angling for the position, I’m trying to give him no encouragement.’

      Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she continued, ‘Mr Henshaw, however, not only requires no encouragement, he positively refuses to be discouraged! He’s turned up each of the last two mornings, despite my continued insistence that I prefer to ride alone. How am I to train Sultan properly, with him interrupting us?’

      For a moment, her eyes focused unseeing on the glasshouse wall and she shivered. ‘Though I was garbed in a stiflingly proper habit, he seems to be always staring at me. I don’t care for his expression when he does so, either—as if I were a favourite pudding he meant to devour.’

      Max frowned. She might have worn a proper habit every day since that first one, but she hadn’t been the morning he’d seen Henshaw watching her. How close a look at her had the man got? Close enough to get an eyeful of the shapely form he and Alastair had so appreciated?

      If so, Max could hardly fault any man for staring at her like a ‘pudding one meant to devour’. Which didn’t reduce one whit the strong desire rising in him to blacken both Henshaw’s eyes for making her feel uncomfortable.

      ‘He insisted on riding with me, despite the fact that I was quite obviously trying to work with Sultan,’ Miss Denby continued. ‘Honestly, he possesses terrible hands and the worst seat I’ve ever been forced to observe. I’ve taken to riding even earlier to avoid him.’

      ‘I’ve never seen him astride, only observed his … remarkably inventive dress. He must make his tailors very rich.’

      She chuckled. ‘A man milliner indeed. One would think, with his exacting tastes in garments, sheer disgust over my atrocious gowns would be enough to dissuade him from pursuing me.’

      She looked up at him, smiling faintly, those great dark eyes inviting him to share her amusement. Her lavender scent wrapped itself around him like a silken scarf, pulling him closer. He wanted to trace the scent to its origin, lick it from her neck and ears and the hollows of the collarbones he’d seen that day she’d ridden in an open-collared shirt and breeches.

      As he gazed raptly, her dark eyes widened and her smile faded. She seemed as mesmerised as he, her lips parting slightly, giving him the tiniest glimpse of pink tongue within the warmth of her mouth.

      Desire shot through him, pulsing in his veins, curling his fingers with the itch to cup her chin and taste her.

      ‘Well,’ she said, her voice a bit breathless, ‘I suppose I should leave you now, lest someone come by and see us. Unless …’ she smiled tremulously, brushing a curl back from her forehead as her cheeks pinked ‘… you’d like to … reconsider my proposition?’

      Her cloak fell open at that movement. Beneath the fabric of another overtrimmed, pea-green gown, he saw the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing accelerated.