Miss Spencer Rides Astride (Heroines on Horseback) by Sydney Alexander Page A

endearment and protest, he had pushed himself up on his elbows, placing his face alarmingly close to hers. For a moment she was still, breath quickening, lips parted, still completely distracted by his eyes, and then his grin seemed to take over his entire face and she realized how deeply inappropriate their position was.  
    “Oh!” Grainne scrambled up, blushing furiously. Mr. Archer’s sloppy grin only made it worse.
    “You would doubtless make a remarkable nurse,” he said, hopping up and brushing the dirt from his breeches. “I shall send for you the moment I take a truly serious tumble.”
    “You are not hurt,” she realized stupidly. And then: “I did not mean to behave so… so…” She could not think of a word that would not leave her feeling like a strumpet.
    “You were making certain I was not injured,” Mr. Archer said gently. “You are a kind and caring woman. I am lucky to not have hurt myself, and I am lucky you were here to take care of me.”
    She smiled despite herself, the warmth on his face too charming for her to ignore. “I have had a few hard falls myself, Mr. Archer,” she replied. “I know what it is to hit the ground and not know whether it is safe to rise.”
    “Hitting the ground is always disagreeable,” he agreed. He stepped a little closer and her heart leapt in her chest. He was so tall and broad. On a horse, they were equal; it was easy to forget how large he was. “But being helped to one’s feet by a lovely woman… that is agreeable indeed.”
    Grainne gaped up at him, careless of how silly she must look with her jaw open and her eyes shining, and that was when Seamus came walking up with the wide-eyed Hercules and asked if Mr. Archer would be liking a hand in mounting up again. Archer smiled ruefully at her. “I must get back on my dragon,” he said with a shrug. “But before that…” he took her rough hand in his. “Allow me to express my most sincere thanks to my rescuer.” And he bent over her hand and kissed it.
    Grainne didn’t know what happened next. She didn’t see if Seamus was staring at her, goggle-eyed, or if Mr. Archer had any trouble mounting the ebullient Hercules, or if any of the other stable lads had seen the romantic gesture. All she could think of, as she dazedly walked towards the waiting Prince Albert and unhooked his reins from the fence-post, was the hot pulse that had raced through her body when Mr. Archer’s lips touched her skin.  
     

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    Peregrin had told him to “lie low,” and William had decided that those words probably did not exclude an occasional evening down at the village pub, especially when to refuse the invitation from his colleagues, such as they were, down in the stable yard would probably have left them most curious. Having finishing up the yard early on a wet, misty day when it had simply grown too inhospitably drizzly (to say nothing of bone-chillingly cold) to take any more horses out of their boxes, he joined the lads, much to their pleasure, in a soggy stroll down to the Old Goat.
    Dark stout, creamy on top with a thick layer of foam like milk fresh from the diary, was passed all around, and William subsided into a corner to watch and listen as the boys roared around him. They certainly played as hard as they worked. Tommy Boxton had his hand down the barmaid’s blouse within moments, it seemed. William smiled into his glass. He was quite content to watch the ribald fun. It would do him no good at all if people had any real cause to notice him.  
    There was a sudden creaking of the wood behind his head, as another pub patron settled into the next booth. Then a voice with a foreign accent began to speak in hushed tones, evidently never suspecting that someone sitting on the other side of the booth’s headboard could clearly hear every word.
    “The girl is all secured, and the horse as well,” the voice murmured. “I’ll have them ready to go when ye are.”
    “She’ll do the job?”