Read Online Beauty in Breeches by Helen Dickson - Free Book Online

mad, downward dash. The hooves pounded, sending divots of earth up behind. She urged Major onwards, then there was a giant hedge before her, white with summer blossom. His body flowing easily with his horse’s stride, Lord Chadwick held the advantage and cleared it first. Beatrice felt Major’s hind quarters bunching up beneath her and with one giant leap she cleared it withan effortless, breezy unconcern and hit the ground on the other side. Lord Chadwick glanced around and waved his hand, laughing jubilantly on seeing her several lengths behind. With a laugh in her own throat, Beatrice recovered and was off again, pounding into her fastest gallop once more.
    Racing across the soft parkland grass, Lord Chadwick was just ahead of her, his attention fixed on winning the race. But Beatrice was gaining on him. She could feel the ripple of her hair as it loosed its pins and laughed recklessly to feel the wind in her face. Major’s ears were back to hear her laugh, then forward as they came to another hedge with a ditch before it. She checked only for a moment and then they soared over it as one. She could smell the scent of summer flowers and crushed woodbine as Major’s hooves clipped the top of the hedge and then they were moving on, even faster.
    With the meadow and the finishing post within sight, there were only two lengths between them now and with a surge of energy, knowing exactly what his mistress wanted, Major, confident, trusting and elated, sailed past Lord Chadwick’s beautiful grey, the crowd shouting, ‘Go on, Miss Beatrice!’ They flew past the winning post, at the point where they had started.
    The crowd erupted, everyone laughing and cheering. Julius pulled his sweating horse to a halt and took in Beatrice’s mud-spattered face and tumbling, tangled hair. Her golden skin was flushed with heat and excitement and her eyes—winner’s eyes—were a sparkling, brilliant green. Dragging in a deep breath, exhilarationcoursing through their veins, their wide smiles were mirror images. Julius couldn’t help thinking that it was worth losing the race to see her laughing with such unfeigned delight. It was a warm, husky, rippling sound. His eyes locked on her lips, on the column of her slender throat. Instinctively his hands tightened on the reins.
    He dismounted and went to her, placing his hand on her horse’s foam-flecked neck. ‘It was a good race. Quite splendid. You win. You rode well,’ he conceded. ‘Congratulations.’
    She sprang from the saddle and stood close to him, her smile shamelessly triumphant. She was able to feel the heat of his body as he could feel hers. Fuelled by the breathless excitement of the race and her win, and the pleasure of standing so close to his strong manly body, she was aware that she was trembling.
    It was a long time since Julius had enjoyed a ride as much, or as fast and unrestrained, with company that could handle the going as well as he. ‘George was right. You’re an intrepid horsewoman.’
    Tossing her head, she laughed happily. ‘I couldn’t let you have the advantage of me now, could I?’
    â€˜I suppose not. So, Miss Fanshaw—the forfeit? What is it to be?’ He stood without moving, awaiting her pleasure.
    Unsmiling, she met his gaze and held it. He was looking at her with quiet patience—like a cat before a mousehole. Having puzzled on how to approach him, she chose directness, calming herself and saying, ‘By his own actions my father gambled away everythinghe owned to you, causing him to lose his self-respect and his sanity. Now you are the only person I can think of who can help me.’ She could sense he was wary, that his guard was up. There was a distance between her and this man which might never be closed. The startling amber eyes rested on her ironically.
    â€˜Of what help could I possibly be to you? What is it that I can do? My curiosity is aroused as to why