Read Online Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns by Leigh LaValle - Free Book Online Page A

me, princess,” Roane said. But then he sighed. “Bloody hell, if you are going to be so stubborn about it, we should ride at once. We’ve a long day of grueling terrain ahead of us.”
    She smiled, focusing on his capitulation, and not the idea of scary horses and grueling terrain . Ugh. “Let us ride, then.”
    He eyed her. “Are you wearing anything under your skirts? We’ve only the one saddle for you. You’ll have to ride astride.”
    She snorted. “That is not possible.”
    “It is very possible. In fact, it is the only possibility. You’ll want to protect your legs, the saddle chafes something awful.”
    It all sounded awful. Beyond awful.
    “I’ll make do,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “What of my things in Cromford? Might we stop to retrieve them?”
    “The time to go to Cromford is long past, sweetheart. We’re a good twenty miles north of there.”
    “But, my gowns…”
    He shrugged. “If you are lucky, the innkeeper will save them. More than likely, he’ll use them as payment for your rooms.”
    “I cannot wear this horrendous gown for days.” She thrust her arms outward, her posture screaming Look at this dress. “It wasn’t even fashionable last year.”
    Roane raised a mocking brow.
    Helen dropped her hands and picked at the muddy skirts of her printed wrap dress. “My favorite carriage dress is at the inn. I had to wait a month for that specific shade of lavender.”
    “I’d happily return you—”
    “Now off with you,” she interrupted before he could reconsider his position. “So I may prepare for the day.”
    “Of course.” With an exaggerated bow, Roane gathered his bedroll and saddlebags and left her alone in the cave. She lowered the front apron of her unfashionable dress and awkwardly pulled on her half corset. Her face burned as she tightened the laces, recalling how Roane had touched her everywhere . How he had bent her back over his arm and used his mouth…
    Good lord, these thoughts were not helping. She had to face a horse and miles of torture in just a few moments.
    As if dressing for battle, she fixed her gown, pulled on her cloak, ruined gloves and her poor, drooping bonnet. Lastly, she tied her reticule around her wrist.
    A lady never left home without her reticule.
    The small bag contained her mirror, comb, a few hairpins and a sewing kit. And, here in this strange land, it afforded Helen a certain confidence. In the past year, as her world had crumbled around her, fashion had become her one source of control. If her appearance was flawless, no one would see the suffering woman behind it. And, if no one saw her sorrow, it didn’t truly exist, not fully.
    She tightened the strap of her reticule. If she could fix her hair or her hem, she could fix anything.
    A rather ridiculous sentiment, she knew, but in this cave, she would take any comfort she could get.
     
    T EN MINUTES LATER, Helen stared at her mount. Dread sank like a heavy stone in her belly and her legs shook beneath her. She wanted to turn back, to admit to Roane that she was a bumbling fool and beg him to take her to Cromford. But she would not. She could not. There was nothing for it but to plunge ahead.
    Rubbing her damp palms together, she approached the mare. The horse watched with steely eyes and a cold sweat broke out over Helen’s skin. She was doomed, absolutely doomed, if just a horse looking at her made her want to run away.
    She exhaled sharply, forcing her shoulders down. She had faced foul-mouthed, drunken louts and demanded they let her collect her brothers from their flea-ridden “establishments.” She could face a horse.
    “Hello, Starlight.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know your name, so I gave you one. With you being blonde and all.” Now for the hard part.
    Helen held out her hand.
    Starlight lifted her head and Helen snapped her hand back. Then she made herself hold out her palm again and slowed her breathing. It was imperative the horse not sense