Read Online The Courtship by Catherine Coulter - Free Book Online

feel of it. He leaned down close to Luther’s neck, breathing in his horse’s clean wild sweat. “I might enjoy watching you race,” he said. “You could have raced that damned Brutus into the ground. If you do ever race, I will ride you myself.”
    He was thinking that perhaps he should give racing another chance when suddenly, without a hint of warning, a female body slammed into him from out of nowhere and sent him crashing to the ground.
    He saw white bursts of light. He couldn’t breathe. A weight was crushing him.
    The lights dimmed. He swallowed. He slit open his eyes, all he could manage. Miss Helen Mayberry was all in a heap on top of him. A thick blond braid was wrapped around his face. Her riding hat tipped over her right eye. Her nose wasn’t an inch above his.
    â€œOh, dear, are you all right, Lord Beecham? Please say something. Can you look at me?”
    His wits were still on the jagged side, his brain hovered in the ether. He couldn’t quite breathe yet and he wondered if his leg was broken. But he was a man of strong parts, strong will, and he realized his leg wasn’t broken, thankfully, just twisted a bit. Finally, not two minutes later, he managed to blink a couple of times and focus on the lovely face above his.
    â€œDid I not tell you that I wouldn’t care for the process of you bringing me down, Miss Mayberry? Just the end result?”
    â€œBut, sir, my horse threw me. I was riding happily along, saw you out of the corner of my eye, started to wave at you, and just in that split second, a bee stung my poor mare on the neck, she raced up close to you, and then tossed me right into you. It was all a ghastly accident. I haven’t broken anything, have I?”
    â€œMy leg was in question for a bit, but I think no bones are snapped in two. Please remove yourself, Miss Mayberry. If you remain where you are, then I will probably get myself back together well enough to start caressing you. My hands are very close to your hips as we speak. Do you want to be caressed in the park? Or would a lady from East Anglia shrink from that?”
    â€œIt would be a novel form of discipline,” Helen said slowly, still not an inch from his face. She felt all of him beneath her. He felt quite nice.
    He lightly touched her chin with his fingertips. “Actually, I would call it discipline only if the pleasure you took from me was balanced by the imminent chance of discovery by one of society’s matrons, say, for example, Sally Jersey. Have you met Sally?”
    â€œNo, but I fancy that my father would like to meet her. I understand she adores champagne.”
    â€œIt’s true. I can even see them together. Yes, there he is, carrying her under his right arm, and she has a bottle of champagne tucked close. Now my body has recovered from its appalling shock, Miss Mayberry, and is more than eager to commence.”
    â€œI had no choice, Lord Beecham. I had to act. You have kept your distance for three days. I suppose you were punishing me.”
    He lightly touched his hands to her hips. She jumped, then didn’t move a muscle. “Not at all, Miss Mayberry. It is psychological discipline. I am a master at it.”
    She felt him against her belly, felt his large hands now caressing her bottom, and quickly rolled off him. She imagined he was a master at many things. She came up, clasping her arms around her knees.
    He took a very deep breath, then whistled. Luther, cropping grass some ten yards away, looked up and whinnied. “No, stay there, boy,” he called. “Where is your horse, Miss Mayberry?”
    She whistled through her teeth, just like a boy, louder than he had whistled. A chestnut mare with a white star on her forehead and four white socks cantered over to within a foot of them and pulled up sharp.
    He had never heard a woman do that before in his life. She had whistled louder, he thought, than he had been able to, even as a boy,