by Lower, Becky
“Well, there’s only one solution. Take off your skirt.”
She gasped. “Surely you jest,” she said as she slapped away his hand and turned her back to him.
“You have on chamois riding breeches under your skirt, don’t you?”
She turned to face him, spinning around on one heel, and running her hands down the skirt. “How do you know what women wear under their riding habits?”
Parr merely grinned at her.
“Right. Fine. So you’ve tumbled girls in the barn before, on beds made of hay. How utterly delightful. But you are right. I can’t do this with my skirt on, at least not yet.”
She moved to the side wall and leaned against it while she undid her skirt and let it and her petticoats fall to the floor.
She stepped away from them, clad in only her soft deerskin breeches and her high-heeled boots, and curtsied before Parr.
“Here I am, sir, ready for instruction.” She followed Parr’s eyes as they slid down her body, lingering on her swell of hip, and at the bare skin between her breeches and her boots. He was interested in her, and her feminine wiles could use a refresher course. Maybe learning how to ride again would be fun, at that.
Parr cleared his throat. “Right-o, then. Let’s get you up on the saddle once more and I can check out your form.”
Jasmine smiled at him, lowering her face so she could peek up from under her lashes, and replied, “I thought you just had.”
Parr grinned again. “Ah, you are a cheeky one, just as I suspected. Get a move on, up on the saddle with you.”
She threw her right leg over the saddle and balanced herself in the middle of it. She put her feet into the short stirrups and pretended to take the reins in her hands. Parr was flitting around her, from one side to the other, checking to see that her feet were placed properly.
“Ach, you ladies and your high-heeled boots. ’Tis a danger to you to wear them. No wonder you’re frightened every time you get on the back of a horse. You can’t position your feet properly.”
He had his hand around her ankle, and was investigating her boot. Jasmine stared down at him, enjoying the feel of his fingers tightly wrapped around her.
“So you’re now an expert in women’s attire? I’ll have you know, these boots are the latest in fine apparel.”
“Fine they may be, but they surely are not made with function in mind.”
“What do you suggest, then?”
“I have an idea.” He moved over to a wooden box and opened the lid. After a few seconds of rummaging around in the box, he withdrew a pair of old boots and turned to Jasmine with a triumphant smile on his face. “These might fit you. They were my first pair of racing boots, and I’ve never had the heart to throw them away, even though they’re too small for me now.”
Jasmine leaned over the saddle and began to unlace her boot.
“Here, let me,” Parr said as he hastened back to her side. Slowly, he undid the laces of the boot and removed it from her foot. Jasmine thought his hand lingered a bit longer than it should have at her heel, but she was enjoying his single-minded attention. Her mother would be scandalized if she ever found out she had bared her lower half and her feet in front of the stable boy. That thought alone made her smile. He pulled the boot onto her bare foot.
“See how it covers your leg up to the knee, offering you protection? And how the heel is just deep enough to keep your foot from sliding forward in the stirrup? The soles are also grooved a bit in front of the heel, to help give you traction.”
He hastened to put the other boot on her, and then straightened up.
Jasmine wiggled around in the saddle a bit, and bestowed a smile on Parr.
“This is nice. Both the saddle and the boots. I don’t feel that I’m about to topple over, which is how I feel in a sidesaddle.”
“Would you care to try it on an actual horse now?”
“I think I could, yes.”
“All right then, let’s get you down from there and I’ll go saddle a mare for you to ride.”
He helped her down from the saddle and took what he needed to get the mare ready. Jasmine picked up her riding skirt and petticoats and walked out to where Colleen sat, her knitting needles clacking away.
“Here, Colleen. Can you take care of these while I finish my lesson?”
Colleen’s eyes left her knitting and she gasped at Jasmine’s appearance. She shook her head. “I don’t know what it is with you Fitzpatrick girls, but you can’t seem to keep your clothes on. First Ginger ran around in her bloomers, and now it’s you in your breeches.”
Jasmine sat beside Colleen and showed off her footwear. “And look at these boots! They’re Parr’s from when he first began to ride, and they are so comfortable. If Parr will let me, I’m going to take them to Philippe and see if he can make me a more feminine version of them. Don’t you think that’s a capital idea?”
“I think that’s the least he could do, after his crazy idea to paint your soles red caused your accident last year. You spent the entire season sidelined with your broken ankle while your sister found her true love. Aye, Philippe owes you.”
Jasmine leaned back against the wall. “Yes, I think a visit to the cobbler is in order, just as soon as I finish with Parr.” Philippe had been enamored with her last year, and Parr was interested in her now. Only Alistair was left to charm. Life was looking up, even if it meant climbing onto a horse again.
Chapter Seven
By week’s end, Jasmine was riding well enough to risk leaving the paddock area. She even put her skirt back on, much to Parr’s dismay, and together they agreed that as long as no one caught sight of her mounting up, she could pull off using a rider’s saddle rather than a sidesaddle.
“So, cailín, are you ready to take a real ride, out in the open now?” Parr encouraged.
Jasmine smiled. “I think I am, Parr. Let’s take just a short ride.”
“I’ll saddle up Grey and we’ll be off in no time. Sit tight.”
Soon, they left the confines of the paddock and were heading out across an open field. Parr breathed in deeply, loving the scent of the fields, and the tang of pine in the air from the surrounding woods. He checked Jasmine for signs of her breaking form, or feeling uncomfortable, but she seemed to be doing fine. She no longer needed his services, and wouldn’t be coming to the barn every day now. She could turn her attention back to her main goal — Alistair Wickersham. Parr sighed softly. He should have slowed down the lessons.
“Would it be all right if I take your boots with me when I leave today? I want to show them to my French cobbler and have him make a pair that’s a bit more feminine, but still has all the benefits yours do. I’ve drawn up several sketches of what I want already.”
“Aye, of course, cailín, that’d be fine.”
“Although I don’t know why I’m interested in taking my business to Philippe again, after what he did to me last year.” She tossed her luxurious brunette curls back from her shoulder.
Parr grinned at the obvious ploy for attention. “And what did this French man do to you?”
“Well, he single-handedly destroyed my season. He had this wild notion that if he painted the bottom of his shoes red, it would set them apart from all the others. So he tried it on my slippers for the ball. But the paint became very slippery when they got wet, and I fell the minute my slippers came into contact with a puddle. Down I went, breaking my ankle! And I’d only danced with two men at that point.”
“Why was there a puddle in the middle of a dance floor, I wonder?”
Jasmine waved her hand. “You silly man. The puddle was on the balcony, not the dance floor. Heather and I were playing our game again, where we pretend to be the other one. She wanted me to talk to a gentleman who was pursuing her, and dissuade him, since I’m so much better at talking to men than
she is. So I met him on the balcony, where he was planning a liaison with her, and told him Heather wanted nothing to do with him. But as I was leaving, I slipped and fell.”
“Hard luck there. I hope your duplicity at least worked.”
“No, they’re married now. I’m all alone.”
“Poor Jasmine.”
He grinned again as Jasmine’s gaze raked over his face, and hoped she wouldn’t chastise him for the totally inappropriate breach of etiquette he had just committed by using her first name. She smiled, too.
“I guess I am feeling sorry for myself. It’s just that we’ve been side by side our entire lives. And now we’re not.”
“It must have been hard to be identical twins, even if it meant you had a constant companion.”
“Exactly! God, finally, someone who understands! We walked the same way, had identical features, even wore matching clothing until we were eighteen. The only thing I had that she didn’t was the claim that I was three minutes older than she was. But now, she’s married first, so even that small edge is gone.”
“And, I’m assuming, you were always in the lead while you were growing up?”
“Yes, I was the outgoing one, she was the bashful one.”
“’Tis funny, isn’t it, how we get labeled early on, and it sticks, regardless of whether ’tis true or not?”
Jasmine peered over at him. “And what label do you have, Parr?”
“Well, my name means ‘of the stable,’ so that tells you all you need to know.”
“And you never did really answer the question as to why your mother named you what she did.”
“Me poor mum had a hard lot in life, and I was one more burden to her. I thought it best not to question her too much on my origins.”
“What of your father?”
“I never met him, and me mum kept quiet her whole life about who he was. Whenever I asked, she told me the fairies left me in the forest for her to find.” His lips turned upwards into a smile.
“Is your mother still alive?”
“No, she passed two years ago. I’ve been on me own since then.”
“But you must have been just a boy when she died. You can’t be more than seventeen now!”
Parr smiled. “’Tis the Irish in me, Miss Fitzpatrick. I look much younger than I am. I will be twenty soon.”
“So we’re nearly the same age! How interesting. Whoops!”
Jasmine cried out as her mare stumbled, then quickly righted itself. Parr jumped off his horse and inspected the mare. And then inspected Jasmine.
“The mare’s thrown a shoe. Are you all right?”
Jasmine didn’t appear well to him. Her face immediately had lost its color, and the smile she’d been wearing while he filled the air with conversation to keep her mind off her mount died instantly. She was trembling again, which he hadn’t seen since her first day in the stable. He reached up and helped her off the horse.
She fell into his arms, and he held her until the trembling stopped. He buried his nose in her dark hair and smelled her shampoo. Lovely scent, he thought. And the lavender water that she always wore wafted around them. All too soon, she got her body under control, and he had to let her go. With reluctance, he took a step away.
“’Twill be fine. You’ll be fine. Your mare stumbled, but you stayed on her back, just as a burr would on a dog. Good on you. Next time, you’ll do even better.”
“Thank you, Parr, for understanding. I’m sure you’re right, and I will get better. But, I think I’m going to need your services for at least awhile longer.”
“That’d be fine. But for now, I need you to get up on my horse and we’ll head back to the stable.”
Jasmine began to tremble again. “But I can’t ride Grey! He’s way too big, and too fast. What if I lose control over him?”
“Then we’ll ride together. Hurry on, up you go.” He hoisted her into the saddle and let her situate herself before he leapt up behind her. He put one arm around Jasmine as he picked up the reins and took her mount’s reins in his other hand. Together, they slowly made their way back to the stable. They could have covered the distance much faster than they did, but Parr didn’t want to upset Jasmine further by pushing his horse to a trot or a canter. And besides, Parr wanted to drag this out. He had her in his arms, he could smell her intoxicating scent, and his arm grazed the side of her breast. She relaxed and leaned back against him after a few minutes, and Parr thought he was in heaven.
Chapter Eight
Philippe Louboutin bowed low over Jasmine’s outstretched hand, and kissed her glove. “Mademoiselle Fitzpatrick, I waz so hoping to see you again.”
“I should browbeat you, Philippe, for the trouble you caused me last year.” She tugged off her gloves and swatted at him playfully. “But I have a special project I need your help with.”
She motioned for Colleen to open the bag that contained Parr’s boots. From her reticule, Jasmine withdrew a sketch of what she was envisioning.
“Do you think you can make a more feminine version of these boots, similar to what I’ve drawn?”
Philippe examined the boots and then the sketch. “You drew zis, mademoiselle?” At her nod, he replied. “I can come up with something similar to zis. Shall we look at the leathers, so you can select what you want?”
They walked to the back of the shop, Colleen not far from their side. Jasmine was aware of Colleen’s distrust of the Frenchman, even though she had no problem leaving her charge alone with a fellow countryman at the barn when she had her riding lessons. She’d have to figure out a way to be alone with Philippe so she could ascertain if he still had feelings for her. Last year, he had gifted her with special shoes and they had shared a kiss. Would she still be excited by him, now that she’d set her cap for Alistair? They spent a few minutes poring over the leather selections before Jasmine picked a beautiful deep brown one that was supple yet strong.
“Ah, oui, a perfect choice, mademoiselle. I’ll get to work on zis right away. But come with me now, I have a special surprise for you.” He began to draw her to the private fitting room.
“I’ll be right back, Colleen,” Jasmine called out. “Why don’t you see if you can find a pair of new shoes for yourself, while you’re here?” She hoped the task of selecting new shoes would occupy Colleen for a few minutes.
As soon as they entered the fitting room, Jasmine helped herself to a piece of French chocolate, which was on hand for all the women who frequented the shop. She nibbled on the decadent candy as the philandering man knelt before her and removed her slipper.
“Now, where did we leave off last season?” His hands cupped her naked foot and he bent over it, kissing her arch. Even though she’d had a mild flirtation with the man last year, and let him kiss her, he was now treating her as if she was some common tart. She pulled her foot away from him. A year away from Philippe had given her a fresh perspective on his behavior and she no longer wanted to play his games.
“Monsieur Louboutin, you are indeed taking far too many liberties with me!”
“Oui, mademoiselle, and from your breathing I can tell you are enjoying it.” He moved his hand to her foot again, wrapping it tightly around her ankle.
Again, Jasmine pulled away. Last year, she would have welcomed a dalliance with this exotic man. After all, society ladies near and far flocked to him merely to hear his heavily accented English, and to flirt with him. But since he’d put untested paint on her slippers, causing her to fall and lose her entire season, she was not so inclined this year. His touch no longer sent bolts of desire coursing through her body. However, if the surprise he offered was a good one, she could be coerced into giving him something more.
“Please, Philippe, where is my special surprise?”
Philippe then stood and stared down at her. His head drooped onto his chest. �
��I see how it iz this year. You are angry with Philippe. I hope the gift will make up for it.” He pulled out a pair of gorgeous white slippers, embellished with bows of pink satin ribbon that wound around her ankle. Her breath caught in her throat.
“They are beautiful, Philippe. Oh, please, let me try them on.”
He held them up to her, soles facing her. “And you see, no paint zis time.” He knelt to put them on her feet. “Am I now forgiven?” He gazed up at her as he tied the ribbons around her ankles.
Jasmine stared at her feet with the new beautiful slippers on them. She held her foot out and turned it first one way, then another, and momentarily took her eyes off the cobbler. So she was unprepared when he swooped in to capture a kiss from her. Gasping at his boldness, her mouth opened just enough to give him access, and his tongue wormed its way into her mouth. She pushed against him, hard, but he didn’t budge. The gall of this man! Thinking she would immediately swoon into his arms, just because he gave her a present! Wonder if his accent will sound as pleasant if his tongue is swollen when I bite it? She prepared herself for his howl of pain when she clamped down hard on his tongue. Ready, set …
“I think I’ll take these, monsieur,” Colleen called out as she strutted into the room, breaking the two apart. Jasmine quickly jumped up from the chair. “I do believe it’s past time for us to be going, lass.”
Philippe had the grace to look penitent as he quickly removed the slippers from Jasmine’s feet and wrapped them up along with Colleen’s choice. “Your slippers are no charge, mademoiselle. It’s ze least I can do to make up for your unfortunate spill.”
“Thank you, Philippe, and I’ll be back at the end of the week for my boots.” They quickly left the shop.
“That despicable man,” Jasmine muttered as they got into their carriage. “Thank you, Colleen, for coming in when you did.”
