by Dayna Quince
“I thought I’d find you here. Did you even bother to look for my sister?” Rigsby slumped into the opposite chair and mirrored his mood.
“I found her. Right there behind the Chinese screen.”
Jonathan scowled at the screen. “I was going to look there, but Thea said she already had.”
Dean shrugged. “She joined us.”
“Cheaters.” Rigsby stared at the fire thoughtfully. “I suppose you didn’t compromise anyone tonight, did you?”
“Both, actually. But I should like to marry Miss Manton. Lucy gave me the impression she needs to escape her family. I could be her hero, her heroic if tarnished knight.”
Jonathan chuckled. “They are horrendous. It’s why Lucy demands her attendance at everything. I imagine when Lucy does marry, God willing, she will insist her husband allow Thea to live with them. I’m surprised it isn’t part of her marriage contract.”
“She hasn’t thought of it yet, that’s why.”
“You called her Lucy,” Jonathan said pointedly.
Dean blinked. “So I did. My apologies.”
“It’s fine. Make use of it while you can. She’s right, you know. It gets tiring after a while. For the longest time, I refused to call Thea anything but Miss Manton. But then she became so ingrained in our family. I relented with Dorothea, but that was still a mouthful, and now it’s just Thea.”
“Perhaps you should marry her and change her name for good?” Dean teased.
Jonathan grimaced. “She is like a sister to me. I could never bed her.”
Dean took a sip of his drink. “Your sister has taken it upon herself to be her protector.”
“Yes. Lucy does that quite often.” Jonathan folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. “She hasn’t bothered you, has she?”
“I beg your pardon?” Dean finished the last of his drink in one swallow.
“If she fancies playing the matchmaker between you and Thea, it will make your stay here a chore. You can tell me if she bothers you. She bothers me to no end.”
Dean snorted. “You love her.”
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t. There are plenty of siblings in the world who only tolerate each other. You and your sister have something special.”
“I suppose. She can be entertaining to have around. She has a special way about her.”
Dean looked at the bottom of his empty glass. “Yes, she does.”
“But I’ll be glad when she takes a husband. I won’t have to worry so much about her. As strong as she can be, there is always someone stronger.”
Dean looked over at Rigsby, but he still had his eyes closed.
“Have you ever had to defend her?”
Rigsby furrowed his brow. “Once. Lord Harris. Do you remember him from university? He always had a mean way about him. During her first season, he tried to drag her someplace private. Luckily, I was already down that path with Lady Walters.” Rigsby grinned for a moment then sobered. “She fought him off and he hit her.”
Dean’s hand tightened around his glass. He stared at the flames and imagined planting his fist in Lord Harris’s face over and over. “What happened?”
“I met him at dawn and put a bullet in his shoulder.”
Dean smiled. “That’s how he lost the use of that arm?”
Jonathan grinned without opening his eyes. “Yes.”
“Does she know?”
“No, but I did show her a few new punches after that and lectured her about entering gardens with men until her ears bled. She still does it, but I haven’t had to shoot anyone since then.”
Dean chuckled as he stood to refill his glass. He changed his mind and set it down. He wasn’t in the mood to drink anymore.
“I envy your family,” he said thoughtfully.
“How is your father?”
“Still a righteous arse. He’s been ill for years, but I’m convinced I’ll die before him.” Dean retook his seat.
Jonathan was looking at him now. “You still won’t share why you hate each other?”
Dean shook his head. “I don’t like to relive the past.”
“Is it the past if it still hangs over you like a dark cloud?”
Dean pinned him with a stare. “It’s the past because I refuse to discuss things in the past. There’s no changing it.”
Rigsby relented. “Fine. I won’t ask, but I will say this. It’s not the past if it’s still hurting you.”
Dean didn’t respond to that. Instead, he relaxed back in his chair and stared angrily at the fire.
“Will you ride with us tomorrow?”
Dean nodded.
“Good. I’m off to bed. We’ll go after breakfast.”
“Sleep well,” Dean muttered.
He pushed thoughts of his father away and instead, called to mind an image of Lucy. Soft, sweet smelling Lucy. He would ride tomorrow. He would take any opportunity that put her in his path and would give them a chance to be alone.
The following morning, Dean caught up with Jonathan on the stairs, and they entered the breakfast parlor together. The room was empty except for a lone footman, who promptly handed a note to Rigsby after they had taken their seats.
“What’s this about?” Rigsby opened the note and scowled. “Bloody hell. What is that minx up to now?” Rigsby tossed his napkin from his lap and stood.
“Something is wrong, I take it?” Dean sipped his coffee.
“She’s gone riding without me.” Rigsby bolted from the room.
Dean hurried after him in puzzlement. “Is there something dangerous about them riding alone on your father’s land?”
“Yes. Lucy is dangerous. Any moment she chooses to slip her leash has great potential to be dangerous,” Rigsby growled.
Dean couldn’t help biting back a smile. He couldn’t wait to see what shenanigans she’d gotten herself into now. Dean kept a hearty stride while Jonathan bolted from the house in a flat out run. Dean wasn’t as concerned. How much trouble could she cause before ten in the morning?
They reached the stable and neither of the women could be found there.
“Jenkins, where is my sister.”
“She’s just outside, sir,” the groom answered nervously.
“Ready our horses immediately. She’s likely to bolt.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rigsby strode to the other end of the stable and pushed open the door.
Dean imagined that Rigsby’s prediction would probably hold true, and began to ready his own horse in giddy anticipation of chasing her across the countryside. The day was looking brighter already.
Earlier that morning…
* * *
Lucy woke as the sun penetrated her curtains and the last of the purples and pinks left the sky. She was smiling as she opened her eyes, the tendrils of a wonderful dream leaving her consciousness. She’d been riding in the dream, soaring over the hills and mountains on a horse with wings. What a perfect way to begin the day.
Inspiration struck. She quickly devised a plan and bathed before slipping from her room to Thea’s. She tapped on her door before entering, tip-toeing inside when there was no answer.
“Rise and shine, dearie. I have a marvelous plan.”
Thea sat up in bed and blinked. “What are you doing in my room so early in the morning?”
Lucy tossed a garment on the bed.
Thea picked it up and inspected it. “These are boy’s breeches.”
“Jonathan’s, to be exact. We’re going riding.”
“In breeches? No. Absolutely not.” Thea dropped the breeches and climbed out of bed.
“I promise you it is extraordinary. The freedom of movement, the sensation, and the power of being one with your horse.”
“It doesn’t surprise me that you’ve done this before, but I have not and I don’t intend to this morning.” Thea went to her wash basin and splashed water into the bowl. She rubbed it on her face aggressively. When she reached for the cloth, Lucy held it out to h
er.
“Please try them on and then decide. I know you don’t feel the same urging as I do to throw caution to the wind and experience new things, but this is—”
“Secretive and deceptive or else you wouldn’t be waking at this hour. Did you concoct this plan with Winchester?”
Lucy sighed. “No.” She followed Thea to her vanity and stood to the side while she brushed her hair. “This has nothing to do with him. Yes, I’ve done it before and it’s absolutely wonderful. I had a dream, Thea. I was flying through the air on a winged horse and this is as close as we could ever come to such a dream. Ride with me.” Lucy kneeled before her and took her hand.
“This is madness.”
“Try them on at least. Feel how much freedom they afford you before deciding. You love to ride as much as I do. There is nothing like riding astride in breeches after living in the prison of skirts.”
Thea glanced toward the bed. “Fine. I will try them on.”
Lucy jumped to her feet and fetched the breeches. She hurried Thea behind the dressing screen and waited. Thea came around the screen looking none too pleased.
“Show me.”
Thea shook her head. “It’s indecent.”
“Men wear them every day and we have less to fill them with.”
“That isn’t true for all of us.” Thea gathered the hem of her nightgown to her waist.
Lucy clasped her hands over her mouth. “You’re a pocket Venus! I knew it!”
“What does that even mean?” Thea dropped her nightgown in shame and covered her lower extremities.
“It means you are lusciously round in all the right places.”
Thea went behind the screen. “I’ve tried them. I still reject them.”
“Wait,” Lucy urged. “You have to walk around, feel the difference. Enjoy the freedom.”
Thea sighed. She lifted her nightgown again and held it bunched around her waist. She strode around the room agitatedly.
“Sit down and stand, hop over that stool,” Lucy instructed.
Thea grudgingly obliged.
“Well?” Lucy was grinning.
Thea looked down at her legs. “They are comfortable. They keep my legs warmer than stockings.”
“Imagine riding astride. Jumping, galloping. Thea, there is nothing like it.” Lucy walked forward and took her hands. “Ride with me. We will leave right now before my brother wakes. No one will see us.”
“Except the grooms in the stables.”
Lucy shrugged. “They’ve seen me do it plenty of times and are easily bribed into silence.”
Thea sighed. “Fine. Let’s ride in breeches like hoydens.”
Lucy hugged her tightly and then stepped back to remove her dressing gown. She was already dressed in her own shirt and breeches.
“Does Jonathan know you pilfer his clothing?”
“He hasn’t worn theses since before he left for university. I’ve got more stashed in my room.”
“Dare I ask why?”
“You don’t really want to.”
Later that morning in the stable yard…
* * *
“What in the—bloody hell, Lucy! Thea, you as well?! Father is going to keel over.”
“Calm yourself, brother. You act as if you didn’t realize women have legs.”
“I very well know women have legs. What I don’t understand—Lord help me—is why you think it acceptable to traipse around in breeches? In front of Winchester, no less!”
Lucy looked at Winchester. He was averting his eyes.
“Interesting. I was given the impression that Lord Winchester couldn’t be scandalized. Look, Thea, we’ve scandalized a notorious rake. Bravo!” Lucy clapped.
Thea turned three shades pinker and cowered behind her horse. “I wish to change immediately.”
“There, you see? One of you has sense,” Jonathan said through clenched teeth.
Lucy stepped nearer her brother to whisper, “She does not like her figure. Compliment her.”
“You want me to ogle Thea? Are you mad?” he whispered back aghast.
“Heavens no. Just… appreciate.”
“I—” He snapped his mouth shut. He turned sharply and strode to where Thea stood beside her horse, her forehead pressed against the mare’s neck. Jonathan blinked. They were his old breeches from more than a decade ago, lovingly clinging to the sumptuous curves of her derriere and thighs in a way he had never imagined on her. His eyes snapped up and met hers. His brain froze. He could not think about what he just saw. If he did, his thoughts would be wickedly salacious, and he refused to have such thoughts about dear Thea. She was the embodiment of the timid, sweet, endearing sister he’d always wanted, not the out of control harridan that was his literal sister. He felt heat crawling up his neck as they stared at each other.
“Your curves are dangerous, Thea.” He spun around and walked away before he could humiliate himself further.
Lucy watched her brother walk silently to his horse and went to Thea’s side. Poor Thea was still as pink as a raspberry.
“What did he say?” She looked back toward her brother as he and Winchester rode away.
“Nothing,” Thea said.
“Did he insult you?”
Thea shook her head. She couldn’t stop the smile that burst forth. Dangerous? She’d never been called dangerous before, especially in reference to her body. A ticklish joy surged inside her.
“Do you wish to change?” Lucy asked earnestly.
Thea shook her head. “No. Let’s ride.” She grinned.
Lucy grinned back. She returned to her horse and mounted. They rode off in the opposite direction of her brother and Lord Winchester, but Lucy was positive their paths would cross. She could feel it.
Dean watched her crest a hill and ride out of sight for the third time. She rode wild and free, and it was a beautiful sight to behold. Without speaking, he and Rigsby had gone away from the direction of his sister but circled around to keep track of her whereabouts. Rigsby was in a foul mood, and Dean wondered if perhaps he was having conflicting feelings about Miss Manton. She did have a charming figure in breeches, Dean had noticed, but it was Lucy who had held his attention. Where Miss Manton had cowered in embarrassment over being so exposed, Lucy had strutted with confidence. His eyes had followed her whenever she and her brother were not looking. She was not as voluptuous as Miss Manton. She was taller by half a head and her build more svelte. She still had hips, sweetly curving hips with a round derriere, but her legs were lean and strong, unusual for a woman of her station. She must do a lot of riding and other physically enduring activities. He pulled his mind away from that thought before he went too far into imaginings of physically enduring activities that he’d enjoy with her.
He turned his horse down the hill and rode into the small valley. Rigsby was resting his horse by a small copse of trees at the bottom, and Dean reined in beside him.
“Are we going to follow them?” Dean asked.
Rigsby shrugged.
“Are we going to discuss why you’re acting so sullen after speaking with Miss Manton?” Dean ventured.
“No, we’re not.”
“Perhaps she is everything you ever wanted, and you are only now just realizing it?”
Rigsby scowled at him. “Bite your tongue.”
Dean chuckled.
“There is nothing remotely amusing about that scenario. Yes, she has the curves of Aphrodite but, good God—I don’t even want to acknowledge that about her any more than I want to acknowledge my sisters feminine anatomy. They are the same in my mind, but I can’t stop seeing her in those bloody breeches!”
“Miss Manton is not your sister. She is a perfectly eligible wife for you.”
Rigsby’s eyes widened in horror. “Don’t ever say such a thing to me. She is very much my sister in spirit, and I don’t want that to change.” He shuddered. “If I close my eyes, I can see her bottom half and my head and other parts are quite pleased, but then I see her face and—”
“She isn’t a startling beauty but don’t be unkind,” Dean said defensively.
“It’s not that. She’s too familiar to me. I become disgusted with myself.”
“I see,” Dean said reflexively though he didn’t. He didn’t have any sisters. He vaguely remembered his aunts and cousins from his childhood. His father had done an expert job pushing everyone away after his mother died. His mother had been the one to insist on the importance of family.
“Perhaps if you spoke to her honestly about your brotherly regard then you might become comfortable in her presence regardless of what she is wearing. I’ve no doubt she views you in the same light.”
Rigsby was silent as he looked in the direction from which his sister and Thea had disappeared. “Perhaps.”
“Let’s catch up with them. The sooner the awkwardness is over, the better.” Dean wasn’t sure why he was in a hurry to be near them again. With Rigsby and Miss Manton present, he wouldn’t have a chance to be alone with Lucy.
“All right. They won’t be too far ahead. Those clouds closing in don’t look promising for further riding anyhow.”
Chapter 9
“Does it hurt very much?”
“Of course! I’ve been stung by a bee! It’s bloody dreadful!” Thea clutched her hand to her chest.
“Bravo!” Lucy smiled. “I’ve never heard you swear before.”
Thea began to sniffle.
“Oh dear. Return without me, and I will walk back. Gibbs has a salve for the horses that is marvelous for stings as well.”
“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you. It’s going to rain.”
Lucy looked up at the darkening sky. “Yes it is, but a little rain never harmed me.”
“A little lightning might.”
Lucy grimaced. “I will be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“That’s all very well, but it’s you I worry about because you never worry about yourself,” Thea said testily.
“Fine. We will walk back together.”
“Tis my fault your horse, Penny, became startled when I screamed and then sprained her leg. I can endure the discomfort if she can.”
