Page 88 of Marry in Scandal

“That’s what I said.”

“On horses?”

“What else would I be wanting to ride?” He tried not to let the sarcasm show.

The blush intensified. “Nothing. I just thought... with your boots...”

“My boots?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Avoiding his gaze she said in a low, hurried voice, “Thank you, yes, I would love to go for a ride, and if you would please ring for a maid, I’ll put on my habit and be with you in a trice. I’ll meet you downstairs, shall I?”

He didn’t move. He stared at her, and his lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. “You thoughta ridemeant—?” He arched a brow suggestively. “Because I came to your bedchamberin my boots?”

“Y—no, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was half asleep. Now, please ring for my m—” She was adorably flustered.

His smile grew. “You did. You thought I wanted to f—have marital relations with you in my boots, didn’t you?”

“Well, you did yesterday,” she said defensively. “Howam I to know what you mean when you say and do such strange things?”

“Strange things?” He prowled slowly toward her.

Her face was flaming by now. “Well, you called what you did last nightdessert.”

“And it was delicious. Am I to take it that you wouldn’t object if I took you again this morning—boots and all?”

She looked up at him, earnest and very sweet. “Of course I wouldn’t mind. It was very nice yesterday, though I don’t think the housekeeper would be very happy about you wearing boots in bed—” She squeaked as he pounced on her.

“Nice, was it?” He edged her knees apart.

“V-very nice.”

“Pah. I’ll show you something better thannice.” And he did.

• • •

A mistake. That was what it had been. A damnable, stupid mistake. A complete lack of self-discipline. Ned glanced sideways at the woman alongside him. They’d been for a fine gallop and now had slowed to a walk, giving their mounts some breathing space. Lily was glowing, and not from the exercise. At least, not this particular exercise.

His plans to apologize to her for his actions the day before—coming at her like an animal in his boots, not even bothering to disrobe—kept falling awry. He’d meant to do it last night over dinner, and then she’d started eating that blasted asparagus. All thoughts of an apology—in fact, all logical thought—had been driven from his mind.

And thendessert. He groaned.

So after that fiasco—pleasurable as it was—he’d been determined to get the apology over and done with this morning.

Instead he’d pounced on her again, fully clothed and in his boots, because instead of being appalled at his ungentlemanly behavior, she’d said she liked it. Liked it! He ground his teeth together.

And because of all that—damn him for a randy, unrestrained fool—it was as if someone had lit a candle inside her. She couldn’t stop smiling, seemed to be bubbling over with it, finding delight in everything—the horses, the estate, lambs, flowers, birds—but the smiles that spilled out of her told him what was really going on.

She was making him out—again—to be some kind of hero.

Misplaced romantic expectations—they had to stop. If she kept going this way—no, he had to stop it, now, before any more damage was done.

He was nobody’s hero, and the sooner she learned that, the better it would be for her.

He glanced at her, lit up with the afterglow of a vigorous round of bedsport, and imagining it to be some kind of romantic nonsense. He hated to do this to her, but it was kinder to crush those unrealistic expectations now, before they could develop any further. Better a small disappointment now than a big one later.

“You’re new to this,” he began.

She turned her head. “This?”