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“Put your left hand on my shoulder. When I lift you, use your right hand for balance, but don’t grab, just rest it on the pommel until you can settle yourself.”

She put her hand on his shoulder, and he lifted her. She wasn’t wearing a riding habit. She didn’t have one. Her yellow dress was as soft as silk. He tried not to notice her narrow waist. The flare of her hips. A flash of ankle. He caught the scent of lilacs.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no,” she murmured. Or groaned. Until she was sitting in the saddle.

“Turn. Just a little. To put your leg over the pommel. That’s right.”

She was shaking. Mercury flexed his neck to look over his shoulder. Crispin laughed. “My horse is rolling his eyes. Relax, Miss Harrington. We won’t move until you are ready.”

They stood still until her quaking stopped and her breathing evened out.

“All right. I’m ready,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Keep the reins light in your hands. Don’t pull. You aren’t to do anything but move with him.”

They walked very slowly, from one end of the yard to the other.

“A little faster?”

“Yes, all right.”

He walked more briskly as they returned to the start. She was smiling now.

“Faster?” he asked.

She pressed her lips together, then nodded.

He urged Mercury into a slow trot and jogged alongside him. They reached the end of the yard and stopped. Miss Harrington was glowing with pleasure, warming his heart.

“Would you like to try without me leading?”

“No!” She recoiled, and everything next happened quickly.

She must have had the sensation of falling backwards, because she overcompensated, clumsily jerking forward to right herself.

Too far forward. She curled her body instinctively, but it was the utterly wrong thing to do.

Her leg disengaged from the pommel, and she toppled into his arms. He set her quickly onto her feet.

“You promised I wouldn’t fall!” she accused.

“You didn’t fall.” He tried very hard not to laugh but didn’t quite succeed. “You launched yourself out of the seat.”

She glared at him. Then the cloud passed, and she snorted. “That was wonderful, actually. But I am finished for today.”

“Another time?”

She hesitated, and it seemed she was going to ask him a question. Like: Another time? How long do you intend to stay? Perhaps he was wearing out his welcome after all. Which begged the question: Why was he still here? But then she nodded and said, “Another time.”

*

“Major? It has come to my attention that we are five miles from Tunbridge Wells,” Adam said, crossing the back yard to speak to him.

“Your point?” Crispin said, with a squint. His temper was short. He was just returning from an early morning walk, and it had done nothing to ease him.

Last evening had been the fourth Saturday spent in company with Sir Bodwell, who had taken every opportunity and then some to call Miss Harrington by her Christian name.

Still, Crispin was aware that his pique made no sense.

Certainly, if he asked her to call him Crispin, she would.

And he would then call her Camellia. But he didn’t want to.

He thought it better to maintain that distance. He just wished Bodwell would too.

Of course, he was being ridiculous. It was none of his business.

He was not her brother, to be chasing off unwanted suitors.

That was Harrington’s job. But perhaps Bodwell’s suit was not entirely unwanted.

The colonel must know he would not live forever.

It was possible he saw the benefit to seeing his sister wed and settled. Camellia must see it also.

A disturbing thought crept in: Crispin didn’t think she could mistake his attentions for anything but friendliness, but what if she did? She couldn’t be trying to make him jealous of Bodwell, could she?

Obviously, he was too involved with problems that should not concern him. It was past time for him to move on. It was November , for pity’s sake. He was simply hiding here from the stagnant waste of his own life.

Adam fell into step alongside him. “It would do Colonel Harrington good to take the waters in the mineral spring. His muscles are stiff from disuse, and it pains him.”

“Ah.” Tunbridge Wells was a miniature Bath. It had once been the height of fashion but had largely fallen out of favor with the ton because it had been overrun with cits. “And how do you suggest this is to be done?”

“You would hire a carriage. Lease rooms for a fortnight. Take a subscription to the baths. It would not be difficult.”

“Wouldn’t it?” If they stayed a fortnight, he would not be subjected to the next supper-and-cards Saturday. But would Bodwell still pay a call on Miss Harrington if the colonel was gone? “The travel would not be too much for the colonel?”

Adam paused before answering. “If I had thought so, I would not be suggesting it.”

Ha! He’d managed to peeve the unflappable Adam.

Crispin had no use for mineral baths, but this sounded like the needed impetus for change. It would break him of the habit of being with Miss Harrington. And break her of the habit of being with him.

“I’ll ride over to Tunbridge Wells this afternoon to see about lodgings.” He would take Old Harry to Tunbridge Wells for a fortnight, and then depart for London.