Miss Trim had clearly started the day in a prickly mood. He must be completely insane to relish her peppery responses. He raised one hand and circled his finger, indicating for her to turn around.
She cast him a darkling look. “I may work for you, sir, but I’m an independent soul, not a doll.”
“You and my dear mother are both rebels,” he said wryly. “Indulge me.”
Her sigh indicated impatience, but she cooperated with a theatricality that made him want to laugh. His life was crammed with seriousness and purpose. Laughter wasn’t a regular presence. Yet Miss Trim made him want to laugh—when he wasn’t burning to haul her into his arms.
“Very becoming.” In the beautifully tailored habit, she looked poised and elegant. She looked, he was shocked to see, like a woman of his own class.
How he’d love to banish every gray rag and adorn her in rich colors. Peacock blues. Emerald greens. Garnet reds. In his imagination, she dressed as the alluring woman she was.
Dear God, in his thoughts, he kitted Miss Trim out as his mistress. Heat shuddered through him at the forbidden idea. And somewhere, a terrible temptation stirred.
“Thank you,” she said drily. “I don’t need to learn to ride.”
“You lost that argument yesterday.”
Her lips firmed. “Only because you asked me in front of your mother.”
This time he couldn’t contain his amusement. “I’ve learned a few tricks from my years in politics.”
She almost smiled. An almost smile from Miss Trim was more dazzling than the sun. “I’ll have to be on my toes, I see.”
She would indeed. Or she’d be on her back.
Luckily, he was saved from making that wish reality when a groom led out her pony. “Miss Trim, allow me to introduce one of nature’s gentlemen, Snowflake.”
At his name, the fat, white pony nodded his shaggy head. Miss Trim laughed. “I had nightmares about this. Snowflake isn’t exactly what I imagined.”
“I’ve decided to save the fire-breathing monster for tomorrow.” Leath thanked the groom and took the reins. “Have you ever been on a horse?”
“No.”
He regarded her searchingly. “You’re not really frightened, are you?”
“No.” She hesitated. “Maybe. Yes. A little.”
“You’re close to the ground on Snowflake.”
“Easy for you to say.”
He laughed again. “Do you need me to help you up?” Snowflake was too small for a woman of Eleanor’s height, but Leath wanted her first ride to soothe her fears.
“I think I can manage.”
Pity. His hands itched to c
ircle that willowy waist.
Snowflake stood while Miss Trim settled gingerly on his back. Leath was surprised at her uncertainty. He’d believed her completely indomitable. This vulnerability was dangerously appealing.
He passed her the reins and she grabbed them so hard that Snowflake whickered in protest. Knowing that contact was a mistake, Leath placed his hands over hers. “Gently.”
“Sorry,” she muttered and sat stiff as a board in the sidesaddle as he checked her stirrup. She wore half boots, and when he twitched away the voluminous red skirts, a glimpse of white stocking crashed through him like a cannonball.
He stepped back. “How do you feel?”
She looked very unsure. “Like I’m sitting on a volcano that’s about to erupt.”