“Now, you should have no trouble with this mare and riding side-saddle is very comfortable.”
“Have you ever done it?”
“Well, no.”
Rosalind frowned. “Then how do you know? It looks much more sensible to ride astride as then you can’t fall off.”
“I’ve been told that side-saddle is akin to being in a rocking chair.”
“Hah. By who?”
“My mother.”
“Oh,” replied a rueful Rosalind. Never argue with a man’s mother; she had learned that.
She was instructed to stand on a large tree stump, and Billy held the mare in front of her; he was smirking. She glared at him and then realised that Lucas was giving more instructions.
“Now, hold the reins in your left hand, and put your left foot in the stirrup. Reach up to the saddle with your right hand and then push yourself up with the weight on your left foot. I’ll support your waist. Pull your right leg in front of you and seat yourself, settling the same leg over the pommel.”
Couldn’t he just hoist her onto the horse. All those left legs and right foots were confusing – it would be rather nice too, if Lucas did it.
He was waiting so she stuck her left foot in the stirrup as instructed. The horse shuffled and she froze.
“It’s moving,” she hissed from the side of her mouth.
“They do that. Nothing to be scared about. Now reach up to the saddle.”
She did as he asked but the horse, thoroughly fed up with the slow progress and eyeing a tasty patch of grass just out of reach, started to move forward. Rosalind panicked. With one foot caught in the stirrup, she’d be dragged along by the damned animal – ending up beneath its huge hooves, squashed and dead.
“Lucas,” she shrieked.
“God’s teeth, woman. That was right in my ear. Don’t mov–”
But it was too late. Rosalind threw herself backwards, jerking her foot from the stirrup. She didn’t fall, however, as she hit a hard, unwavering body at her back, strong arms encircled her from behind and lifted her down from the stump.
How embarrassing. She’d survived five years in an asylum, and yet some four-leggeddemonfrightened her to bits.
A rasping whisper disturbed tendrils of hair at her neck and she shivered. “It’s not the riding that’s the problem. You’re scared of her and the horse knows it.”
Rosalind would have liked to answer but those arms were still around her waist – gripping her tight to his warm body – and words utterly failed her. He was so…big, but for some reason she had no fear of Lucas’s size. Indeed, she felt safe, his arms firm but not confining, his body hard but yielding.
Every inch of him was pressed against her back and there had never been such a lovely sensation. Her bones felt like melting wax against his heat, and her body became loose and relaxed.
Abruptly, the warmth left her, the arms loosened, and turning, she saw Lucas draw a deep breath and then exhale slowly.
His eyes met hers and she could read desire and want in those stormy pupils.
“We will have to think of another way.”
“Will we?” she murmured. What way? Mayhap he was going to hold her again, but facing her, his mouth…
“We will try you on my horse.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip hard. Lessons. Horse. Yes. Oh Lord, no. His horse was huge. “I don’t think–”
“You think too much. That’s the problem – it should be more natural. You need to get used to the animal. Goliath, my Irish hunter, is able to take both of us. He’s got a short back but you’re only light and he’s a strong, solid horse. We will stick to a walk as any faster would be uncomfortable for you.”
Rosalind wasn’t really listening any more. She was still mouthing the wordGoliath.
