“I understand. This afternoon must have been difficult for you. And I appreciate your apology.”
Her skin’s warmth at the point of contact seeped through the layers on his glove. Combined with the brush of their thighs, any chillhe’d been feeling melted.
“You must be exhausted,” she continued in a softened voice. “Let’s not talk through everything now. You promised me a driving lesson. Why not give me one?”
Ah yes, the driving lesson.
He’d been in a merry mood when he’d suggested the diversion. Seemed like ages hence.
“Are you sure you’re up for the challenge?” he asked, trying to find the teasing note he’d used.
“Yousaid I had a fighting spirit.”
“So, I did.” And she had remembered.
…Which meant his approvalmeantsomething to her, did it not?Progress.The afternoon’s prospects brightened.
“If you sit to my right,” he offered, “I can more easily assist if needed.”
“Very well, then.”
Mindful to keep the balance and not to startle the horse, they stood and carefully switched sides. She held his forearms while he steadied her by the waist as if executing a country dance move.
While he wasn’textensivelyfamiliar with women’s undergarments, he’d seen enough sketches and paintings to realize her flesh’s pliancy beneath his hands meant she had donned stays of the shorter variety. He wondered if they had serviceable ties attaching the arm straps, or if she fashioned them with pretty bows like—
“You may let me go, now.”
Oops. She was staring at him as if he were an oddity.
“Yes, of course.” He released her, steadied himself on the cart’s spindled back, and then took his seat. He really had to find a way to open the door between their chambers.
And soon.
He lifted the reins and laid them across her open palm. “As I said before, you may keep the ribbons in separate hands as you learn, butonce you develop a feel, you should be able to hold them both in your left hand while using your right to steer.”
She tested each method. “One hand feels better.”
“Good,” he approved.
She braced her feet against the board. She appeared calm, confident, but she was sitting too stiffly for him to be easy. He withheld criticism of her posture, hoping she’d find her way.
“Walk on,” she called.
Trusty didn’t move.
“Deeper,” he suggested. “And louder.”
Her quelling look caused him to purse his lips, suppressing his smile.
“Trusty,” she said in a commanding voice, “Walk on.”
Trusty pulled ahead at a slower pace than if she’d been stepping. Apparently, neither he, nor Trusty, had developed full confidence in Cassandra’s skill.
He turned forward, so as not to increase her nerves by watching too closely. But he studied her technique with the occasional surreptitious, sideways glance.
She was doing well.
Better than he’d expected, in fact. Eventually, Trusty, too, let down his guard and moved from a walk to a trot. Cassandra’s whole body tensed at the horse’s increased pace.
