Page 22 of What Lies Beneath

“This is Lady Grey,” he told her, watching Mrs Harris’ face closely as she made the horse’s acquaintance.

“Oh, how beautiful she is,” she breathed, looking quite stunned and so overwhelmed Pip felt rather humbled by her reaction.

He took for granted the fact he could ride whenever he wished to and had many splendid mounts to choose from. But seeing the sheer joy in this woman’s face at the prospect of riding such a beautiful horse made him feel oddly protective of her and wish to ensure this afternoon was as perfect as it could be.

“Look, Papa!”

Pip turned around to see Tilly trotting out on her pony, Masters hovering solicitously beside her. There was no need, for Tilly was already proficient in the saddle, if a little too daring for her own good. She knew not to go haring off alone, however, and once Pip had nodded approvingly, she made Marigold stand and the two waited patiently for their companions to ready themselves.

Pip turned back to Mrs Harris, who was speaking quietly into Lady Grey’s ear and stroking her soft muzzle.

“Ready?” he asked her.

She turned and smiled at him, and even through the blurry glass of her spectacles, he could see the way her eyes shone with anticipation and happiness, and felt suddenly quite winded by it.

“Yes!” she said, so much delight contained in that one word Pip could only smile in return.

“Come, then,” he said, gesturing to her to mount.

He waited for her to move into position, intending to make a cradle of his hands so she could use them to step up, but at the last moment some devil whispered in his ear, and he changed his mind. Instead, he put his hands to her slender waist, and lifted her up, setting her down in the saddle.

She gave a squeak of mingled surprise and shock as he put her down, and Pip took a step back, startled himself by the sensation that had jolted through him. The velvet of her gown had been warm with the heat of her body, despite the chilly temperature of the afternoon, and her tiny waist had fit his hands so perfectly he could all but span the distance. Desire jolted through him, his palms suddenly tingling, as though the warmth of her skin had burned him, had left some kind of indelible mark upon his flesh.

Disconcerted and aware of her shocked gaze still upon his face, Pip concentrated on putting her foot in the stirrup and arranging her skirts neatly. Neither action did anything to settle his sudden agitation, as the glimpse of her delicate ankle was only compounded by the scent of her that drifted to him as he carefully draped her skirts over the saddle. It was a surprisingly complex scent, with hints of rose and bergamot and a spicy note he could not place. It made him think decadent thoughts, and he wondered at it, for such a perfume would be exceedingly expensive. Had he found the lady’s weakness, perhaps, after all these years? Had she spent some of her hard-earned wages on a bottle of scent that she wore for her own pleasure, for he had never noticed it before.

The image of her sitting at her dressing table by candlelight in a demure white cotton nightgown, applying the wicked scent behind her ears, suddenly captivated him.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it, he told himself severely, but the image lingered, as did the scent, and he wondered if this had really been such a wonderful idea after all.

Yet as he mounted his own horse and the three of them rode out, he could not regret it. For the laughter and happiness that he could hear and see writ plain on both of their faces, lit up his heart as nothing else had done for a long time.

It did not take Pip long to realise that Mrs Harris was an excellent horsewoman. Her hands were light on the reins, her seat perfect, and that she had taken to Lady Grey and the Lady to her rider was perfectly obvious. They moved as one, lithe and lovely in the winter sunshine, and Pip struggled to keep his eyes from the glorious sight.

“Where did you learn to ride?” he asked, hoping she would not freeze up as she had the last time he had asked questions about her past.

This time, however, it seemed she was too delighted to take offence and replied at once. “My uncle,” she said, turning to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, strands of hair coming loose from her coiffure and curling about her face and she looked so young and carefree it seemed like another revelation, another layer peeled away from the mysterious woman who bothered him with increasing intensity. “He has a magic touch with horses and could always ride anything in his father’s stables, no matter how temperamental. I’m afraid I was terribly competitive and if he could do it, I wished to do it too.”

Pip found he was intrigued by the information. The way she spoke gave him the impression of a household of considerable means, if there were such a variety of mounts available for her uncle to try his hand at. Who was this uncle of hers, and what manner of relation was he that he could see her become a governess and do nothing to help? Of course, the family could have fallen on hard times, or perhaps he was reading too much into it.

“Did his father keep a large stable, then?” he asked, too curious not to pry a little.

She shuttered up at once and he cursed himself at having stepped carelessly when he knew the danger. “No,” she said stiffly. “But many people came and went.”

Pip opened his mouth, knowing he ought not but now desirous to know if he had been a horse breeder or had perhaps run an inn, but before he could do so she cut in.

“May we gallop?”

“Oh, yes, please, Papa!” Tilly cried at once. “Marigold is dying to gallop,” she said eagerly, patting her pony’s neck.

Pip nodded, wanting to dispel the sudden restraint he felt around Mrs Harris and bring back the laughing, joyful creature who had accompanied him until he had misstepped. “Up to the fir tree there, then. No farther,” he warned his daughter, who took off with a yip of delight.

He watched her go, approving the way she moved so easily and at one with her pony, and waiting until she arrived safely at the fir tree. She turned and waved at him, so Pip looked around at Mrs Harris to ask if she was ready, but only caught the look of pure devilry in her eyes as she urged Lady Grey on, and the two of them took off.

Pip let out a breath of laughter before springing his own mount and charging after her. Over the thudding of hooves on the damp earth, the wind whistling in his ears and the jingle of tack, he heard a whoop of sheer delight on the breeze and could not help but grin at the idea of the prim and proper governess hiding a neck or nothing hoyden under those severe grey gowns. Lord, but she was delicious.

They were neck-and-neck as they reached the fir tree, and Pip stared at Mrs Harris. She was laughing with unrestrained delight, her eyes aglow, her skin pink with excitement and exertion, and Pip realised with a jolt of surprise that she was beautiful. Her hair, usually restrained so severely, was looser today and already coming undone, fluttering around her face as she rode. He stared at her, unable to look away from the vivacious creature who had suddenly emerged from hiding, a startling glimpse of butterfly wings revealing themselves from the safety of a dull cocoon.

How had she hidden herself from him for all these years? More to the point, why? Except that was easy. She had been protecting herself. A young woman coming to work for a man she believed to be a libertine, and one who had sired an illegitimate daughter, was not to be trusted. He felt revulsion coil in his belly at the idea she had been afraid of him, that she had perhaps locked her bedroom door to keep herself safe, and listened for footsteps on the stairs. With sudden clarity, he realised she had not suddenly discovered a better method to make her hair shiny as he had once thought, nor had she finally earned enough money to buy gowns that actually fit her lovely figure. It was that she had not felt safe to do so before.