Never Fall for Your Fiancee, page 8
“Oh yes you will!” As much as Minerva had never wanted to be a parent to her sister, let alone a strict one, it was obvious Vee needed one today. For all their sakes. “Because as much as you might prefer destitution, I can assure you, your only two remaining family members do not! And until our feckless father returns—if he ever returns—I am burdened with being the head of this family and therefore, whether you like it or not, what I say goes!”
“He’s not feckless!”
“Then where is he, Vee?”
Minerva didn’t wait to see if her words hit the mark and flounced out of the dining room expecting her sisters to follow, pausing once she arrived at the door to the drawing room to turn around. During that short walk, remorse at her flash of temper had begun to replace the anger. Behind Diana stood Vee, clearly on the verge of tears, and her heart wept for her. But it couldn’t be helped. While she hated hurting Vee’s tender feelings, her sister needed to learn the world didn’t revolve entirely around her. Vee might have been a child when their father had left, but Minerva had barely been a woman and had no clue how to raise his other daughters. Necessity had meant she had had to learn fast. If she could do that and give up her own life in the process, surely it wouldn’t kill Vee to do this one thing?
Without saying another word, Minerva knocked on the door and sailed in. Hugh instantly sprung to his feet. He always sprung to his feet when she entered a room. She liked that tiny, thoughtful gesture.
“Ladies! I’d like you to meet Mrs. Agatha Landridge—your widowed mother fresh from Chipping Norton.”
An older woman with silver strands in her blond hair and a plump face beamed at them and rushed toward Minerva. “My dears! What a pleasure to meet you. And what beautiful daughters I have!” She turned to Hugh and nudged him. “You neglected to tell me they were quite so lovely, my lord. I presume their green eyes and stature come from their father.” For some reason, her bottom lip quivered the second she mentioned him. “I miss him dreadfully.”
“Your new mother likes to immerse herself fully in every character she plays.” Hugh’s twinkling blue eyes locked with Minerva’s. “Therefore, for the duration, she has announced she will be Mrs. Agatha Landridge at all times. Newly widowed and still grieving.”
The strange woman enveloped Minerva in an exuberant, perfumed embrace, which left her blinking back at Hugh, a little bewildered. “But I thought he’d been dead a year?”
“What is a year when one has lost the love of her life, Minerva? The loss of my husband has left me broken. I doubt I shall ever fully recover.” Her new mother released her and similarly engulfed Diana. “My darling…” She stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “And look at you! Just as beautiful as my dear Minerva!” Teary eyes traveled to Vee, who stood warily near the door and appeared ready to bolt at any moment. “And you must be my Venus…”
“I am not your anything!” Vee actually stamped her foot before breaking into a run and disappearing down the hallway.
Their new mother looked shocked at the outburst, her small hand flapping near her breast. “I knew she was sensitive about her name…”
“It’s not her name.” Diana huffed out an irritated breath. “It’s the situation. She feels pretending to have a mother is disrespectful to our real mother’s memory.”
“I am so sorry. I should have told her about this sooner. I did just spring it on her, and Vee needs time to adjust…” And Minerva was going to wring her sister’s neck when she got hold of her if she continued to be so childishly stubborn. “I’ll go speak to her now. She’ll be better once she’s calm.”
Hugh and Lord Bellingham exchanged an odd look. One that didn’t suggest they had much faith.
“No … let her digest things for a little while on her own. You and Diana can catch her up on this afternoon’s lesson later. We’ll probably get more ground covered without her anyway.… Perhaps she’s missing home? The rest of your family?”
“What rest of the family?” Diana answered before she could. “It’s just the three of us.”
She watched Hugh’s handsome face fill with sympathy. “Your father is gone, too?”
“Long gone.” The wastrel. But Minerva did not want to discuss that now in front of an audience. Instead, she turned to her strange new mother. “I suppose we should get to know one another…”
* * *
Whoever originally said “clothes maketh the man” had plainly not known the first thing about women. Minerva looked like a princess, hardly recognizing her own reflection in the mirror, but she still felt like an imposter regardless. An imposter about to face her worst nightmare.
“Are you ready, Minerva?” Vee, on the other hand, couldn’t contain her excitement. After her rude outburst yesterday and the subsequent tense discussion the sisters had afterward, the youngest Merriwell had dug her heels in—until three stylish riding habits had arrived in the second batch of new outfits from the modiste. The impressive garments came with a message from Payne, who informed them His Lordship thought they had been cooped up inside long enough and should ride to the village later in the morning on horseback. With that exciting prospect, Vee was on board again and vowed to make more of an effort not to be offended by everything, because she had always wanted to learn to ride.
Minerva, in stark comparison, had never wanted to learn to ride.
In fact, she had never wanted to be nearer than twenty feet to a horse her entire life and had deftly managed to avoid being so without the sturdy security of a carriage and an able driver protecting her person.
Horses were big, unpredictable, and fast creatures who, frankly, terrified her. Sitting on the back of one was Minerva’s idea of complete hell. Perhaps if she possessed the skills necessary to be a horsewoman—namely balance and the graceful athleticism required to stay on top of one—today’s trial wouldn’t be a trial at all. However, with her gangly long limbs, complete lack of coordination, and genuine fear that her innate clumsiness might cause her to fall and break her neck, she would rather face the Spanish Inquisition than an hour on horseback.
“Hurry up, Minerva! The gentlemen are waiting!” Now even Diana was chivvying her. “Lord Bellingham says once we’ve mastered the basics, we are going to ride the mile to the village afterward. An actual quaint English village! I am dying to see it. I always fancied myself living in a village over smelly old London. Parts of it are supposedly medieval.”
Clearly only Minerva was dreading their outing, but with Vee finally smiling for once and nothing tart or pessimistic coming from Diana’s lips since yesterday’s dinner, she could hardly be the one to spoil their fun.
“Go on ahead. I shall meet you down there.”
She needed a minute alone to calm her bouncing nerves. With any luck, Hugh would have selected a squat, docile mount for her, or one so old and slow a tortoise would give it a run for its money—one low enough to the ground that the inevitable fall wouldn’t hurt.
Much.
With a sense of impending doom, she poked another of her new hatpins into the strange, feathered confection on her head. It wasn’t so much a hat as a decoration, but it was exceedingly pretty and had been made to match the magnificent burgundy riding habit she was sporting. At least that was something she could appreciate. The heavy velvet skirt was longer at the back than she was used to, but the fabric was stunning, and the cut sublime. Especially the tight bodice trimmed with an homage to military braiding and twenty shiny brass buttons. And it was new. She had never owned anything before that wasn’t secondhand.
She stared at her reflection and inhaled deeply. Of all the challenges she would have to face as an earl’s pretend fiancée, this was hardly the most challenging. As Hugh had reassured her last night, any activity that kept them occupied during his mother’s visit would make the time pass more quickly, along with diverting his mother’s attentions elsewhere. The more diverted she was, the easier their brief time together would be.
Whilst out riding, Minerva wouldn’t have to lie, pretend to be anyone else, or remember an elaborate backstory—as all gently bred ladies knew how to ride, and he’d told his mother repeatedly how the pair of them enjoyed nothing more than galloping across the fields together. But at least he had faithfully promised there would be no galloping or even cantering. All she had to do was place her bottom in the saddle and keep it there.
How hard could that be?
Chapter Eight
Vee and Diana didn’t appear to need his help with their mounts, because Giles had talked them through the basics and a thoroughly immersed Mrs. Landridge had sandwiched herself between the girls’ gentle horses to instruct them on the noble art of riding like a lady. Minerva was yet to arrive. Hugh was about to send a groom to fetch her when she suddenly appeared at the edge of the stable yard, looking so gorgeous his breath caught in his throat.
Good heavens, the woman had a splendid figure! A figure the bold velvet habit clung to in the most magnificent way.
He bounded over a tad too eagerly, before he checked himself and slowed his pace in case Giles was watching. His friend had enough ammunition on him already without learning Hugh found Minerva devilishly attractive and harbored scandalous fantasies involving her that had the annoying habit of coming alive when he slept. “There you are! I was about to send a search party.”
She looked nervous. More nervous than he had ever seen her, those feline green eyes filled with trepidation as they took in the horses. “Which one is mine?”
“The chestnut mare over there.” He pointed to the pretty filly waiting patiently on the cobbles. “Her name is Marigold, and before you ask, no, I didn’t name her. My mother did. Come and meet her.” He took Minerva’s elbow, expecting her to follow, but she remained rooted to the spot.
“Isn’t she a little on the … um … large side?” He watched her eyes wander to the neat gray pony he had assigned Vee, then back to Marigold.
“You are a tall woman, Minerva, anything smaller and your legs will be trailing on the ground.”
Her gaze was rooted to the horse. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is a bad thing—for the horse.”
For the first time since her arrival, she finally looked at him. “Are you suggesting I will squash a smaller one?”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Hugh smiled and wrapped her arm around his, tugging her reluctantly forward and trying to ignore how pleasant the seemingly innocuous contact was. “My dear Minerva, it is perfectly natural to be a little wary of a horse when you have never ridden one, but you have my word that Marigold, despite her gargantuan size, is as docile as a horse can be. Why—you could fall asleep in the saddle without a care in the world should you fancy it.”
“If I can stay in the saddle! I have no center of balance and…”
“And you are making this into more of an ordeal than it needs to be. Riding a horse isn’t like dancing. It largely requires you to sit—something I daresay you have done without consciously thinking about for most of your life. Let’s get you seated and you’ll see for yourself.”
They’d had a long conversation about this last night after dinner, although he had thought her more reluctant than scared when she had grabbed him in the hallway and tried to come up with as many reasons as she possibly could as to why she didn’t need to learn to ride. Judging by her pinched features and widened eyes, his intrepid fake fiancée was actually more scared than reluctant. Perhaps more petrified than scared. It was the first time he had ever seen her flounder, and it made him feel … peculiar. “You will amaze yourself at how quickly you get the hang of it. It is simply a case of sitting upright. Just look at your sisters.”
Almost as if he had paid her to perform on cue, Diana nudged her equally tall mare into a trot, her pretty face breaking into a grin as she easily maneuvered a quick circle around the exercise paddock. Then Vee swiftly follow suit. “They have both been riding less than five minutes and look at the pair of them. Honestly, Minerva, there is nothing to it. Think of Marigold as a tall, robust stool if it helps. Once you are in the saddle, you hold on to the reins and use them to direct the horse. All my horses are fully fluent in the subtle language of the reins.” Hugh reached out and stroked Marigold’s muzzle. “Go ahead … pet her. She won’t bite.”
Tremulously, she copied and gave the horse a perfunctory pat. Marigold didn’t so much as blink. “There … you see? As docile as they come.”
A waiting stable boy rushed forward with the block and placed it on the ground. Minerva decisively placed one foot upon it, then the other, and froze. “Aren’t sidesaddles a lot harder to master—what with the rider dangling precariously over the side rather than on top?”
“Not at all. You are not dangling, because your … um … bottom is still atop the horse.” Hugh grabbed the pommel and gave it a hearty shake to demonstrate how sturdy it was as he thought about her bottom. “It is perfectly safe. Trust me.”
“Says the man who has probably never ridden sidesaddle in his life.”
She had him there, so he glossed over it. “Once you are saddled, you also have the reins to help steady you. It’s probably best to demonstrate them once you are up.” He gestured to the saddle with a flick of his head. “So gather your skirts in your right hand and … up you get.”
She bundled up the fullness of her heavy habit in one hand, cocked her leg awkwardly, almost tripping in the process, then spun back to face him, bewildered and more than a little panicked. “Exactly how do I get up?”
“Why don’t we leave mounting the horse for another time and I’ll simply lift you today?” Hugh didn’t wait for an answer, and instead briskly put his hands around her waist. The feel of her womanly curves brought him up short. Her arms suddenly looping around his neck brought him up shorter. She was gripping him so tightly he had no choice but to feel the soft press of her bosom against his neck as it rose and fell in time with her rapid breathing; his eyes were level with her lips, unable to look elsewhere thanks to the bundle of burgundy velvet wedged against his cheek. Not that he paid much attention to the velvet when his big hands nearly spanned her waist and he could smell her sultry perfume where it lingered on the pulse of her throat.
The incendiary effect on his body was instant, and despite the chilly winter morning, his skin burned. “You might need to let go for me to lift you.”
She released her grip only slightly.
“Perhaps put your hands on my shoulders?” His voice came out strangled, not because she was strangling him but more because their intimate position was suddenly giving his body inappropriate ideas. Her long legs were plastered against his torso. If he didn’t act swiftly, something of his would be inadvertently and mortifyingly plastered against her thighs.
“I’m sorry. I’ve never been lifted before. As you rightly pointed out, I’m hardly slight. Do you promise you won’t drop me?”
“My dear Miss Merriwell, while the Standish male is untrustworthy in nearly all things and should never be trusted as a general rule of thumb, we would absolutely never drop a lady. Even a less-than-slight one. Please trust me in this.”
Finally she put a little distance between them, placing her palms flat on his collarbones and staring deeply into his eyes, making him yearn to kiss her anxious frown away. “This is all very new to me.”
This was all very new to him, too, and it certainly wasn’t fun. His heated skin didn’t feel like it fit his skeleton any longer, his heart was hammering a fevered tattoo against his ribs, and his hands wanted to go roaming on an extensive journey of discovery. For the sake of his own sanity, and in case he forgot to be noble, Hugh didn’t linger over the task and practically threw her up into the air in his haste to release her.
She gave a little squeak as she landed on the saddle, then nearly fell off the damn thing in her hurry to grab the reins, forcing him to use his body to hold her upright as she fought for balance. As she had said, she wasn’t slight. She was a tempting armful he was only too aware of. He didn’t bother trying to explain how to hook her leg around the pommel and arranged the limb himself as dispassionately as he could with uncharacteristically clumsy fingers, trying to imagine it was any other leg than her ridiculously long and shapely one and failing miserably. Since when had he been drawn to legs? Or perfume? Or silly little hats?
“Now shove your other foot in the stirrup.”
The spare leg flayed about ineffectually in the air, displaying the merest glimpse of silk-clad calf. He lunged and gripped the offending thing firmly around its booted ankle and stuffed it unceremoniously where it needed to be before jumping back, more than a little flustered and confused as to what exactly was going on.
They were just legs, for pity’s sake. Hardly warranting such an effusive reaction when he saw legs every single day. Most people owned two of them. Nor was he some green youth who had never touched a woman before! He had touched dozens of them, all over the place, seen copious pairs of naked female limbs and never once experienced a reaction like this to any of them.
Perhaps he was ill?
That had to be it.
All the stress of his mother’s impending visit and this complicated damned charade was obviously taking its toll. Either that, or the circumstances had unsettled him. For so many reasons, she was forbidden fruit; ergo, it stood to reason the wayward, womanizing Standish blood flowing through his veins wanted to take a bite. It was all heredity. That had to be it if even the bloody woman’s calves were alluring!
It was best to just accept it and move on without too much inner scrutiny. “Fetch me my horse!” And best to do something swiftly to take his mind off it all.
The groom brought Galileo around, and Hugh heaved himself onto the animal’s back while Minerva sat stiffly atop Marigold with unnecessarily widened eyes. “Allow me to demonstrate the reins…”
* * *
When she had said she lacked a talent for anything physical, she hadn’t lied. Hugh had never seen such an ungainly, cack-handed attempt at horseback riding in his life. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so crucial. His mother was a vehement horsewoman. He’d told his blasted mother that Minerva was also a keen horsewoman. And there wasn’t a hope in hell his mother wouldn’t suggest a daily ride to get the blood pumping.
