Page 72 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

She gave a short laugh. “Oh, well, I suppose that makes a difference.”

He flashed a grin. “As for your dress…”

Her stomach fluttered. Was she really going to do this?

And why not?

“May I have a moment of privacy?” she asked.

Justin readily obliged, turning his horse—and himself—away from her.

She lifted her skirts and swiftly unfastened the tapes of one of her petticoats. It slid down over her hips, falling to her booted feet. She unfastened a second petticoat as well. And then, just to be safe, she removed her crinoline.

Without the layers of support, her silk skirts fell in unstructured folds down to drag on the ground. She gathered them up out of the way as she stepped out of her petticoats and crinoline. She shook the sand out of each of them before folding them carefully into a little pile.

“You may turn back around now,” she said as she dropped her bonnet atop the stack of discarded undergarments.

Justin walked Hiran in a half circle, riding up to the edge of the path. His gaze roved over her with approval. “There’s much less of you, my lady.”

“I should think so. I’ve just removed half of my underpinnings.” She willed herself not to blush. “My skirts are going to tangle up awfully.”

“I’ll see they don’t.” He reached down to her, his large black-gloved hand outstretched. He was all seriousness now. “Take hold of my hand. And place your foot on my boot.”

She clasped his hand, feeling it close strongly around hers. She was still on the path and of a height to reach his boot without too much trouble. No sooner had she set her foot atop his than he lifted her up in front of him with an effortless grace, seating her sideways in front of his saddle.

One of his arms curved around her midsection, holding her in an iron grip. His other hand grasped the reins with the casual skill of a career British cavalryman.

Helena’s heart beat with a mixture of fear and excitement. “Have you done this before?”

“Not with a lady.”

She gasped as Hiran surged forward.

Justin held her fast against the hard wall of his chest. “You’re safe.”

“I know I am.” Which did nothing to prevent her fingers from tightening on his arm.

He guided Hiran along the water’s edge. “I’ve had to take up injured soldiers on occasion. Though they weren’t usually seated. Most were unconscious from their wounds. The poor lads had to be draped over the front of the saddle like sacks of grain.”

“How dreadful.” She turned her head to look up at Justin’s face. He met her eyes briefly. “Was it during the uprising?”

“It was.” He resumed looking straight ahead. “Would you like to canter?”

She gripped his arm tighter. “You won’t let me fall?”

“Never.”

“Then yes,” she said.

Justin gave no discernible cue to Hiran. He was too accomplished a rider. A subtle shift in the saddle, a faint pressure of the legs, and Hiran sprang from a walk into a long, ground-covering canter.

Helena’s pulse leapt. She clung to Justin’s arm, but true to his word, he didn’t let her fall. Indeed, she scarcely budged from her perch in front of his saddle.

Hiran’s stride was smooth as glass, a rarity in a horse so big. The soft sand churned under his hooves as he ran, the sea roiling and crashing alongside them. The wind whipped at Helena’s skirts and through her tightly plaited hair. She didn’t know when she began to smile, nor when she started to laugh. By the time Justin brought Hiran back down to a walk, she was doing both.

“I feel quite giddy,” she said, catching her breath.

Justin’s smile was broad—and a little smug. “You enjoyed that.”