A Prince Among Men Read Online Free
it, of course, and his full, finely drawn mouth, which she really hadn't noticed before, curved up in a slight smile.
She gritted her teeth, planted her hands on his shoulders and slid into his grip. His hands closed around her waist. She had a sensation of truly falling, her blood rushing.
In a blink she was standing on firm ground in possession of about half her wits, with a furious fluttering in her breast like the beating of a trapped moth's wings. He was taller than she'd thought. She was at eye level with the careless knot of his cravat, and when he swallowed, the bob of his Adam's apple evoked an answering bob low in her stomach. His hands tightened once at her waist, then fell away.
He turned to Shadow, biting the tip of one tan glove, pulling it free with his teeth, and running his bare hand over the mare's flank. Gently but firmly he tested the cinch and the balance of the saddle. Ophelia could not look away from the hand sliding over the mare's sides.
"It's fine now, miss," he said, his attention apparently absorbed by the task of putting on his glove.
"Thank you," she said, surprising both herself and him.
She stepped up to remount, and he seemed deliberately obtuse about her intention. She raised her brows, and belatedly he linked his hands, but when she placed her foot in them, he froze, seeming paralyzed. Then, with a phrase under his breath, he tossed her up and turned away.
She was grateful for Shadow's steadiness. Alexander's grip on her foot sent some sensation sizzling through her, and in the aftermath her arms and legs were limp like the padded limbs of china dolls. She recognized the mortifying symptoms of her susceptibility to a handsome face. She should get as far from him as she could and insist that her father find her a groom more to her liking, one who was as plain as porridge.
But if she quit, he won, and there was no hope of escape. She allowed Shadow to walk half the length of the park before she said she thought it was not the cinch after all, but perhaps the stirrup.
He halted Raj.
"Beg pardon, miss, but yer the picture of comfort in the saddle."
"Nevertheless, I would like you to check the stirrup." She lifted her foot and pulled aside the heavy blue skirts of her habit. He dismounted and approached her side, stopping with his nose not six inches from her thigh. She had the strangest sensation of heat where his gaze met her person.
Taking a deep breath, as if he were making a great effort, he lowered the stirrup below her reach. She shook her head and removed her glove to point. He raised the stirrup so she could rest her chin on her knee. Her mouth twitched, but she merely asked him to try again. He returned the stirrup to its original position. She opened her mouth to suggest another change, but a quick, sharp glance made her say she thought the adjustment perfect.
She had initiated this game, and he dared to play. She could not reproach him for it without acknowledging her tactics.
When he was back on Raj, she allowed them to go at least a dozen yards before she dropped her glove. He swung down, hanging from the saddle, and scooped it up without dismounting.
Ophelia simply stared. Had the man come from Astley's Circus? She stretched out her bare hand to receive the glove, conscious of his gaze on her hand, as if he meant to memorize it. Perhaps she was taking this thing too far. He was nothing like William or any other servant she'd had.
''Thank you," she said.
They started again, Shadow lifting her head, eager for a run. Ophelia patted her mare's neck, in apology for keeping them from their usual gallop, but she didn't mean to give in. They reached the banks of the Serpentine.
"I'd like to have a look at the water, if you don't mind, Alexander."
"The 'orses would like a run, miss," he said through clenched teeth.
"Do you think the horses should be consulted? An odd view for a groom to take."
"A 'orse should do what 'is master tells 'im to."
"And a servant? Should he
She gritted her teeth, planted her hands on his shoulders and slid into his grip. His hands closed around her waist. She had a sensation of truly falling, her blood rushing.
In a blink she was standing on firm ground in possession of about half her wits, with a furious fluttering in her breast like the beating of a trapped moth's wings. He was taller than she'd thought. She was at eye level with the careless knot of his cravat, and when he swallowed, the bob of his Adam's apple evoked an answering bob low in her stomach. His hands tightened once at her waist, then fell away.
He turned to Shadow, biting the tip of one tan glove, pulling it free with his teeth, and running his bare hand over the mare's flank. Gently but firmly he tested the cinch and the balance of the saddle. Ophelia could not look away from the hand sliding over the mare's sides.
"It's fine now, miss," he said, his attention apparently absorbed by the task of putting on his glove.
"Thank you," she said, surprising both herself and him.
She stepped up to remount, and he seemed deliberately obtuse about her intention. She raised her brows, and belatedly he linked his hands, but when she placed her foot in them, he froze, seeming paralyzed. Then, with a phrase under his breath, he tossed her up and turned away.
She was grateful for Shadow's steadiness. Alexander's grip on her foot sent some sensation sizzling through her, and in the aftermath her arms and legs were limp like the padded limbs of china dolls. She recognized the mortifying symptoms of her susceptibility to a handsome face. She should get as far from him as she could and insist that her father find her a groom more to her liking, one who was as plain as porridge.
But if she quit, he won, and there was no hope of escape. She allowed Shadow to walk half the length of the park before she said she thought it was not the cinch after all, but perhaps the stirrup.
He halted Raj.
"Beg pardon, miss, but yer the picture of comfort in the saddle."
"Nevertheless, I would like you to check the stirrup." She lifted her foot and pulled aside the heavy blue skirts of her habit. He dismounted and approached her side, stopping with his nose not six inches from her thigh. She had the strangest sensation of heat where his gaze met her person.
Taking a deep breath, as if he were making a great effort, he lowered the stirrup below her reach. She shook her head and removed her glove to point. He raised the stirrup so she could rest her chin on her knee. Her mouth twitched, but she merely asked him to try again. He returned the stirrup to its original position. She opened her mouth to suggest another change, but a quick, sharp glance made her say she thought the adjustment perfect.
She had initiated this game, and he dared to play. She could not reproach him for it without acknowledging her tactics.
When he was back on Raj, she allowed them to go at least a dozen yards before she dropped her glove. He swung down, hanging from the saddle, and scooped it up without dismounting.
Ophelia simply stared. Had the man come from Astley's Circus? She stretched out her bare hand to receive the glove, conscious of his gaze on her hand, as if he meant to memorize it. Perhaps she was taking this thing too far. He was nothing like William or any other servant she'd had.
''Thank you," she said.
They started again, Shadow lifting her head, eager for a run. Ophelia patted her mare's neck, in apology for keeping them from their usual gallop, but she didn't mean to give in. They reached the banks of the Serpentine.
"I'd like to have a look at the water, if you don't mind, Alexander."
"The 'orses would like a run, miss," he said through clenched teeth.
"Do you think the horses should be consulted? An odd view for a groom to take."
"A 'orse should do what 'is master tells 'im to."
"And a servant? Should he
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