My One and Only Earl (Forever Yours #12) - Stacy Reid Page 0,35

to tighten. What do you regret so, she silently asked.

They strolled for several more minutes, talking about the mundane gossips from town, each careful to not broach a too intimate topic. That evening Poppy relaxed for an hour in her bath, allowing the water’s heat to soothe away her lingering stiffness and aches in her body. She gathered until she became proficient in riding astride a long bath might become a nightly ritual. Dinner was a scrumptious and lively feast, and afterward, she played for everyone in the music room while Daphne sang.

Now Poppy lay in her large bed, her mind unable to fall asleep. There was something different between her and James. He watched her with a puzzling mix of craving and wariness. Even at dinner, he had been reserved to the point of stiffness, but only with her. A situation even Daphne and Aunt Marielle seemed aware of, for they had shared speaking glances Poppy did not understand. However, whenever her eyes and James’s gaze collided, the burning hunger she saw there robbed her of breath and her wits.

He wanted her. She was sure of it. Then she recalled his desire to not marry as yet. What ambition did he own why he was determined to wait years to settle down? Poppy was quite aware such luxury was only the purview of gentlemen.

What if I should wait on you, James?

The question seemed to come from outside of herself, and Poppy gasped, lurching to sit upright in bed. Rubbish, her common sense cried. Wait on him? A man is always wanted, regardless of age. At the same time, after a few more years of waiting, Poppy would be considered extremely ineligible—a decrepit spinster in the last bloom of youth—to be acceptable as anyone’s wife, especially not that of an earl.

“Do not start having silly and foolish hopes,” she whispered in the darkness of the chamber before snuggling down and falling into a deep sleep, still with those hopes burrowing even deeper inside her heart.

Chapter 10

The following morning, Poppy rose from her restless slumber, eager to visit the stables and ride for the day. She was naughtily clad in breeches that revealed every curve of her body and a shirt that thankfully covered her rump. Daphne had choked on her tea when she spied Poppy, but Aunt Marielle had only harrumphed. Meeting James by the stables, admiration lit in his eyes when he spied her. Poppy hid her grin when she noted the flush on his sharply defined cheekbones.

“Let’s get to riding,” James called.

Her mare was led out by Fernley, who winked at her. Poppy smiled, and with the aid of James and the mounting block, seated her horse astride. It felt different. Oddly more intimidating. She gently gathered the reins and relaxed under James’s instructions, following the back-and-forth movement of the horse. Poppy rocked with her mare’s stride, easing into the familiarity of riding astride. She could feel the bunch of muscles and the power of the horse beneath her. Leaning forward slightly, she ran her gloved hand through the coarse hair of the horse’s mane. Her mare’s ears were pricked, telling Poppy she was ready, but waiting.

“Lean forward slightly,” James said from beside her.

Poppy complied, and immediately her horse nudged forward into a steady lope. The urge to go faster beat in her heart, but she restrained the need bubbling inside her, desperate to spew out. They trotted gently along the lanes, and Poppy stared into the distance, a peculiar sadness upon her.

“James,” she said, glancing over at him, “Do you ever feel this frantic longing inside for something…more. You do not know what it is really, but the shadows of the feelings are there inside you, straining and reaching. And it is so frustrating because you do not understand fully what you so desperately want.”

“Yes,” he said gruffly, careful in not looking at her.

“What do you do then when such sensations play havoc with your peace of mind?”

For a long time, he did not answer. Then he turned and held her eyes fiercely with his.

“What do you want, Poppy?”

His intensity shook her. You. More kisses with you. More laughter. More dancing. More of everything. But she did not say that. “I wish I could go faster, feel the wind on my face.”

“You are several lessons away from that, I am afraid. I have no wish for you to fall and break your pretty neck.” Yet, he indicated for her to draw the horse to a stop. James