Ten Days with a Duke (12 Dukes of Christmas #11) - Erica Ridley Page 0,15

of a bulky jockey?” He flexed one of his arms and shrugged. “The habit stuck, though I’m now more likely to box or swim than chop down trees and dig trenches.”

Her gaze was startled. “Do you dislike horses?”

“I didn’t say I dislike them.” The beasts terrified him. “I would simply rather not ride one. Ever.”

Not the thing to admit when attempting to win the favor of a celebrated horsewoman.

“I’ll help,” she said, her voice soft. “You’ll never win Duke’s acceptance—” Or her hand in marriage, was the implication. “—but I cannot allow you to leave here believing horses are the enemy.”

Eli had been raised to believe the Harpers were the enemy.

A pair of Janus-faced, manipulative, backstabbing deceivers. Father had made it a point of pride to outdo his bitter rival on each of those scores. The feud had carried on for decades.

Until now.

The clothes were a lovely gesture. Miss Harper had helped him despite neither trusting him nor wanting him.

When Eli looked at Miss Harper, he didn’t see a foe to be vanquished. He saw a strong, compassionate, clever woman, talented and unforgettable.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

He wanted to kiss her.

It was a terrible idea. They’d tried it before. While the kiss itself had been exquisite, it had all gone to hell thereafter.

He’d vowed that this time, there would be no kissing unless he was certain they had a future.

If he crossed that line, his heart was the one that would break.

“Thank you,” he said, and reached for her hand.

Touching her skin was almost as terrible an idea as kissing her. Luckily, Miss Harper would be intelligent enough to slap his face for this impertinence.

Instead, she let him lift her hand.

Now what? His blood raced hot. Holding a woman’s hand was the precursor to kissing her fingers. Or whirling her into a waltz. Or pulling her to his chest and covering her mouth with his. There was nothing he wanted more than to taste Miss Harper’s lips.

All very, very, very bad ideas.

But he didn’t let go.

Her skin fascinated him. The back of her hand and the tops of her fingers were impossibly soft, the skin creamy and silken as though pampered with expensive creams.

The pads of her fingers, less so. They were not calloused, but tough and strong, like Miss Harper herself. They warned that here was a woman not afraid to take off her gloves and vanquish problems with her bare hands.

Eli would love to feel those bare hands skim across his naked flesh.

“So you’ll wear the riding outfit?” Her voice was gentle, inviting.

The words were a pail of ice.

Eli dropped her hand.

She wanted to help him do the one thing that terrified him most. A gentleman would say yes. Her happiness was worth his discomfort.

“All right.” His voice was thick, his heart hammering now for a different reason. “We can try.”

Every part of him rebelled against the idea.

The trunk contained a week’s worth of riding wear, as well as myriad daywear options in full dress and half dress, and a three-caped greatcoat that would keep the wearer deliciously warm on an outdoor stroll.

Eli chose a smart wool suit with quilted waistcoat to go with his buckskins, and forced himself to join Miss Harper at the stables.

Despite the misgivings in his stomach—and the scars marring his skin—he had complete faith in her ability to command her beasts. Her fame as a trainer of horses had reached every corner of England. She would not allow harm to befall one of her prized bloods, nor would an animal she’d trained harm a rider.

He hoped.

“We’ll start with Rudolph,” she told him. “He pulled a sleigh, but is now retired. He’s used to the terrain and the weather, as well as maintaining a slow, plodding pace.”

“I adore slow and plodding.”

Thus began the most embarrassing hour and a half of recent memory. It took longer than he’d like to admit to work up the courage to mount the beast, only for Eli to freeze once seated in the saddle.

Rudolph, for his part, did not seem to mind the presence of a rider, if indeed one could use that term to refer to Eli.

The sleek brown horse ambled when Miss Harper indicated, halted when she lifted a hand, and moved at a pace that could best be described as glacial. All without tossing his rider from the saddle.

Eli felt like a warrior who had conquered new worlds.

By the time Miss Harper declared the lesson over, Eli was almost willing to voluntarily undertake the experiment