“Give him a little more freedom,” James said from where he trotted beside her with graceful ease.
Poppy grinned and urged her horse a little faster. “Oh!” she gasped, gripping the reins as she bounced in the saddle. A surge of worry went through her, but James's quick glance showed only confidence and an at ease expression. Poppy slowly released her held breath, relaxed her shoulders, and moved with the horse's rhythm.
“Riding is glorious,” she said after several minutes, laughing. Poppy never imagined it would have felt so free. This was even better than running across the lawns or dipping in the lake when no one watched.
James’s mouth curved into a grin. “You are a natural, just as I suspected it would be.”
They trotted about the lanes of the estate until Poppy felt an ache in her rump. Without having to say so, James declared her lesson for the day over. He dismounted from his horse, came around to her, gripped her hips and helped her down. Poppy had the oddest sense of an electric shock going through her body. But staring at his face all she saw was cool civility. With a swallow, she stepped back from James as soon as her feet touch the ground.
It was painfully uncomfortable being this close to him.
Brushing at the skirts of her habit, she turned away from him, for suddenly he needed not to see that she wore her feelings on her sleeves. Poppy had missed him dreadfully these last few days and had done much to occupy her thoughts, so she did not think of James. That had worked splendidly in the daytime with Daphne and Aunt Marielle keeping her company but in the nights. Poppy closed her eyes and released a soft breath.
In the nights, she dreamed of James. The memory of their kisses was always there in the shadows of her thoughts, and the desire to do more with him a constant torment and temptation. Reading that book, A Guide to Passionate romps between a Lord and his Lady, did not help. It was naughty and salacious and spoke to so many hidden desires stirring inside Poppy. In the darkness of her chamber, Poppy often found herself squeezing her thighs together, trying to quench the warm, tight ache that bloomed between them.
“How have you been, Poppy?”
That gentle inquiry had her turning around. He had dropped the reins of the horses, and they grazed, drifting from them. She walked toward the lake, and James fell in beside her.
“Your sister and Aunt have been wonderful. Being here is also a calming respite from my sister’s and stepmother, one I never knew I needed,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “I never realized before how much of my time was taken up with doing simple errands for my sisters. Now I’ve had much time for myself, and I spent a great deal of it reading, playing the pianoforte and with my dance lessons. Your library is wonderful and filled with many classics.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“And how have things been for you in town?”
“A dead bore.”
Poppy jerked her gaze to his to find him staring at her. She choked down a chuckle before replying, “I gather you do not enjoy the social events of the season much. I recalled my sister mentioning you do not dance or socialize much at society events. Why?”
“Within society, one does not dance for the pleasure of it. At least it is better not as an unmarried gentleman. It is only seen as a signal of potential interest. I do not want to encourage anyone in vain.”
“I see.” Poppy searched his expression carefully. “So I gather you have not danced with my sister all week.”
James scoffed, his eyes darkening with displeasure. “Not for lack of your stepmother trying. The lady is persistent, but I do not have time for games, nor do I tolerate the schemes and ridiculousness from match-making mamas.”
This was said with an icy hardness she was not used to from him, and Poppy was entirely uncertain how to respond.
“Your sister does not lack in admirers. I am sure she will soon make a good match.”
Just not with you. And Poppy’s heart extraordinarily was glad to know it. “When do you return to town?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
Another tight ache settled deep into her chest. “And why did you journey down this time?” Poppy knew it was for her, but she wanted him to admit his fancy. Why, she could not say, for she was sure nothing would come of it. But somehow, it mattered to her greatly.
“I fancied giving you some lessons in riding astride.”
Her eyes rounded. “Riding astride?”
“Yes. I even brought down breeches and a shirt that will fit your build.” His eyes swept over her body in a thorough sweep before he looked away, his jaw tightening.
“And we are to have this lesson when?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Poppy grinned, thoroughly scandalized. “Whyever did you think I might like riding astride?”
He glanced down at her, his expression sober. She held herself still when he reached out and twined a wisp of her loose hair around one of his fingers.
“There is a certain freedom in it, more glorious than when riding side-saddle. More control. More speed. More joy. I believe you would like that. There is something inside of you that yearns to be unrestrained and happy, and I simply thought you would love being able to ride astride.”
Poppy stared up at him wordlessly, stunned that he could see so deeply into the things she felt inside but had not voiced.
“Of course, this is something you will do in the privacy of your country home.”
Poppy smiled up at him and said softly, “Of course.”
James tucked the strand of hair behind her ears, a profound regret gleaming in his eyes.
A perplexing weight settled inside her chest, causing ache and her throat 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.