The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“I have the best of ideas. Will you ride with me tomorrow morning, Miss Brandon?”

“Miss Brandon? Surely, my lord, you can call me by my first name now. After all, we have shared a very personal attachment— we have shared fishing poles.” She laughed when he grinned down at her, then she frowned. Seeing that he waited for an answer, she hurriedly said, “Oh, yes, I would very much like that. It is only that I must have my father’s permission. Sometimes he isn’t all that one would expect or prefer.”

“Don’t fear on that score. Sir Oliver won’t mind.” Mind, ha! The damned bastard would probably kick his heels in the air.

“How true. I had forgot how you have quite won him over. But sometimes he changes his mind. I never know, but I will ask him.”

“He won’t say no this time, I promise you.”

As the remnants of the frown still furrowed her forehead, he asked, “What else troubles you, Kate?”

The frown vanished, and she turned laughing eyes to his face. “It will be such a bore. Oh, it has nothing to do with you, my lord. It is just that I will have to wear a riding habit and not my breeches.”

“I am most honored that you’re willing to make that sacrifice, ma’am.”

“Ah, I’m not all that willing, but I must, for you will come to Brandon Hall and my father will be there, and, I assure you, he would be quite upset upon seeing me in breeches. But the problem is that my riding habit is much outdated and quite tight. I do but pray that I will not pop my buttons.”

Julien laughed aloud and in an unthinking swift movement brought his hand up and cupped her chin. She made no resistance whatsoever, merely looked up at him, her eyes shining with innocent humor.

“You are an outrageous chit, Katharine.” He drew her arm stiffly through his, and looking straight ahead, walked back to the hall.

Kate awoke slowly from a dreamless sleep. She stretched luxuriously under a mound of covers, savoring the warmth of the August sun upon her face. Her body felt light, and as she turned to look at the clock on the table beside her bed, as she had each morning for the past week, her lips curved into a smile of anticipation. She would be riding with the earl in but two hours.

She slipped quickly out of bed, wincing slightly as her bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. Hurriedly she stripped off her nightgown and bathed in the basin of cold water, scrubbing and splashing the water over her body until her skin tingled. She shivered and looked at the empty grate with displeasure. It was a chilly summer, and she wished that her father would break his rule, just once. As far back as she could remember, he hadn’t allowed fires in the bedrooms until after the first snow.

She was tugging on her stockings when a light knock sounded, and a moment later Lilly peered in. She said with an arch expression, “Squire Bleddoes is downstairs and wishes to see you.”

“Good Lord, whatever can that wretched man want at this hour? Oh, Lilly, can’t you tell him that I’ve come down with the plague, remind him how very virulent it is? He is very sensible and quite terrified of catching any illness at all. Perhaps it will send him directly back to his doting mama.”

“He is probably here for the usual reasons, my lady,” Lilly said, eyeing her mistress.

“Well, I suppose that means you won’t lie for me. Ah, well, then I will see Robert, curse him for his rude timing. Do help me into my riding clothes, Lilly. The earl will arrive in little more than an hour, and I want to be ready.”

Lilly’s face took on a look at the mention of the earl, a rapturous expression fit to rival that of an actress on Drury Lane.

“Oh, Miss Kate, whatever will you do if the two men meet? I would swoon, I would.”

“Don’t be a goose, Lilly,” Kate said sharply. “That expression you’re wearing is really quite professional.”