All About Passion by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page B

as haughty as any princess, she held out a gloved hand. He grasped it and pulled—then she was on her feet before him.
    "Thank you."
    Her tone suggested she would rather have accepted help from a leper. Nose elevating, giving a haughty swish of her hips, she swung her heavy skirts around and turned to the grey. "He is not tired." Then her voice changed. "Knight… come on, boy."
    The grey lifted his head, pricked his ears, then came ambling over.
    "You can't get back in the saddle."
    At the clipped, blunt words, Francesca threw a dismissive look over her shoulder. "I'm not one of your lily-livered English misses who can't mount without help."
    He was silent for a moment, then replied, "Very well. Let's see how far you get." Reaching for Knight's reins, she gathered them, using the action to camouflage another glance at her almost-betrothed. He was standing, arms crossed, watching her. He'd made no attempt to take his chestnut's reins.
    His expression was stony—and calmly expectant.
    Francesca stopped. She stared at him. "What?"
    He took his time answering. "You fell into gorse."
    "So?"
    After another aggravating moment, he asked, "Don't they have gorse in Italy?"
    "No." She frowned. "Not like tha—" The truth dawned; eyes widening, she stared at him, then twisted to look at the back of her skirt. It was covered in snapped-off spikes. She grabbed at her long curls, pulling them over her shoulders. They were adorned with spikes, too. "Oh, no!" She shot him a glance that told him what she thought of him, then fell to pulling the spiny spikes from her skirt. She couldn't see; in places, she could barely reach.
    "Would you like me to help?"
    She looked up. He stood no more than two feet away. The offer had been couched in a completely flat tone. There was nothing to be read in his eyes; his expression was utterly bland. She gritted her teeth. "Please."
    "Turn around."
    She did, then looked over her shoulder. He hunkered down behind her and started plucking spikes from her skirt. She felt nothing more than an occasional tug. Reassured, she turned her attention to the curls tumbling down her back to her waist; she pulled and plucked, reached and stretched—he growled at her to stand still, but otherwise applied himself to her skirts in silence.
    His gaze fixed on the emerald velvet, Gyles tried not to think of what it was covering. Difficult. He tried even harder not to think of the emotions that had crashed through him in the instant she'd fallen. He had never, ever, felt like that—not over anyone or anything. For one fractured moment, he'd felt like the sun had gone out, like the light had been snuffed from his life.
    It was ludicrous. He'd first met her two days ago.
    He tried to tell himself it had been some sense of duty—some idea of responsibility to someone younger than himself, some loyalty to Charles in whose care the gypsy presumably was. He tried to tell himself a lot of things—he didn't believe any of them.
    The repetitive task of removing the spikes gave him time to push his unwanted emotions back behind the wall from which they had sprung. He was determined to keep them there, safely locked away. He plucked off the last spike, then rose and stretched his back. She'd finished her hair some time before and had waited in silence while he completed his task,
    "Thank you."
    The words were soft; she looked at him for a moment, then turned and gathered her reins. He stepped beside her and wordlessly offered his cupped hands—he knew she'd bite her tongue rather than ask.
    With a bob of her head, she placed her boot in his hands. He threw her up easily—she was such a lightweight. Frowning, he walked back to the chestnut and swung up to the saddle. In silence, she led the way back to the lane.
    He followed, deep in thought.
    Once they reached the lane, he tapped the chestnut's flanks and moved up beside her. Francesca was aware he was there, but kept her gaze fixed forward. The irritation she'd