Waking Up With a Rake by Connie Mason, Mia Marlowe Read Free Book Online Page A

a battlefield in France.”
    Olivia bit her lower lip. She should have stuck with princes. After so many English lads bled to see Napoleon defeated, did one offer condolences for a fallen horse?
    Rhys’s strained expression made her wish she could.
    The head groom, Mr. Thatcher, came to her rescue, leading her dapple gray mare out of the stall. Molly was already saddled and ready to go, but with a dainty sidesaddle instead of the sturdy regular one Olivia preferred.
    “Mr. Thatcher, where is my other saddle?” she whispered while Lord Rhys was occupied with checking Duncan’s hooves for stones.
    The groom grimaced in apology as he bent his back and offered his laced fingers, inviting her to step into them to mount. “Mrs. Symon sent word that you were to use this one today.”
    Olivia fumed in silence. It wasn’t as if she were going to be trotting down London’s Rotten Row to see and be seen. Granted, she was an accomplished rider no matter which style of saddle she used, but she always rode astride on her father’s land.
    And it always irked her mother. Beatrice Symon thought riding astride mannish and unrefined, but her father was amused by it and encouraged Olivia whenever he was in residence. When he was not, it was a small point of rebellion for Olivia to do it in any case. However, to insist on a change of saddle now would only make her appear hoydenish before Rhys Warrington.
    Drat Mother and her interfering ways. It would almost be worth marrying an aging royal duke in order to get out from under her domineering thumb.
    Olivia slipped her foot into Mr. Thatcher’s waiting palms and allowed him to heft her up. Then she hooked her right thigh over the horn and settled her left foot into the single slipper stirrup.
    “Thank you, Mr. Thatcher.” It wasn’t the groom’s fault that her mother thought she needed to be hemmed about at every turn. “That’ll do.”
    “Beggin’ your pardon, but I’ll be accompanying you and the gentleman this morning as well,” he said softly. “Your mother’s orders.”
    “As you will, Mr. Thatcher,” she said as she tucked her riding crop under her arm. “But I trust you won’t fall afoul of Mother.”
    “Why would I be doing that, miss?”
    “Her order presumes you can catch us!”

Chapter 6
    Olivia Symon wheeled her mare around and dug her heel into the horse’s side. With a surprisingly loud “hi-up!” she bolted past Rhys and clattered out of the stable yard, making for the open, frost-kissed meadow beyond.
    Rhys mounted his gelding in a smooth motion and streaked after her, wondering how on earth she managed to keep her seat riding aside at that breakneck pace. She was slight enough; he hadn’t expected she’d have that much strength in her legs. But what Miss Symon lacked in body weight, she made up for in balance.
    As he gained on her, she leaned forward and crooned urgent endearments to her mare. Her words brought out more speed than the well-laid smack of a crop. Olivia’s body rocked with the mare’s gait in perfect rhythm. They took the hill that rose before them as if the going were straight and level. When they reached the top of the rise, she drew back on the reins and the mare danced in tight circles, still aching to run but willing to obey the superb horsewoman on her back.
    Olivia’s color was high, her eyes bright. Her unabashed pleasure in the ride lent her a sensual glow. There was an appealing flush on her skin, and she panted slightly from exertion. She was fairly quivering with excitement and the rush of risk-taking.
    That’s how she’ll look after a good hard swive , Rhys thought, warming to his goal, his guilt over it be damned. If the rest of the ton could see her now, she’d never be a wallflower again.
    “You’ve a marvelous seat,” he said, smiling and remembering how her neat little bum had bounced along. “If you were riding astride, you’d be the equal of any male equestrian.”
    She laughed, not the affected twitter