“You have a gentle touch for a man, Simon.”
“My work with sick horses and foaling taught me to be gentle.”
“Such good work you do. I would like to work with animals.”
“You would?”
“Oui.Animals are noble. I cannot say as much of some people. I have had dogs and horses I could rely on for my life.” He frowned. “I hope my poor horse has found shelter.”
She drew away and bit down on a sigh. “You are very lucky, my lord. You could have been killed.” She wound the cravat around his head.
“Well, there is no wife or child to mourn me,” he said cheerfully. “Do you have any family?”
“Yes, my father,” Hetty said, unable to lie about such a thing.
“No siblings?”
“No, but I wish I did.” A sister or brother would be a distraction for her father.
“And your father. He works with horses, too? On the same estate?”
“No. He’s retired. Lives in the village.”
“You get on well together?”
“Most times. One doesn’t always agree with a parent, does one?”
He chuckled. “Non. But most times?”
“Yes. My father is a fair man. He’s kind and wishes the best for me.” Hetty realized this was true. She had not behaved well, and a sense of shame washed over her. If she was discovered, she could destroy his life as well as hers. If she escaped censure this time, she would not ride The General again.
“There, all done.” She tied the cravat ends and moved away.
He climbed to his feet, looking rakish and handsome in his white turban, like that sketch she’d seen of Lord Byron in Albanian dress.
“I’m much better already. It’s so dark, there’s nothing to do but sleep. If you were a woman, it would be another matter,oui?” He laughed and tossed her the pillow.
Unbalanced by his remark, she fumbled and almost dropped it. She held it against her chest, wondering what unnerving thing he would say or do next.
He sat on the edge of the cot. “Would you mind doing one more thing for me? Help me with my boots?”
“As you wish, my lord.” A tingle climbed her spine, and she marveled at her calm voice. How dangerous this had become. What would he do if he discovered her sex? She shivered.
“You are cold?”
“A little. The room is warmer though.”
He raised his leg and rested his boot on Hetty’s thigh. She grabbed the boot and pulled. It didn’t give an inch.
“Perhaps if you turn around?” he said. “My valet used to do it that way.”
She turned her back and reached her shaky hands down as he threaded his riding boot between her legs. The boot rubbed against her most vulnerable spot, stirring something within her. She started as he rested his other boot against her derrière. Frantic to get it over with, she grasped the boot and tugged with growing alarm as heat radiated out from her nether regions. She let out a relieved sigh as the boot came away in her hands.
He repeated the procedure with his left boot. It was an exquisite torture.
“You’re a slim young man, Simon,” he said from behind her. “When you’re a bit older, you will fill out and put on more muscle.” Was he studying her derrière? She quickly sat.
By the time his lordship stood in his stocking feet, Hetty’s face burned so hot it must have rivaled the logs in the fireplace. Adding more, she raised a cloud of sparks with the hope they would last the night. Then she pulled off her boots before he suggested he might help.
