Behind her, Guy cheered and whooped. He raced to catch up with her, crying, “Brava! You’re a natural.”
She glowed with pride. It occurred to her there had been no one in her life to shout Good show! for almost as long as she could remember. Maybe Nanny had when she was very small, applauding her childish milestones. Hattie’s governess Miss Hamstead certainly hadn’t. Nor had her aunt or uncle. Praise for doing what one was required to do made no sense to them.
Henry had been the first person in her life to tell her she was wonderful, intelligent, beautiful, and other extravagant compliments, which all meant nothing when he dropped her like a smelly rotten potato.
In the years she’d survived alone, she had not had a close friend to compliment her business acumen or say, “You’re doing well.” So, Guy’s acclamation made her swell with happiness and a profound sense of accomplishment. Even little achievements felt greater when one had someone to share them with.
Hattie no sooner got off the bike when Hardy reached her. “Lay it down,” he said and almost before she got off, he had grabbed hold of her waist and swung her around in a celebratory dance.
“You are a cyclist, Hattie Glover! You should’ve seen yourself. It was a glorious sight.”
She grabbed his shoulders as he spun her, and when he set her on her feet, neither of them let go. Instead, he gripped her waist tighter and pulled her closer. He gazed into her eyes, his face ruddy from exercise, then slowly, he bent his head. Hattie’s lashes closed and her lips parted to accept his kiss, warm, gentle, utterly wonderful.
She clung to him and held on as he swept her away with a veritable shower of small, sweet kisses, culminating with one on the tip of her nose. Hattie opened her eyes and stared dreamily at him, more off-balance than she had felt on the bicycle.
Hardy stepped back, let go of her waist, and brandished her hat, which must have flown off during her ride. After reshaping the felt, he placed it on her head and smoothed her hair below it.
“There. You look scrumptious. Are you ready to ride farther?”
She nodded. “I believe I am.”
Chapter Eleven
Guy was completely sincere when he told Hattie she was a glorious sight on her metal steed, pedaling as fast as she dared. She appeared youthful and carefree with her hair billowing behind her, the chestnut brown glowing auburn in sunlight. He had given her that gift—the opportunity to be free of responsibility, to relax and enjoy herself. There must be no finer feeling in the world than this warmth that filled him.
He returned to his bicycle and hurried to catch up with her, cycling alongside her and ready to leap to her aid if she wobbled off course.
But Hattie had quickly gotten the hang of it. After a bit, she stopped gripping the handlebars so tightly and risked a glance at a herd of cows gathered by their fence to gawk at the strange humans.
Delight shone from her beaming face, reminding Guy of how jaded many of his lovers had been. Lady Anne, for example, would never have considered trying an adventure like this. Drawing rooms and parties were her natural habitat, and yet she seemed constantly bored with them.
The comparison between Hattie’s vibrancy and Anne’s ennui made Guy aware of a shift within himself. He had felt flashes of it for some time, even before his decision to end things with Anne. He could no longer pretend to be the same fellow who had arranged his life around inconsequential matters, particularly after inheriting Father’s fortune. With no judgmental parent curbing his ways, Guy had indulged himself in whatever took his fancy. Though he did not overly gamble, drink, or whore like some of his chums, neither was he a model of decency.
Now he wanted something other than perpetual play. More authenticity, more purpose, more struggle. He craved a woman of substance, who could see through his pretense and inspire him to be a better version of himself.
Hattie cast a look over her shoulder and grinned at him. “Why are you so slow? Hurry and catch up with me.”
“So you want a race? Very well. First to that big tree wins.”
Guy gave no quarter, pedaling with all his strength until he was far ahead of Hattie. He reached the goal, dropped the cycle, and posed with one shoulder leaning against the trunk in nonchalance. When she reached him, he gave an exaggerated yawn. “What took you so long?”
Red-faced and sweating, she abandoned the cycle, dropped to the grass, and laid back full length upon that soft carpet, gasping for breath.
He swallowed at the enticing rise and fall of her chest and the display of sprawled limbs against emerald green. Too easy to picture her lying there naked, willing and ready to welcome him into her arms. To distract his over-active mind, he got the water flask from the hamper strapped on the rear of his bicycle and offered it to her.
Hattie sat up to drink, her throat moving with every deep swallow, water escaping her lips to trickle down her chin. Good Christ, but he had to stop his mind from drifting in erotic directions. Kissing her had awakened too much desire and now he must beat it to death with a cricket bat.
He sat beside her on the tickling long grass, and she handed him the flask. Water had never tasted sweeter.
“What do you think? Do you enjoy cycling?” he asked when he had finished drinking.
“Wondrous. I’ve never felt so free.” She reached down to straighten her skirt so it hid her stockings above sensible shoes. “I’m afraid my legs won’t thank me for it later.”
I would massage those sore legs for you from ankle to thigh and beyond. Guy quashed his lascivious musing and focused on the pastoral setting, all the
