The Season(23)

“Indeed. I think you’d enjoy the experience of teaching me how.”

“I’ve had this curricle for less than a week, Alex. You’re not driving.”

Alex replied with a comic pout, “I shall convince you otherwise, my lord. I warn you.”

“Indeed? Well you are welcome to try, my lady.”

He flashed a broad grin at her and called to his team as they turned into the park, offering a quick “Hold on!” to Alex. The carriage tilted slightly, and she grabbed the seat beneath her, yelping as they slowed to a crawl, waiting to take a place in the mass of people walking and riding along the Serpentine that afternoon. Turning a lazy smile on her, he inquired, “All right?”

“Fine, now that I’m not in danger of toppling out of the curricle!” She cast him a sidelong glance and caught his snicker. “You meant to terrify me!”

“Never!” he defended himself, the portrait of innocence. “I suggested you hold on, did I not?”

Exasperated, she rolled her eyes, turning to look around them. The ride along Rotten Row in Hyde Park at this, the fashionable hour, was one of the most revered traditions in London aristocracy. It was a chance to see and be seen, to display one’s position in society, and, more than anything else, to witness—and perpetuate—the latest gossip of the ton. The path was packed with members of the beau monde, in open-air carriages, on horseback, walking along the sandy path, men with their walking sticks, women with their silk bonnets and pale linen parasols. Alex smiled brightly at the Countess of Shrewsbury, as the older woman tipped her head and reached out a hand to greet her.

“Lady Alexandra, Lord Blackmoor,” the countess said politely as Blackmoor tipped his hat. “‘Tis a fine afternoon for a ride, is it not?”

“Oh, indeed, my lady,” Alex replied, “and such a pleasure to find you here!” She lowered her voice, adding in a nearwhisper, “I wasn’t sure what I would discover!”

The countess, ever the portrait of propriety, replied with all decorum, “I’m certain Blackmoor will protect you from anything overly unusual, my dear.”

Alex looked at her companion and tilted her head, pretending to consider the statement before turning back to the countess. “I suppose he’ll have to do.”

The cheek of the statement in such a public locale surprised the older woman, who met Blackmoor’s laughing eyes and shook her head slightly and spoke with disdain, “Young people…so different from the way we were in my day.”

Alex immediately dipped her head in chagrin. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

The countess nodded curtly in farewell to both of them and moved off to greet the next acquaintance she found on the path, leaving Alex to turn a concerned look on Blackmoor. “Well, that came off rather poorly, it seems.”

Blackmoor tried to hide his humor, somewhat unsuccessfully. “You shouldn’t allow her opinion to dictate your behavior.”

Alex winced. “Lady Shrewsbury is not incorrect. I should endeavor to be more ladylike and less…well…not. More like her.”

“Lady Shrewsbury”—he said the name as if he had just received a whiff of a not altogether pleasant scent—“has always been the portrait of stiffness and staidness. You should endeavor to be nothing like her.”

“Her opinion about my…candor…is shared by many of our parents’ set.”

“Nonsense,” he said, tipping his hat to the Marquess of Houghton, who was riding alongside the eldest daughter of Viscount Grosvenor. “Your candidness is charming and not at all off-putting. Our parents’ friends adore you. You are…lively.”

“Lively.” Alex tested the word on her tongue. “That makes me sound like an unpredictable racing horse.” A broad grin spread across Blackmoor’s face and Alex resisted the urge to hit him. That would have been unpredictable. “Do you think me horselike, my lord?”

Realizing the threat to his personage, Blackmoor wiped the smile from his face and replied, “Not at all. I said I think you charming.”

“A fine start.”

“And I appreciate your exuberance.” His eyes glittered with barely contained laughter.

“Like that of a child.” Hers sparkled with irritation.

“And, of course, you are entertaining.”

“Excellent. Like the aforementioned child’s toy.”

He couldn’t hide a chuckle. “Not at all. You are a far better companion than any of the toys I had as a child.”

“Oh, I am most flattered.”

“You should be. I had some tremendous toys.”

Eyes wide, she turned on him, catching his laughing gaze. “Oh! You are incorrigible! Between you and my brothers, it’s no wonder I can’t manage to be more of a delicate flower!”

Blackmoor stopped in the midst of acknowledging the Viscountess of Hawksmore, who, accompanied by her enormous black poodle, walked past. He turned back to Alex and answered with one eyebrow raised, “I beg your pardon? A delicate flower?”

Alex sat back in the curricle, quoting in a singsong voice, “A young lady should be as a delicate flower; a fragile bud, with care, will blossom by the hour.”

Blackmoor’s eyes widened. “Where on earth did you hear that rubbish?”