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“More entertaining, I think, than Mr. Langdon did. When he came in to tea he looked as though he’d been fighting the Thirty Years’ War single-handedly. I wish you would not plague him so, Delilah. He is supposed to be our ally.”
“I—plague him! When he took advantage—”
Her father raised an eyebrow.
“I certainly did not encourage him,” she said hotly.
The door opened and Bantwell entered to inform Mr. Desmond that Lord Wemberton had arrived.
“We’ll pursue this discussion later, Delilah,” said her papa as he rose from his chair. “Wemberton has very kindly offered to have a look at the grey. He has a taste for ill-behaved beasts. Takes it as a challenge, I suppose.”
While her papa was occupied with Lord Wemberton, Delilah decided to work off her irritation with a walk into Rossingley. No wonder her brain was fuddled. She was not used to being so inactive. Gad, but ladies had a dull life of it.
She knew she ought to take Joan along, but the abigail always whined if she had to stir more than a few yards. Instead, Miss Desmond strapped her knife sheath to her calf and tucked her small pistol into her reticule. If she were in danger, these two would do her a deal more good than Joan would.
Delilah had walked scarcely half a mile before she met up with Lord Berne travelling in the opposite direction. As soon as he caught sight of her he brought his curricle to a halt and offered to take her up.
“I will take you out of your way,” she said as she took in the dashing picture of snug blue coat, nankeen breeches, and gleaming top boots. His beaver hat, slightly tilted, gave him a rakish air which his angelic blue eyes stoutly contradicted. He was a devastating combination of dangerous masculinity and boyish innocence—and he knew it.
“That is impossible, since it was you I came to see,” he answered with a winning smile.
Miss Desmond was not in a humour to be won so easily. She pointed out that she’d already outraged propriety by going out without her maid. She would not compound the error by driving with him when he was without a tiger.
“I had not thought we needed bodyguards, Miss Desmond,” he said. “It is broad day, and no highwayman has been seen in these parts in over a decade.”
“My reputation can bear a highwayman, My Lord. A libertine is another matter.” She offered a brilliant smile and proceeded on her way.
The viscount promptly turned his carriage and came up beside her again.
“If you mean to follow me to Rossingley, I shall be cross with you,” she said. “You raise a deal of dust and my frock will be spoiled.”
“I can’t help it. I’m curious.”
She paused. “About what?”
He glanced at the cushioned seat of his equipage, then at the floor, then turned round to study the small rear seat where his tiger would normally be perched.
“About how I can possibly seduce you in the curricle without relinquishing the reins,” he answered ingenuously. “With, in fact, any degree of safety and comfort.”
His baffled glance met an amused one.
“Clearly, I am not as imaginative as you are, Miss Desmond. Would you be kind enough to explain how the thing is to be accomplished?” he asked.
“Certainly not.” She went on walking, and the curricle went on beside her. After five minutes of silence, she swore to herself, stopped, and looked up at him.
“You are very obstinate,” she said. “Do you really intend to follow me all the way into town and make a spectacle of me?”
He nodded.
She sighed. “Very well, I’ll ride. But only back to Elmhurst. I don’t mean to set the whole village buzzing.”
As he moved to help her, she waved him back, telling him to mind the horses. “You can’t be chivalrous when you’ve no tiger to take the reins,” she said, climbing up easily.
“That’s better,” he said as, to the great annoyance of his cattle, he turned the curricle once more. “Now you might satisfy my curiosity more comfortably. On another topic, I mean,” he added quickly as her eyes narrowed. “What is all this about your reputation? What harm is there in a short drive in broad day, even with a libertine?”
“That should be obvious.”
He only looked baffled.
“My parents,” she said impatiently.
“What has that to do with you? You haven’t joined a theatre troupe or carried on a series of dazzling escapades and love affairs. Quite the opposite. You’ve been exceedingly decorous, and I can’t tell you how depressing I find that.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “You wouldn’t even drive with me, simply because I came without my groom. I hope you won’t think me vain, Miss Desmond, if I tell you no one has ever done that before.”
“Well, I’m here now,” she said. “Pray be as vain as you like.”
“I can’t. I’m consumed by guilt. I never considered the damage my coming to call might do. I’ve been inexcusably thoughtless.”
“I would not refine upon it too much, My Lord. Lady Potterby will not allow you past the doorstep anyhow. If we manage to reach Elmhurst without being seen, then I may escape this unscathed.”
She felt his gaze upon her. As she turned to meet it, she saw a flicker of something in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant, and she could not tell what it was.
“Miss Desmond, I think this is monstrous, unfair,” he said, sounding indignant. “People have no right to judge you by your parents, even if they were right in judging your parents so harshly—which I do not accept, either.”
“In the abstract, perhaps they have no right, but this is the real world. In the real world, Lady Potterby’s neighbours want nothing to do with her while Papa and I are about. I had not expected to be welcomed with open arms, but I had thought at least one or two people might give me a chance before snubbing me.” She smiled cynically. “I was mistaken.”
“Jealousy,” he said. “Envy. That’s what it is— and a deal of hypocrisy besides.”
She shrugged.
They drove on in silence for a while, the viscount appearing lost in thought. Then, as they were turning into the drive leading to Elmhurst, Lord Berne spoke.
“I wonder what the world would think,” he said, “if the Devil’s daughter reformed the libertine.”
She stared at him.
“Reflect, Miss Desmond. How would the world regard a woman who could make me mend my wicked ways?”
She considered. “I daresay she would be proposed for sainthood. The job is worth half a dozen lesser miracles, I’m sure.”
“Then I recommend you be measured for a halo as soon as may be. I’m not joking, you know. The miracle can be accomplished,” he promised, “because I mean to help you. Miss Desmond, I wish to be reformed.”
“And I should like to be Queen of Egypt.”
“I am quite serious,” he insisted, with another melting smile. “You have no idea how much you’ve alarmed me. If you’re never invited anywhere, when am I to see you again? You tell me your aunt will send me packing if I come to the house, and I cannot possibly expect to happen on you in the road every time I come to Rossingley. I must be reformed because there appears to be no alternative.”
She could not help smiling in return. He was not to be trusted, but she appreciated charm, and that he had in abundance. All the same, she pointed out rather sternly that his motives did not seem remotely saintlike.
“My motives are selfish, Miss Desmond,” he said softly, “and selfishness is always to be relied upon.”
