Not look startled and apprehensive when she walked into the room and saw him sitting there.
As he kept his horse plodding along beside hers, he didn’t want to contemplate that he might be jealous of the creature because it held her affections.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He’d returned to London, stopped by the dressmaker’s to see what had been completed, and then he’d gone to his residence. Not his club. From the night he’d obtained it, it had always held sway over everything else in his life. In his absence, it could have burned down for all he knew, but he had hardly given it a thought. His entire focus had been on seeing her again.
He had not missed her, because he was not in the habit of missing people. But he had thought of her constantly, continually. He had dreamed of her naked and writhing beneath him. He had dreamed of her wrapping her arms about him—and his not breaking out into a cold sweat, his breathing not becoming erratic, his heart not pounding unmercifully. In his dream, he had merely sunk down into her as she had tightened her hold, until it was impossible to tell where he ended and she began.
But that was fantasy. Reality would be much different. He knew that. Accepted it.
He couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering back over to her. The clothing fit perfectly, hugged her bosom, her ribs, her narrow waist. She sat a horse well. As they entered the park, her eyes widened.
“There are so many people,” she murmured softly.
“This is the time of day when anyone who is anyone promenades about. Have you not been to Hyde Park before?”
She suddenly took great interest in the reins, running the leather through her gloved fingers. “My father brought me here once, in a carriage, early in the morning. I can’t recall seeing more than a dozen people. Will the people here know what I am to you?”
He wished he’d taken her father’s tact and not brought her during the height of the late afternoon. “I doubt it. The men you met that night—of course, they will know, but it serves them no purpose to tell others about what took place. As they did not leave with you, it makes them appear weak.”
“Yet here I am without a chaperon. That says a good deal about my morals, doesn’t it?”
“A good many ladies come unchaperoned—only because there are so many people about. Besides, it doesn’t matter what they think.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t. Not anymore anyway.” She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. “After Mother died, Father took me to his country estate. I’d not returned to London before this year.”
“You remained at the country estate.”
Nodding, she patted the horse’s neck. “I liked it there.”
He imagined she did. From what he’d been able to determine, it was remote, quiet, green. So very green.
“Why did you return this year?”
“I think Father intended to marry me off, but then he took ill—so swiftly, so unexpectedly. His health declined at an alarming rate. The physician said he’d had cancer of the blood for some time. I thought that I might be attending balls.” She glanced around, guided her horse with an expert hand. “I realize now it was a silly dream. If he’d not have brought me to the park during a time when everyone else was about, he’d not have bothered to garner me an invitation to a party.”
He could see the realization dawning that her father might not have been as proud of her as she’d always imagined. Anger, quick and sharp, surged through him. He fought to keep his tone flat, uncaring. “It wasn’t because your father didn’t value you that he didn’t bring you for the promenade. I suspect it was because he cared for you so much that he wouldn’t wish to see you hurt. The people prancing about now can be cruel when they put their minds to it.”
“You don’t think much of them.”
“No, and neither should you. They’re not important.”
“What of the people who live in the residence next to yours? The ones with the little boy. Do you know them?”
“They’re not important.”
She twisted her lips into an ironic smile. “Is anyone important to you?”
You are.The sentiment made absolutely no sense. His rush to the residence in order to see her again, his prolonging their time together by bringing her here. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come to a park. It had been for a lady, and they had parted ways soon after. “I’ve been on my own for too long, Eve, for anyone else to matter.”
“Will I feel that way, do you think? After a time?” She shook her head. “I hope not. I find it very sad. And I should think it would be very lonely.”
“Not if you like your own company.”
“And do you like yours?”
Not very, but that was beside the point. He ignored her question, allowed the silence to stretch between them.
“Will we see Geoffrey out here, do you suppose?”
