Eliza cast her gaze outside the carriage, unable to support her godmother’s efforts. Just then, the skin on the back of Eliza’s neck crawled. She’d the urge to turn, as if a threat loomed just behind them. Slowly, she angled her head. First, she spied Harbury.
Not a threat, precisely. But the gentleman at his side? Redver, the marquess whose skill had haunted her dreams and whose humiliation she’d already come to regret.
Yes, he was a certainly a threat.
What was he doing here? She’d not expected to have to face him so soon. She hadn’t properly prepared. And why, in this awkward moment, did he look so fine?
Heavens.
She’d never seen anyone look so imposing. He sat atop a completely black stallion with a glossy mane and a stance as arrogant as his rider’s. Man and horse appeared as one being, almost like a satyr.
She bit back a snort.
Of course, Redver resembled a satyr. He certainly possessed every other quality attributed to the mythical beast, especially the excessive sensual appetite.
The tickle in Eliza’s neck spread to her extremities, until her blush heated every inch of skin—an apt punishment for last night’s hubris. How on earth was she supposed to pretend that she had never met the man?
She forced her gaze back to Harbury. He’s where she would focus her attention…and her ire. Redver, for better or worse, she’d already humbled.
Adjusting her posture to resemble her godmother’s at her haughtiest, she met the duke’s somewhat vacant gaze, and then, slowly and deliberately, she looked away. Having completed the subtle cut, she slipped her hand into Cassandra’s and squeezed.
Whatever they were about to face, they’d face together.
“There he is!” Lady Asquith exhaled on spotting Harbury. She’d a much clearer view of the pair from her place facing the rear of the barouche. “And he’s separating from that Redver—thank God.”
Thank God?
“The young dowager is a dear, but that one I cannot trust.”
Eliza waited for her godmother to elaborate, but instead, Lady Asquith sank back into the carriage’s cushions and waved her fan, waiting for Harbury to approach.
No verbal communication could have so quickly increased Eliza’s agitation.
In the dowager countess’s mind, everything rested on this “happenstance” meeting about to occur, and, clearly, she hadn’t been certain the duke would fulfill his promise and show up at the appointed time.
Again, Eliza turned.
This time, she smiled serenely and waved politely at a group of children gathered along the grassy walkway outside the fence, all while accomplishing her true aim—another brief glance at Harbury and Redver.
Harbury was approaching their coach alone, and Redver had fallen behind. She followed Redver’s gaze and fixed on one of the most beautiful women Eliza had ever seen. On the mount to the woman’s right rode an equally stunning young lady.
Redver’s expression relaxed. Then, he smiled. And Eliza’s heart thumped.
Dratted, stupid smile.
As Harbury increased his pace, Redver slowed to converse with the two ladies. Eliza should have been grateful she wouldn’t have to meet him while blushing dark as a roasted beet.
Instead, she was…jealous?
Oh, what the devil had her impulsive actions gotten her into?
And how was she to find a way out?
