Page 3 of Appointment in Bath

He rode up alongside her. “How’s your ankle now?”

“Tolerably well.”

“Can you manage the ride home?”

“I believe so, thank you.”

Mr. Beresford didn’t appear convinced. “I’ll accompany you back just to be certain.”

Her eyes flew back to his. “Oh no, you m-mustn’t!” she cried before she could stop herself.

His brows lifted in amused surprise. “Mustn’t I?”

Embarrassed, Meg once again bent her head. “I mean… I c-can manage. You needn’t t-trouble yourself on m-my account.”

There was a long and rather agonizing moment of silence.

“It’s no trouble to me,” Mr. Beresford said at length. “But I see it would be to you.” He circled around her on his stallion, prompting Rowena to flatten her ears. “Very well, we shall part here.”

Relief coursed through Meg. She couldn’t imagine what her father would do if he spied her returning to Letchford Hall in company with a Beresford. The very thought of his reaction was too terrifying to contemplate.

“Shall I go first?” Mr. Beresford inquired. “I can gallop away in a trice, if you wish it.”

She chanced another look at him through her lashes. “Yes, please. That is…if you would, sir.”

Catching her shy glance, the same irrepressible smile pulled at his mouth. “Do you know what I think, Miss Burton-Smythe? I think we should be friends, you and I.”

She stared at him, rendered speechless by the scandalous suggestion.

His grin broadened. “Consider it,” he said. And then, kicking his stallion into motion, he cantered off over the rise.

Meg was left gaping after him, stunned.

Friends? How could a Burton-Smythe ever be friends with a Beresford? It was impossible. Unheard of. The two families hated each other and had done so since well before she was born.

But Mr. Beresford had been kind to her. More than kind. He’d been downright friendly.

And Meg was in desperate need of a friend.

Chapter Two

Ivo’s grin gradually faded as he cantered away. An icy November wind whipped at his face, obliterating the last remnants of the warmth he’d felt when assisting the surprisingly lovely Miss Burton-Smythe back into her sidesaddle.

Good Lord. What the devil had he been thinking? To extend a hand of friendship to the daughter of his parents’ oldest enemy, Sir Frederick Burton-Smythe?

He tightened his gloved fingers on the reins, the slight pressure of his leg guiding his stallion, Snap, along the road that would take them to Beasley Park. The trees that lined it were absent their leaves, the countryside cold and wet from the last of the autumn rains. It stretched before him in a muted blur—all soft shapes and colors—reminding Ivo exactly what it was that had got him into this predicament.

It was his own vanity that was to blame.

He hated wearing his spectacles. Oftentimes, it was a necessity. But not on horseback. When riding, his vision was just sharp enough to see where he was going. Granted, he couldn’t make out printed signs. And he couldn’t recognize faces when at a distance. But the former made no difference when on a familiar path like the one that led to Beasley. As for the latter…

If he’d been wearing his spectacles, he’d have recognized the distinctive red hair and freckles that marked a member of the Burton-Smythe clan from a mile away.

Not that it would have mattered.

Even if he had recognized Miss Burton-Smythe in advance, Ivo wouldn’t have been so heartless as to have refused to ride to her aid. She’d needed help and he had been only too happy to oblige her. But, as always happened with him, he’d taken things one step too far. It wasn’t sufficient that he’d smiled at Miss Burton-Smythe and conversed with her in a civil manner. No. He’d had to go and tell her that they should be friends.

Friends!