Page 16 of Tempting the Marquess

Chapter3

At this ratehe would make it through Hyde Park in approximately sixdays.

Gritting his teeth, William inclined his head at an elderly couple as he inched past them on his thankfully patient stallion, Storm. The park was chaos at this time of day, and despite the charm and greenery of the area, no one was here for fresh air and exercise. Hundreds of people were strolling, others were on horseback, curricles were jostling each other for prime space, and everyone wanted to stop andtalk.

It was times like these he wished he were anyone but the young, unmarried, highly connected, and excessively wealthy Marquess of Standish. Far better to be an elderly gentleman without a feather to fly with, no interest whatsoever in politics, and who only spoke truth rather than platitudes. Then people would offer little more than a polite greeting before moving on quickly, and no perfectly healthy young ladies would be abruptly overcome by the mild heat right in front of him as their chaperones mysteriously vanished. Did anyone actually fall for that trick nowadays? Or well-shod horses losing shoes left, right, and center? Bloody hell. London apothecaries and blacksmiths must make an absolute fortune during the Season.

“Standish! What a treat to see youhere.”

He smiled politely at a dark-haired matron and her two daughters in a yellow curricle as it blocked his path. “Lady Baker-Field, Miss Baker-Field, Miss Ivy. Lovely afternoon to take the air, is itnot?”

“I like your horse. He’s so shiny,” blurted Ivy, who if he remembered correctly, still had several years to go in the schoolroom.

“Be quiet, his lordship doesn’t care,” hissed Ivy’s older sister, patting her hair and sending him a look from under her lashes that she’d probably practiced a thousand times in the looking glass.

“Wasn’t Almack’s delightfully entertaining the other night?” said the matron, with a sultry smile. “If I didn’t know better, Standish, I might think you were searching for a bride. Or even…a companion.”

Ugh.

“One must always have an eye on the future, Lady Baker-Field,” he said blandly. Then he turned to Ivy again and smiled. “I also like my horse, young lady. His name is Storm. Would you like to say hello?”

Her face lit up, giving him the perfect excuse to maneuver around to her side of the curricle. Storm would permit perhaps half a minute of patting from a stranger before getting irritated, which also worked perfectly. Unlike her mother and sister, Ivy was rather sweet, and he answered several eager questions on Storm’s favorite treats and how fast he could canter before bidding one delighted little girl and two silently seething women a cheery farewell.

To hopefully find Lady Samantha. A mere needle in haystack exercise.

He’d casually called on the Westleighs this morning, only to be told by Innes, their butler, that his lordship and her ladyship were accompanying Lady Samantha on a ride along Rotten Row. So here he was, praying not to be trampled by a shoeless horse, smothered by a small mountain of swooning women, or lose a limb to a badly driven curricle. The debt White now owed him for all this bloody nonsense could never be repaid, not in a thousand years.

“Standish! Overhere!”

At the familiar and incredibly welcome sound of Stephen’s voice, he turned Storm and trotted over to the group of three. Caroline wore a striking sapphire blue riding habit, but his gaze skipped past her and refused to budge from Lady Samantha. She looked beautiful. Tentative smile. Pink cheeks. Blonde curls clearly no match for pins or the jaunty felt hat perched on her head as they lifted in the breeze in charming disarray, like fevered fingers had run through them. And that riding habit. Christ. Bright sunshine yellow, and like her ball gown and day dress at the Havenhursts, very snug in the bodicearea.

Yes, she has perfect breasts. Stop bloody staring atthem.

William shifted uncomfortably on his saddle. This was getting beyond ridiculous. He clearly needed to spend an evening with a discreet high-end courtesan or widow as soon as possible. If that urge was sated, he wouldn’t be thinking about Lady Samantha naked every damned minute he was in her vicinity, and could concentrate on his assignment.

“Hello,” he greeted them, touching his riding crop to his head in a salute. “Westleigh, Lady Westleigh, Lady Samantha. How do youfare?”

Stephen grinned. “We are well. I must say, I’m glad to see you alive and unscathed. Thought that passel of females in the curricle had you trapped for sure, but a move of sheer genius to let the youngest pat Storm. You definitely learned that fromme.”

“I owe little Ivy and her love of horses a great debt. Much like Almack’s, today’s ride has been an experience. Never knew blacksmith standards were so low in the greater Londonarea.”

“Or that there were so many delicate young women able to be felled by the mildest heat?” said Caroline, a glint in hereye.

“Precisely.”

“Well, my lord, there is a very simple fix. Get married. Then you’ll be spoiled cabbage, like Stephen.”

His foster brother made a wheezing sound. Lady Samantha’s shoulders shook and she pressed a fist to her lips. Those plump, pinklips…

“Lady Samantha,” he said feigning grave indignation. “Please don’t say you are imagining me as cabbage? Surely, unlike your cousin, I warrant a better class of vegetable.”

She laughed, tilting her head so the brim of her hat lifted and he could see those lovely eyes shining with merriment. Christ, she was beautiful. And so refreshing in her genuinejoy.

“Of course, Lord Standish. A prize-winning pumpkin at the very least.”

“Speaking of food,” said Stephen, when their amusement had died down, “care to join us for ices? My wife has threatened me with serious slipper heel violence should we not make it to Gunther’s.”

The urge to say yes was startlingly strong. To just spend one sunny afternoon in ordinary pursuits with friends and a very attractive woman, instead of nefarious governmentalones.