Page 19 of Make Mine a Marquess

“It sounds like a dutiful and cold, aristocratic life.”

“I believe that’s perfect.” His assessment didn’t bother her the way she assumed he believed it would. She’d do her duty and produce an heir and spare and keep her heart locked in a separate chamber entirely.

Safe. She’d be safe.

“I see. Yet you’re sitting here with me.”

It was ungentlemanly of him to point it out. As often happened with him, her temper rose. “You interrupted my solitude, remember?”

“Yes, I apologize. The terrible music and needlepoint, correct? The fresh outdoors is much more desirable.”

“That’s right. Needlepoint is not my strong talent, that’s all.” It wasn’t the entire reason for her escape. It had been two long days inside. She wasn’t accustomed to it.

“Your riding is exceptional. I find that admirable,” he said.

“You didn’t yesterday.” To the contrary, he’d admonished her for attempting to save Lady Delmont from her runaway horse.

“Again, I apologize. You took me by surprise. I now know not to be surprised by your talents.”

She cocked her head to the side and studied him. Was he mocking her? She didn’t think so. He appeared to be genuine.

“What are the activities for the ladies tomorrow?” he asked.

She wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t help herself. “We are to write letters.”

“Letters to whom?”

She tossed her hands in the air. “Acquaintances. Country nobility. Anyone whom we deem acceptable.”

He burst out laughing. “Correspondence for the sake of correspondence? Would you like to go riding instead?”

“With you?”

“It is my estate. I’ve been gone for five years but I remember the land like it’s the back of my hand. There is a bluff overlooking a river. It’s breathtaking.”

It sounded like the perfect escape. There was a catch, however. The ride and beautiful view came with him.

She swallowed. “It sounds lovely. But I cannot go alone and unchaperoned.” Lord Willard would object. Her mother would have apoplexy.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Bring your maid. Or your cousin. Miss Stanwell, is it?”

He was smooth. He’d even taken the time to learn Beatrice’s name and that she was Phoebe’s cousin.

“I shall consider it, my lord.”

“Good. I’ll be in the stables at nine in the morning. The guests will not be awake before then. I hope you both will join me.” He stood and offered his hand.

She placed her hand in his and felt his fingers encircle her wrist as he pulled her up. She’d removed her gloves in the drawing room to work on the needlepoint, and he’d tucked his into his coat pocket. His fingers were long, tapered, and strong, the skin warm. She felt each one like a brand on her skin. Her pulse leapt as his fingers slipped from her wrist to hold her hand.

“You won’t regret it,” he said.

She wasn’t so sure.

Chapter Six

By the time Phoebe returned to the music conservatory, the heat had grown worse, and the women continued to rigorously fan themselves as they suffered through the performance. The patio had offered only temporary relief.

Phoebe could barely sit in her chair. Her thoughts were elsewhere, certainly not with the music. When the Marquess of Landon had intruded upon her solitude at the terrace, he’d somehow sensed her restlessness and desperation to escape the house, and he’d tempted her by asking her to ride. She’d become skilled at hiding her feelings, even suppressing them. Her mother didn’t suspect her inner turmoil. Even Beatrice didn’t know the extent of it. But Landon had. How?