Page 76 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“You’re not in London now.”

“Does my husband disapprove?”

Shit. He was making an utter mess of this. What must she think of him—she a woman with experience of men and of seduction, and he a mere boy unable to articulate his feelings in words. In fact, he’d never revealed his soul, except…

…except when he’d visited his Dahlia.

But Dahlia was an act. Dahlia had never existed.

Her eyes darkened with sorrow, and James took her hand.

“I wouldn’t want you to stop doing anything you enjoy, Cordelia,” he said.

“Provided it meets with your expectations of a viscountess.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “You’ve done nothing to make me ashamed.”

Her frown deepened.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I meant no insult. I-I know not what to say to you. But I thought—”

He broke off, his cheeks warming.

Heavens! He was behaving like an infatuated adolescent, too fearful of rejection to approach the most alluring creature in the room. As a young man he’d retreated to a dark corner while his friends sallied forth with their salvos of seduction. But the woman before him was his wife, not a peacock to be hunted by the pack and seduced by the most accomplished rake.

“I wondered if you might like to learn to ride,” he said, “a-and perhaps take a picnic luncheon with me? Just the two of us.”

She smiled. “I’ve never been on a picnic.”

“Not even as a child?”

He cursed himself as soon as he spoke the words, but, save a slight narrowing of her eyes, she gave no sign of her distress.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I’m not an accomplished wordsmith.”

“Honesty is preferable to accomplishment.”

“Then let me tell you honestly, Cordelia, that I intend to make it my mission to atone for all the picnics that you’ve been deprived of.”

“Then how can I refuse?” She held up her reticule. “If you’d permit me to give Georgiana her letter first.”

James pulled his watch out and flipped it open. “Shall we say a quarter past noon?”

As he spoke, the longcase clock began to chime, followed by its companions in a cacophony of notes, twelve times.

“What time is it now?” she said.

“I have no idea.”

She let out a laugh, then tipped her face upward. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Then he released her and she climbed the stairs and disappeared.

Mr. Wood was right. Having a little fun wouldn’t ruin the Bedford name. And what value could he place on his name over and above the woman he loved?

“She’s very big, James. I don’t know if I could ride her.”

Cordelia eyed the brown mare that stood placidly in the stable yard while Edwards held the reins.

“She’s the gentlest animal I know, Your Ladyship,” the groom said, coloring.