Page 45 of The Lady’s No Angel

He followed her but kept a safe distance.

She turned back to him and then closed the gap between them, running to him and lifting up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight, Mr Cleaver.”

“I think, in the circumstances, you might call me Leo.”

“Leo,” she repeated, and he heard her smile in the way she said his name. It slid beneath his skin and insinuated itself into his heart before he had the wit to do anything to stop it. Once there, it settled in, and he had the disturbing notion that it was there to stay. “Then, goodnight, Leo.”

And so saying, she closed the door and went out.

Hart stood for a long time after she’d gone, wondering why the devil he’d not taken advantage of the situation. She’d done nothing to suggest she wasn’t willing. Yet, as much as he regretted it, he discovered he was glad too. How very odd.

Chapter 13

Reckonings

The George, Wrotham, Kent, 10th April 1816

Angel avoided Mr Cleaver’s—Leo’s—gaze as he offered her his hand to help her up into the gig. She took it, releasing it the moment she was up.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling hesitantly and wishing she didn’t feel so awkward around him.

Like the gentleman he was, he helped Milly next. She sat down, eyeing both of them with interest.

A breeze picked up, stirring Angel’s bonnet ribbons and hair. Though the morning was overcast, there was no hint of rain for the moment and the air was fresh. Angel picked up the reins, arranging them between her fingers and steadfastly avoiding Milly’s curious gaze.

By the time she had returned to their room last night, Milly had been sound asleep, and so she had avoided any difficult questions. This morning they had both overslept, and so there had been little time to wash and break their fast, and no time for private conversation. Angel did not regret that, aware that Milly was bursting with curiosity. She could hardly blame the woman. Leo was watching her with the kind of quiet intensity that made her think of the great cats for whom he was named.

“Cards, was it?” Milly asked, sotto voce, as Angel guided the pony out of the yard, the clatter of his hooves on the cobbles turning to soft thuds as they made their way out onto the rutted lane.

Angel glanced at her. “Yes.”

Milly snorted, folding her arms. “I’ll swallow that when it grows feathers.”

Blushing, Angel glanced behind her to see that Leo had hung back to speak to Toby, who sat on the box behind them. “It wasn’t my fault,” she muttered, slanting a glare at Milly before turning her attention back to the road. “I beat him at cards—”

“Naturally.”

“—and my prize was that he went away after he saw us to Penenden Heath.”

“Oh, you didn’t?” Milly exclaimed, turning to stare at her in dismay.

Angel’s mouth fell open. “Well, I like that. I thought you’d be pleased. You’re the one telling me I’m going to get myself into trouble with the fellow—and you’re not wrong. It was a close thing last night.”

“Oh? Well, even so, to cast him aside so ruthlessly, after he’s been so kind to us,” Milly reproached her.

Guilt slithered about in Angel’s belly. “I know, I know. That’s why I went after the wretched man. He was all noble and self-sacrificing, and I knew I’d hurt his feeling, drat him. And so, to make up for it, I kissed him and—and, well, that’s what being kind gets you. I was lucky to escape with my virtue intact.”

“Pushed his luck, did he?” Milly asked, more sympathetic now, her eyes soft with concern.

“No! I did,” Angel said in exasperation. “Well, no, we both did, but he came to his senses first and made me go back to my room. Honestly, masculine wiles is no joke. He’s a woman-trap.”

Milly’s mouth quirked into a smile.

“What?” Angel demanded.

Milly just sat back, looking smug.

“What?” Angel asked again, but Milly only shook her head. “Milly, I am already vexed and out of sorts—”