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She was not going to repudiate him, he thought, relief flooding him. How then to introduce the matter of Sergeant Anston? Deciding he might need more than the few minutes allowed by a morning call to convince her, he said, "Allow me to take you riding. I've a matter I'd like to discuss."
"At least it's not a proposition," she muttered.
He grinned. "See? Already you're exerting a beneficial influence."
"I'd heard you intended to make yourself agreeable to some...bourgeois heiress. Would dancing attendance on me not interfere with those plans?"
Had she cared enough to check on him? Reason damped down his momentary gratification. Probably her kinsman had heard he was gathering information in the City.
"Should you be disappointed if I were?"
She raised an eyebrow. "If you pursue a lady of wealth merely for her fortune, and she chooses to accept you solely for your title, I think you would both be getting what you deserve."
He had to laugh at that. "I must agree. So I am happy to assure you that, for the moment at least, I have managed to escape that fate. Which leaves me free to escort you to routs, musicales, breakfasts and any other activities you choose to attend. During which, you will instruct me on how to behave as a gentleman. Unless," he added, unable to resist the urge to tease, "I can persuade you instead to allow me to act the rogue?"
"We'll tread the path of virtue, to be sure."
"Are you sure?" he asked softly.
She leveled a severe look. "Absolutely."
He heaved a regretful sigh, not entirely for show. "Virtue it shall be, alas. Now, hurry to change, lest we miss more of this lovely day."
"It...it wouldn't be convenient to ride now."
She was trying to fob him off. An urgency unconnected with the plight of the soldiers surged through him. Instead of accepting her refusal, he blurted, "Why not?"
"It...I...I'm not dressed for riding," she said, obviously taken aback at his persistence.
"I can wait while you change."
"I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."
"I don't mind waiting."
"Well, I mind making you wait." Her tone aggrieved, she sat back in her chair. Another moment, and she would be ringing for the butler to escort him out.
Abandoning caution, he seized her hand. "Please, Jenna, just this once. When you asked me to go with you last night, I came without question, didn't I?"
Though she pulled her hand free, her defensive posture softened. "Y-yes. And I do thank you for that."
"One ride is all I request. After that, if...if you prefer, I'll not force you to honor our bargain."
She straightened, a martial light gleaming in her eyes. "I wasn't trying to renege on our agreement-foolish though it was! I never break my word. I was merely..."
"Delaying?" he suggested.
A faint color warmed her face. "Perhaps a little."
"Then you'll come with me now?" he asked, trying not to let the eagerness show in his voice.
"It will take me half an hour to change."
"I'll be waiting."
Shaking her head with a wry grimace, as if she weren't sure what to do about him, she rose. "Half an hour, then. Should you like some sherry? I'll send Manson in."
She was treating him like-a guest. "That would be most kind," Tony said, telling himself it was ridiculous to be pleased over so trivial a detail.
Less than thirty minutes later, they rode into the park, Tony keeping her laughing during their transit with anecdotes about his army life after he'd left her father's regiment. Not until they pulled up their mounts inside the park gates did it occur to him that, given her recent accident, riding neck-or-nothing might no longer appeal.
"Shall it be decorous trot? Or a full-out gallop?"
She seemed to sense his concern. "I don't intend to let that...unhappy event ruin my enjoyment of riding," she replied. "I've few enough pleasures left."
"Ah, that I might remedy that sad situation!"
She gave him a reproving glance. "Such a comment isn't suitably addressed to a lady."
"But would a true lady understand my meaning?"
"A lady is merely proper, not stupid," she snapped back. "Now, what was that urgent matter?"
"First, a gallop. Once around the Serpentine. Since your mare is smaller than Pax, I'll give you twenty yards."
She stiffened. "This is my own mount, not a beast borrowed from my cousin's stable. You need not offer me any advantage, sir!"
"Then, my lady, shall we ride?"
A crack of her whip answered him. Grinning, he spurred his gelding in pursuit.
Though Pax had a smooth, ground-eating gait, Jenna's mare was fleeter of foot. In truth, Tony didn't regret being obliged to concede her the lead. Although observing the rhythmic bounce of her trim posterior inevitably led his mind to dwell on another sort of ride which he'd enjoy even more observing at close range.
They rounded the last curve, Jenna several lengths ahead when they reached their starting point. Tony reined in, trying to drag his mind back from the carnal.
"Well and truly bested, were you not, my lord?" she cried, wheeling her mare toward him.
Tony meant to return a teasing reply, but when he looked over at her, his words scattered like green recruits under fire at their first battle.
Laughing, triumphant, her cheeks wind-flushed, even the harsh black hue of her habit couldn't dim the radiance of her face. This was the lighthearted, carefree Jenna who'd first caught his eye as she raced her mount across the Spanish plains, her whole being vibrant with the sheer joy of living-a vibrancy, he now realized, that had been missing when he met her again here in London.
He'd been drawn to that fearless young woman in Spain, further bewitched by the sensuality of the mature woman she'd become. But at this moment, as he watched both those Jennas combine, the force of her stole his breath.
As he gazed at her, exulting in the joy that illumined her face, a falling sensation swept through him and he knew he'd give anything to keep that glow in her eyes.
All too soon it faded. He wanted to cry out in protest at its loss. And say what - "Let me make you happy?" Steady, Tony, old man, he told himself.
"Now," she said, bringing her mare into step beside his gelding as they cooled the horses at a walk,
"what did you wish to discuss?"
"Coming back from the City this morning, I strayed into a back alley and nearly had my purse stolen-by a former sergeant of Dragoons."
"Surely not a dragoon! Those regiments accept only volunteers-never conscripts or petty criminals pressed into service."
"True enough, but he was indeed a cavalryman. With the fields he once worked enclosed by the local landowner, he said, he came back to the city and has ended up a sort of protector to several army widows and their children. Apparently they've been surviving by begging at street corners and petty thievery."
"That's dreadful!" she cried. "You...you didn't turn him over to a magistrate, did you?"
"Please, give me more credit than that! And besides," he said with a wry twist of his lip, "I've suffered the pangs of an empty purse myself on occasion."
"Without resorting to thievery, I hope!"
Recalling the castaway stripling of a few nights ago, he laughed shortly. "No, I call it 'gaming.'"
"So what did you do about the sergeant?"
"I gave him what coins I had and an offer of work. But the problem is graver than that, for he told me that in the neighborhood roundabout him are nearly two dozen former soldiers, widows, and orphans in the same situation."
"Two dozen?"
"So Sergeant Anston says. I...I haven't the funds to care for so large a group," he confessed, his face heating. Having to make that admission to Jenna, he found, was more humiliating than he anticipated. "I know your father often assisted troopers and their families. So when I cast about for some means to assist them, I thought of you. Some of these might be from the Fighting Fifth, though I don't-"
"It makes no difference which regiment they come from!" she interrupted. "Of course I'll help. 'Tis an outrage, after all they've done to have them return to England and end up starving on the streets of London!"
Hearing her affirm her intention to help eased the anxiety that had weighed him down since he left the City this morning. "Thank you."
She waved away his gratitude. "What do they need? Food and clothing to start with, I should think."
"Food for certain, warm clothes, and shoes-though I'm not sure the children will wear them."
"Come, let us return at once. I'll get the kitchen staff started while I call at my bank for funds to purchase the clothing and supplies." She paused a moment, frowning. "Though I may have to battle with Lane's fancy French chef to cook plain, wholesome food."
"If you order the provisions, my cook will prepare them. Betsy's kind heart will need no persuading."
"Excellent! Let's get started, then. If the neighborhood is as destitute as you describe, 'twould be best that we not venture there after dark."
"No, 'tis barely safe in day-" He stopped as the full meaning of her words penetrated. "Surely you cannot mean to accompany me when I deliver the supplies?"
Her expression turned frosty. "Of course I mean to accompany you."
