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“Yes?”
“Take care of the little one.”
“Oh, indeed I shall.” But Damien was in London. And it worried him, even though there was no way Damien could know where she was or whom she was with. Damien didn’t even know that his errant twin had come home.
Rafael was abstracted, a completely unacceptable companion, Victoria thought, looking at him from beneath her lashes. There were more ladies and gentlemen in the park than Victoria ever could have imagined. Since Rafael knew no one, their perambulations were uninterrupted.
“Careful of that landau, Victoria.”
She automatically brought her mare closer to his stallion. He merely nodded and fell again into his own thoughts.
“Do you like my new riding habit?”
“Yes.”
“And the hat? They dyed the feather to match the blue velvet. It’s royal blue, you know.”
“Charming.”
“My boots are the finest Spanish leather.”
“Nice.”
“And my chemise is covered with lace.”
“Yes, very good . . . What?”
“There, at least I’ve finally gained your attention. Now, Rafael, I have had quite enough of your secrecy. I’m not a nit-witted child. Tell me about Mr. Westover and your interview with him. Am I an heiress?”
“Not if Damien continues with his machinations.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, Victoria, that you’re better off not knowing, and—”
“Rafael, I am the key to all of this. If you don’t tell me everything, I shall go visit Mr. Westover myself.”
She watched a muscle jump in his jaw. He wasn’t, she realized, a man who took orders easily, or ultimatums. She watched, fascinated, as his beautiful gray eyes, almost silver in the afternoon sunlight, narrowed on her face. “You, my girl, will do exactly what you’re told. Do you understand me?”
She grinned at him. “No, I’m so silly and stupid, I don’t understand anything.”
“Victoria, I’ll . . . damn you, stop laughing at me. I am but trying to protect you and—”
“I see. Protection to a gentleman means keeping me in blinders. I’m not a block of ice to melt in the sun, Rafael.”
But he had no intention of telling her that Damien was here in London. He didn’t want to see the fear in her eyes again.
“No,” he said finally, “but you’re a pushing sort of female who wants manners. Suffice it to say that I have everything under control now. Have you now had enough of the beau monde?” He swatted her mare’s rump with his gloved hand, not even giving her a chance to answer.
Her grin dropped away and she frowned after him. Protecting her, was he? Well, she would see.
The laughter at the dinner table made Victoria forget all about Damien and her budding anger at Rafael and his cavalier treatment of her.
The Countess of Rothermere, Frances Hawksbury, was engaging and amusing and Victoria thought her the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. As for Hawk, or Philip—she wasn’t yet certain what to call him—he had much the look of Rafael. Tall and strong, dark-haired, but his eyes were a startling green, not a silvery gray.
Lively spirits continued to flow as consistently as the fine wine from Lucia’s cellars.
Suddenly Rafael said to her, “I believe you’ve drunk quite enough, Victoria. Didier, is there any lemonade?”
