Edith Layton by The Choice

their occupants nodding to each other as they passed, or to the groups of horsemen also riding along the paths. There was no way to stop and really chat, only a chance to see and be seen.
    “It’s slow going,” Damon commented, lowering his hands so the reins rested on his knee, “but a healthier way to catch up on gossip and be in fashion than suffering at a ball. At least there’s fresh air. All right, no need to drive now, we just follow. Let the play begin!”
    He turned to her. “Now, give me a glowing smile. No. That looks like you’ve got a cramp. Now you look like you want to remove my scalp, and I didn’t comehome to England for that treat. Now you look insulted. My dear beloved long-lost love, didn’t you ever act in a Christmas pantomime? Or tell a fairy story to a child? Just start acting. You can do it. Look into my eyes and imagine I’m the best thing you’ve ever seen. Think of me as a tasty ice, a cake, a biscuit—Ah, good. You’re hungry.”
    She couldn’t help it, he was outrageous. She laughed aloud. It was a rich, full-bodied sound and made heads turn. Damon noted it and smiled. “Good. Romeo and Juliet in the park, act one, scene one.”
    They inched along the road, joking, laughing, looking like a young couple enjoying each other’s company. They were. But there were huge differences between like and love and lust. Those who had a reason to look hard at them saw the couple didn’t exchange long heated glances, or color up as they gazed into each other’s eyes, or fidget and look down when one stared too long at the other. Those who knew desire didn’t see it. Damon knew, but suppressed it. Gilly knew, but didn’t feel it, or at least, not the kind she knew best.
    A lone horseman came up alongside their carriage. The gentleman removed his hat and held it over his heart as he gazed at Gilly. “My dear Miss Giles, allow me to offer my best wishes,” he said with an obviously insincere smile. “There must be dozens of broken hearts in London today. You deceived us all. Congratulations Mr…. Ryder, is it? You’ve caught the toast of London. And done it all from a distance, at that. My hat’s off to you.”
    But it looked like he wanted his head off, for all hissmiles, Damon thought. Smiling himself, he said, “Damon Ryder, at your service, sir. And you are…?”
    “Wycoff,” the horseman said, inclining his head in a brief bow, “an old friend of Miss Giles.”
    “Obviously,” Damon drawled, his tone of voice giving the word old two meanings as his gaze ranged up and down the other man. Though slender and fit, he was obviously middle-aged. The older man stiffened; the sudden coolness in his eyes showed he knew exactly what Damon meant.
    “Thank you, my lord,” Gilly spoke up, feeling the tension between the two. “I’m sorry we couldn’t stay longer at the ball last night to receive the good wishes of you and your lady. But I see your lady isn’t with you this morning either.”
    Lord Wycoff bowed his head again, this time acknowledging a hit. He was married in the way of some of London’s most fashionable gentlemen, in name only. Gilly had let her new fiancé know that immediately, and had reminded him of it at the same time. Lord Wycoff’s eyes sparkled with amusement and obvious approval. She was as straightforward as any man he knew. It was only one of the reasons she fascinated him so.
    “Much too early for my lady to be up and about, or so I’m told,” Wycoff said calmly. “I’m sure she’ll regret not seeing you today, but doubtless we’ll soon meet again. London’s a very small place for such as we, after all. Servant,” he said. He clapped his hat back on, bobbed a slight bow, turned his horse, and rode away.
    “He acts like a disappointed suitor,” Damon remarked, watching him leave.
    “Well, I suppose in a way, he is,” Gilly said, hating the heat she felt rising in her cheeks. “He isn’t very married, after all. And he has his hopes. Well, he