struck your hand this morning.”
He was silent a moment, his expression hard to read behind a cloud of his own making. “A truce it is then,” he studied the line of ash on the end of his cigar. “I would not have any young lady regret her encounters with me and I daresay it would be a mistake to continue sparring with L' Amazon .”
She shrugged and would have moved past him and up the steps to the hall had he not stopped her, saying stiffly, “I am sorry I grabbed for your horse. I was unaware, this morning, of your reputation--”
She turned abruptly to face him, ready to do battle. Reputation indeed!
He exhaled smoke, directing it at the moon. “For riding,” he went on coolly. “I have since been informed by more than one credible source that you and your horses are not to be trifled with.”
She was amazed. He had been asking about her!
He went on distantly, his voice, his look, the cloud of smoke between them, keeping her at arm’s length, “I am wholly unaccustomed to independent females who ride neck or nothing.” His voice held grudging respect.
She chuckled, for the first time at ease in his presence. “That’s quite all right,” she maintained their distant posture. “I am equally unaccustomed to any rider catching up to me. Good night, my lord.”
A startled bark of laughter, half choked on cigar smoke, followed her up the steps. For the first time since she had literally run into Walsh on the dance floor, Aurora thought with some satisfaction that she might have a chance with him yet.
Miles stood at the window watching with consternation his goddess sublime talking to Walsh in the darkness at the bottom of the steps that led into Coke’s pleasure garden. It was quite unnatural in him, unmannerly in fact, to stare at people from behind cover of window draperies, but he wondered what these two might be saying to one another. He hoped Aurora did not meant to disappear into the garden with Walsh. That would not do at this stage. Walsh must not consider Miss Ramsay too forward a female. How strange that he should feel a pang of regret when Walsh managed to make her laugh, and she him.
This young woman meant to attract the earl. He knew that. He had offered to help her in the pursuit, yet somewhere deep within, in a private place he hesitated to acknowledge, Miles had hoped to use his considerable charm to turn her head his way before Walsh could be brought round. He backed away from the window. Perhaps it was best this way. Easier.
Had he continued to observe, Miles would have seen Aurora break away from Walsh and head up the steps toward him while Walsh, laughing at something she had said, pressed on in the opposite direction. But Miles did not see. Gracie interfered, arriving breathlessly at his side with a question, her gaze darting nervously. “You have not seen Walsh have you?”
“Outside smoking,” he informed her.
“Marvelous!” She relaxed. “I have yet to meet the infamous Rupert Ramsay who hides in the library and I mean to beard the bookworm in his den, but I do not want dear Walsh trailing after me, spoiling my--”
“Your what?” Miles raised his brows.
She chuckled shamelessly, cheeks dimpling. “My search for a bedtime story. You will hold tongue as to my whereabouts?”
“If you wish,” Miles agreed, his attention diverted as Aurora Ramsay, alone, passed within a few feet of them, with nary a glance in his direction. Anxiously he tracked her progress as she crossed to the stairs. She did not seem at all aware of his presence, a factor that irked him. He knew her to be incredibly sensitive to Walsh’s every move. He would have been greatly relieved had he known Aurora was making a concerted effort not to look his way for no other reason than that he stood talking to Grace, with whom she supposed him to be infatuated.
When Gracie headed in the direction of the library Miles pushed through a press of guests in pursuit of Aurora. Too late. She had
He was silent a moment, his expression hard to read behind a cloud of his own making. “A truce it is then,” he studied the line of ash on the end of his cigar. “I would not have any young lady regret her encounters with me and I daresay it would be a mistake to continue sparring with L' Amazon .”
She shrugged and would have moved past him and up the steps to the hall had he not stopped her, saying stiffly, “I am sorry I grabbed for your horse. I was unaware, this morning, of your reputation--”
She turned abruptly to face him, ready to do battle. Reputation indeed!
He exhaled smoke, directing it at the moon. “For riding,” he went on coolly. “I have since been informed by more than one credible source that you and your horses are not to be trifled with.”
She was amazed. He had been asking about her!
He went on distantly, his voice, his look, the cloud of smoke between them, keeping her at arm’s length, “I am wholly unaccustomed to independent females who ride neck or nothing.” His voice held grudging respect.
She chuckled, for the first time at ease in his presence. “That’s quite all right,” she maintained their distant posture. “I am equally unaccustomed to any rider catching up to me. Good night, my lord.”
A startled bark of laughter, half choked on cigar smoke, followed her up the steps. For the first time since she had literally run into Walsh on the dance floor, Aurora thought with some satisfaction that she might have a chance with him yet.
Miles stood at the window watching with consternation his goddess sublime talking to Walsh in the darkness at the bottom of the steps that led into Coke’s pleasure garden. It was quite unnatural in him, unmannerly in fact, to stare at people from behind cover of window draperies, but he wondered what these two might be saying to one another. He hoped Aurora did not meant to disappear into the garden with Walsh. That would not do at this stage. Walsh must not consider Miss Ramsay too forward a female. How strange that he should feel a pang of regret when Walsh managed to make her laugh, and she him.
This young woman meant to attract the earl. He knew that. He had offered to help her in the pursuit, yet somewhere deep within, in a private place he hesitated to acknowledge, Miles had hoped to use his considerable charm to turn her head his way before Walsh could be brought round. He backed away from the window. Perhaps it was best this way. Easier.
Had he continued to observe, Miles would have seen Aurora break away from Walsh and head up the steps toward him while Walsh, laughing at something she had said, pressed on in the opposite direction. But Miles did not see. Gracie interfered, arriving breathlessly at his side with a question, her gaze darting nervously. “You have not seen Walsh have you?”
“Outside smoking,” he informed her.
“Marvelous!” She relaxed. “I have yet to meet the infamous Rupert Ramsay who hides in the library and I mean to beard the bookworm in his den, but I do not want dear Walsh trailing after me, spoiling my--”
“Your what?” Miles raised his brows.
She chuckled shamelessly, cheeks dimpling. “My search for a bedtime story. You will hold tongue as to my whereabouts?”
“If you wish,” Miles agreed, his attention diverted as Aurora Ramsay, alone, passed within a few feet of them, with nary a glance in his direction. Anxiously he tracked her progress as she crossed to the stairs. She did not seem at all aware of his presence, a factor that irked him. He knew her to be incredibly sensitive to Walsh’s every move. He would have been greatly relieved had he known Aurora was making a concerted effort not to look his way for no other reason than that he stood talking to Grace, with whom she supposed him to be infatuated.
When Gracie headed in the direction of the library Miles pushed through a press of guests in pursuit of Aurora. Too late. She had
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