assemblage of pedestrians and carriages, which were beginning to face intheir direction. “We seem to have attracted an audience,” he murmured, annoyed—not because of the attention, but because he truly had wanted to kiss her.
“I don’t care who’s watching,” Victoria snapped. “Why in the world do you want to be forced into marriage with me?”
“Why should I not?” He smiled, grateful he’d deprived her of the parasol before she could try disemboweling him with it. “As I said, I intended to marry soon, anyway. You’re of good family, you’re astoundingly lovely, and I’ve already secured your father’s permission. A fairly painless prospect, as I see it.”
She didn’t look flattered, or amused, or agreeable. In fact, she looked furious.
“The night of the Franton soiree,” she ground out, “I made a vow to speak only to nice men. I wish I’d kept it.” She turned on her heel, dragging Lucy along with her. “Good day, Lord Althorpe.”
“And your parasol, my lady?”
“Keep it.”
He tipped his hat. “I’ll see you next Saturday, then. For the wedding.”
Staying a fair distance behind them, Sinclair made certain they returned safely to Fontaine House. What bothered him the most about marrying Victoria was that if he was somehow the reason Thomas had died, then she had possibly become a target now, as well.
A moment after the two ladies entered the house, his phaeton left the drive and turned up Brook Street toward him. As Sin climbed up into the seat, tossing the umbrella down beside him, Roman handed over the reins and swung over to sit on the narrow perch at the rear of the vehicle. Sin clucked to the team, and they clattered off again.
“Well?” he prompted, once they’d rounded the corner.
“It’s possible you’re not as insane as I thought,” the valet said grudgingly. “You’re still a fool, but she’s…she’s…”
“Astonishingly attractive,” Sin finished, giving a slight grin.
“Much too fine for a blackguard like you’re pretending to be. That’s what I was going to say.”
“And you talk too much for a valet, or a groom, or whatever it is you’re pretending to be. I’m not going to have this argument with you again.”
“How about this argument, Sin? You could be putting her in d—”
“Danger. I know. Which is why, after Saturday, you are going to become her invisible guardian angel.”
He felt the valet’s frown boring into the back of his skull. It needed to be done, though, and Roman was one of the few people he trusted to do it.
“And who’s going to be your guardian angel, while I’m watching her?”
“The devil doesn’t need an angel, Roman.”
The valet snorted. “Tell that to the killer.”
“I hope to, very soon.”
By Saturday morning, Victoria would have agreed to marry nearly anyone just so she could escape the house and the frowning silence of her parents. She hated being housebound, and she hated the fact that no one except Lucy would come to call on her, though even her friend had been absent for the past two days. Lady Stiveton kept insisting that everything would be fine after this week, as though having the Marquis of Althorpe put a ring on her finger would render heracceptable again. And the idiotic thing was, it probably would.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered into her dressing mirror.
“Yes, my lady,” Jenny agreed, her voice strained as she pulled the laces of the wedding gown tight around Victoria’s rib cage.
“Tighter, Jenny,” she instructed her maid, gripping the table to keep from being yanked over backward. “If I can’t breathe, I’ll faint, and then I can’t get married.”
“A fair last-minute plan, if you hide all the smelling salts first,” a new voice replied.
Victoria spun to face the doorway. “Lex!” she shrieked, hurrying forward.
Alexandra Balfour, the Countess of Kilcairn Abbey, returned her warm embrace. “So it’s true.” She released Victoria and
“I don’t care who’s watching,” Victoria snapped. “Why in the world do you want to be forced into marriage with me?”
“Why should I not?” He smiled, grateful he’d deprived her of the parasol before she could try disemboweling him with it. “As I said, I intended to marry soon, anyway. You’re of good family, you’re astoundingly lovely, and I’ve already secured your father’s permission. A fairly painless prospect, as I see it.”
She didn’t look flattered, or amused, or agreeable. In fact, she looked furious.
“The night of the Franton soiree,” she ground out, “I made a vow to speak only to nice men. I wish I’d kept it.” She turned on her heel, dragging Lucy along with her. “Good day, Lord Althorpe.”
“And your parasol, my lady?”
“Keep it.”
He tipped his hat. “I’ll see you next Saturday, then. For the wedding.”
Staying a fair distance behind them, Sinclair made certain they returned safely to Fontaine House. What bothered him the most about marrying Victoria was that if he was somehow the reason Thomas had died, then she had possibly become a target now, as well.
A moment after the two ladies entered the house, his phaeton left the drive and turned up Brook Street toward him. As Sin climbed up into the seat, tossing the umbrella down beside him, Roman handed over the reins and swung over to sit on the narrow perch at the rear of the vehicle. Sin clucked to the team, and they clattered off again.
“Well?” he prompted, once they’d rounded the corner.
“It’s possible you’re not as insane as I thought,” the valet said grudgingly. “You’re still a fool, but she’s…she’s…”
“Astonishingly attractive,” Sin finished, giving a slight grin.
“Much too fine for a blackguard like you’re pretending to be. That’s what I was going to say.”
“And you talk too much for a valet, or a groom, or whatever it is you’re pretending to be. I’m not going to have this argument with you again.”
“How about this argument, Sin? You could be putting her in d—”
“Danger. I know. Which is why, after Saturday, you are going to become her invisible guardian angel.”
He felt the valet’s frown boring into the back of his skull. It needed to be done, though, and Roman was one of the few people he trusted to do it.
“And who’s going to be your guardian angel, while I’m watching her?”
“The devil doesn’t need an angel, Roman.”
The valet snorted. “Tell that to the killer.”
“I hope to, very soon.”
By Saturday morning, Victoria would have agreed to marry nearly anyone just so she could escape the house and the frowning silence of her parents. She hated being housebound, and she hated the fact that no one except Lucy would come to call on her, though even her friend had been absent for the past two days. Lady Stiveton kept insisting that everything would be fine after this week, as though having the Marquis of Althorpe put a ring on her finger would render heracceptable again. And the idiotic thing was, it probably would.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered into her dressing mirror.
“Yes, my lady,” Jenny agreed, her voice strained as she pulled the laces of the wedding gown tight around Victoria’s rib cage.
“Tighter, Jenny,” she instructed her maid, gripping the table to keep from being yanked over backward. “If I can’t breathe, I’ll faint, and then I can’t get married.”
“A fair last-minute plan, if you hide all the smelling salts first,” a new voice replied.
Victoria spun to face the doorway. “Lex!” she shrieked, hurrying forward.
Alexandra Balfour, the Countess of Kilcairn Abbey, returned her warm embrace. “So it’s true.” She released Victoria and