couldn’t think. Finally she blurted, “Yes. I like to walk for exercise every day.”
He frowned. “But it is cold out, and you wear only a thin woolen shawl.”
Her lips flapped wordlessly for a moment. It was so unusual to hear him express concern for anyone, yet he now did so for her. “I like the chill,” she wheezed. “It sharpens the mind.”
Carver pursed his lips and shook his head. “Which way do you go? Perhaps I might walk with you.”
People passing along the street turned to look at the fine gentleman on the horse. A man like the Earl of Everscham was a rarity there, and they were understandably curious. Molly felt her face heat up, despite the weather.
“Which way do you go?” he repeated, his horse moving restlessly under him.
She stepped back. “I…think I go whichever way you do not.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I prefer to walk alone, sir.” Molly did not know how to deal with his sudden attention. It frightened her and yet thrilled her too.
“Far be it from me to spoil your solitude, Miss Robbins,” he growled, glaring down at her. “At least now I can be satisfied, having seen you looking so well. Although you did not care how I might be managing without you.”
“You still have Mr. Richards, your lordship, and Mrs. Jakes, and Larkin, your valet. And—”
“But I don’t have you,” he pointed out, churlish. Even when he sulked, he was handsome, she thought. Once again her panic dissolved in the temptation to laugh. He could be very amusing when he chose, but of course she knew that. Molly had seen how seductive he could be, the effect he had on women who did not know better.
She, fortunately, knew better. “Strictly speaking, your lordship, you never did have me.”
He bent his head forward, and that stubbornly rebellious lock of hair, with which she already had some familiarity, trickled onto his brow. “True,” he said. “More’s the pity.”
Molly swallowed hard, her fingers tangled in the holes of that knitted shawl. She was aware of the old lady by the salop still, looking over at them, grinning as she eavesdropped.
“Did you have some business in this part of town, your lordship?” Her fingers picked at the wool of her shawl. “I was surprised to see you here. I could not think what might have brought you so far from your usual playground.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I was unaware I had been forbidden from venturing into this part of Town, now you reside in it. I am duly chastised.”
“Of course, if you want to come here, I can’t stop you.” It did not sound the way she meant it, but in her fretful state it leapt out before she could think twice.
“Well,” he huffed, “I wouldn’t want to be in anybody’s way.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“Oy, Mister!” A little lad with a dirty face and boots that were several sizes too big for his feet had decided to take his chance with the fine gent on the horse. He came tripping along the street and pulled on Carver’s coat with an insistent fist. “Oy, Mister, spare a penny for a poor boy, will ya?”
Carver glanced down at the street urchin.
“I can ’old yer ’orse for yer, Mister.”
“I’m sure you could steal it too, boy.”
“Not me, Mister. Honest as the day is long, me.”
Rolling his eyes, Carver reached inside a pocket of his waistcoat, took out a coin, and passed it to the boy.
The lad was, at that moment and surprisingly enough, more interested in the horse. “It’s a fine beast, Mister. Do you race ’im?”
Carver’s brow quirked. “No. Not formally. But he’s fast.”
The boy stretched to pat the horse’s sleek black neck, and the animal whinnied appreciatively. “Aye, he’s a beauty. Straight hocks, strong legs, good balance in the proportion. What is he, Mister, sixteen hands?”
“Yes,” replied Carver, frowning faintly.
“Neck tied in well at the withers, and look how alert he is. Good feller. I bet yer run like the wind.” He patted the
He frowned. “But it is cold out, and you wear only a thin woolen shawl.”
Her lips flapped wordlessly for a moment. It was so unusual to hear him express concern for anyone, yet he now did so for her. “I like the chill,” she wheezed. “It sharpens the mind.”
Carver pursed his lips and shook his head. “Which way do you go? Perhaps I might walk with you.”
People passing along the street turned to look at the fine gentleman on the horse. A man like the Earl of Everscham was a rarity there, and they were understandably curious. Molly felt her face heat up, despite the weather.
“Which way do you go?” he repeated, his horse moving restlessly under him.
She stepped back. “I…think I go whichever way you do not.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I prefer to walk alone, sir.” Molly did not know how to deal with his sudden attention. It frightened her and yet thrilled her too.
“Far be it from me to spoil your solitude, Miss Robbins,” he growled, glaring down at her. “At least now I can be satisfied, having seen you looking so well. Although you did not care how I might be managing without you.”
“You still have Mr. Richards, your lordship, and Mrs. Jakes, and Larkin, your valet. And—”
“But I don’t have you,” he pointed out, churlish. Even when he sulked, he was handsome, she thought. Once again her panic dissolved in the temptation to laugh. He could be very amusing when he chose, but of course she knew that. Molly had seen how seductive he could be, the effect he had on women who did not know better.
She, fortunately, knew better. “Strictly speaking, your lordship, you never did have me.”
He bent his head forward, and that stubbornly rebellious lock of hair, with which she already had some familiarity, trickled onto his brow. “True,” he said. “More’s the pity.”
Molly swallowed hard, her fingers tangled in the holes of that knitted shawl. She was aware of the old lady by the salop still, looking over at them, grinning as she eavesdropped.
“Did you have some business in this part of town, your lordship?” Her fingers picked at the wool of her shawl. “I was surprised to see you here. I could not think what might have brought you so far from your usual playground.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I was unaware I had been forbidden from venturing into this part of Town, now you reside in it. I am duly chastised.”
“Of course, if you want to come here, I can’t stop you.” It did not sound the way she meant it, but in her fretful state it leapt out before she could think twice.
“Well,” he huffed, “I wouldn’t want to be in anybody’s way.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“Oy, Mister!” A little lad with a dirty face and boots that were several sizes too big for his feet had decided to take his chance with the fine gent on the horse. He came tripping along the street and pulled on Carver’s coat with an insistent fist. “Oy, Mister, spare a penny for a poor boy, will ya?”
Carver glanced down at the street urchin.
“I can ’old yer ’orse for yer, Mister.”
“I’m sure you could steal it too, boy.”
“Not me, Mister. Honest as the day is long, me.”
Rolling his eyes, Carver reached inside a pocket of his waistcoat, took out a coin, and passed it to the boy.
The lad was, at that moment and surprisingly enough, more interested in the horse. “It’s a fine beast, Mister. Do you race ’im?”
Carver’s brow quirked. “No. Not formally. But he’s fast.”
The boy stretched to pat the horse’s sleek black neck, and the animal whinnied appreciatively. “Aye, he’s a beauty. Straight hocks, strong legs, good balance in the proportion. What is he, Mister, sixteen hands?”
“Yes,” replied Carver, frowning faintly.
“Neck tied in well at the withers, and look how alert he is. Good feller. I bet yer run like the wind.” He patted the
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