only life was that simple.
They continued their peregrination, stopping to spend a few minutes in this circle or that before moving on again, she a foot before him, he prowling, relaxed but watchful, in her wake. He doubted sheâd encountered many pitfalls to date; her faith in life, in its ultimate joy, remained undimmed. The light in her eyes, the exuberance of her smiles, all spoke of innocence intact.
It was not his place to shatter it.
Reaching an empty space by the side of the room, Amanda turned. âActually, speaking of lifeâs pleasures . . .â
He halted before her, broad shoulders blocking her view of the room. He met her gaze, and raised a too-knowing, distinctly suspicious, odiously superior brow.
She smiled up at him. âI was thinking I might ride the mare tomorrow morning. Early. In the park. Do you think your groom could oblige me?â
He blinked, once; she smiled more brightly.
And prayed it wasnât too soon to play that card. Elusive as he was, if she didnât set up another meeting, he might, after tonight, simply fade back into the shadowsâand she would have tonightâs work to do again.
His face was unreadable. Eventually, he said, âConnor mentioned Upper Brook Street.â
âMy parentsâ house is Number 12.â
He nodded. âIâll have my groom wait for you with the horses at the corner of Park Lane. After your ride, heâll return the mare to my stables.â
âThank you.â She smiled gratefully, too wise to suggest that she would much prefer his company to that of his groomâs.
âWhat time?â
She wrinkled her nose. âSix oâclock.â
âSix?â Martin stared. It was nearly twelve now, and at six in the morning, the park would be deserted.
âIâll need to return home before the regulars get about.â She glanced up at him. âI donât want my cousins to see the horse and ask where I got her.â
âYour cousins?â
âMy male Cynster cousins. Theyâre older than me. Theyâre all married and have turned dreadfully stuffy.â
Martin inwardly kicked himself for not making the connection sooner. Admittedly, there were a lot of Cynsters, and heâd never heard of any girls. All the family members heâd previously encountered had been male.
The Bar Cynsterâthatâs what theyâd been called. When heâd first come on the town theyâd been little short of gods, lording it over the tonâs ladies. But now theyâd all married . . . he hadnât met a single one in the past year while heâd been creating his own fiefdom in the world in which theyâd previously reigned supreme.
He frowned. âYouâre first cousin to St. Ives?â
She nodded, her gaze open, direct.
If any of her cousins had been about, he would have handed her into their care forthwith, cutting short her adventures. Infinitely safer all around. However, she was here now and they werenât.
They both turned as Reggie neared, a champagne flute in one hand.
Lips compressed, Martin nodded. âVery well. Six oâclock at the corner of Park Lane.â
Â
At six oâclock the next morning, it was dull, gray and cold. Amandaâs heart soared as, perched on the exceedingly friskymare, she trotted toward Mount Gateâand the figure perched atop a huge horse waiting impatiently under a tree just inside the gates.
Clad in her riding habit, sheâd slipped out of her parentsâ side door and hurried up the street. Reaching the corner, sheâd found the groom waiting as arranged. Hopes dashed, sheâd lectured herself against expecting too much too soon. Dexter knew she was out ridingâone day heâd be tempted to join her.
Sheâd apparently tempted him enough. Mounted on a magnificent roan gelding, Dexter held the fractious horse effortlessly, long, muscular thighs clamped to the beastâs
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