Taming an Impossible Rogue by Suzanne Enoch Page A

to feel slightly less murderous. That was when it occurred to him that the Duke of Greaves had read his private correspondence.
    “Sir?” Pidgeon’s voice came from the door as it cracked open. “His Grace said you would require attire appropriate for strolling. Do you wish the black trousers, or the buckskin breeches?”
    “The buckskins. And the new Hoby’s. And the black superfine coat. That looks gentlemanly, doesn’t it?”
    He could almost hear the valet blink. “Yes, sir. I believe it does.”
    “Quickly, if you please. I don’t wish to be late.”
    The door closed again, with a thud that made him wince. So he could dress like a gentleman; the question was whether he could behave like a gentleman. And the answer was that he could, and would, because he had to. Stuffing a slice of toasted bread into his mouth, Keating stood and stepped out of the bath. He toweled himself dry and dressed as soon as Pidgeon reappeared with his clothes.
    He supposed he owed Adam additional thanks, but that would mean admitting aloud that he’d needed the duke’s assistance. Instead he went out to the stable while the groom saddled Amble, and then rode off at a cautious, mostly jolt-free walk to The Tantalus Club.
    Just as he was beginning to consider that he had no idea where one went to pay a social call on the employees of … of anything, he caught sight of Lady Camille at the side of the carriage drive, a pretty, redheaded chit standing beside her. He took a deep breath, attempting to ignore the tingle that shot up his spine all the way to his fingertips at the mere thought that she’d defied her better judgment to be seen in his company. Swiftly he dismounted and sent Amble off with one of the club’s stableboys.
    “Good afternoon,” he said, deciding that bowing would both be inappropriate and would cause his head to explode.
    “Mr. Blackwood.” Camille nodded at him. “This is my good friend, Miss White. Sophia, Mr. Blackwood.”
    “Keating, please,” he said, taking the other chit’s hand. “Do you ladies have a destination in mind?”
    “Green Park,” Camille answered, directly on the tail of his question.
    Traditionally those wanting to be seen strolled through Hyde Park, particularly in the afternoon. Interesting. “Green Park it is,” he said aloud, offering an arm to each of the ladies. “I’ll purchase us ices, if you wish.”
    “Oh, it’s been ages since I’ve had a lemon ice,” Miss White commented with a smile, wrapping her fingers around his sleeve.
    On his left side, however, Camille stood looking at his elevated forearm. “Is something amiss?” he asked. “Do I have an insect crawling on me?”
    “No. It’s only that I agreed to a walk. Not to doing something that would make my situation even worse.” She wrinkled her nose. “And you smell like liquor.”
    Keating looked at her. She made a damned good point. And he liked the way she scrunched up her nose. It was … fetching. “I bathed,” he said, attempting not to sound affronted. “But I promised I wouldn’t make things worse for you.” He glanced at the lady on his other side. “I’m afraid you’ll have to release me. If I can’t escort both of you, it’ll look as if I’m courting one of you.”
    With a brief smile he nearly missed, Camille started off down the street. He strode after her, not waiting to see if Miss White kept pace. In a moment he’d caught up to his cousin’s almost-bride. She’d donned a large, pale blue bonnet, which served to deepen the color of her light azure eyes.
    “What changed your mind?” he asked, slowing as he drew even with her.
    “Sophia offered to join me. And … I’ve had a shortfall of friendships lately. I decided it would be absurd to turn my back on a possible friend because he is potentially of dubious character.”
    “I’m flattered, I think.”
    Another swift grin. “I do have one request, however.”
    “That I stay at least twenty feet distant from you?”