“You must stop speaking of Italians as if they are naught but brainless buffoons.”
“Of course, I don’t believe that,” said Archie. “But English society thinks anyone not them is a savage. I’m simply playing to Nestor’s preconceived notions.”
“Well, stop,” she blasted at him. “My mother is Italian, and she’s the most intelligent and reasonable woman I’ve ever known.” She exhaled a frustrated sigh. “The Italians gave the world the Renaissance. They gave the world culture when the only people populating this island of yours were, indeed, savages.”
A rare sheepishness overcame Archie. She was in the right. “I sincerely apologize, Miss Hart. It was wrongly done of me.”
Her gaze searched his, and at last, she nodded her acceptance of his apology. His spirits lifted.
He clambered up the riverbank, then turned and held out his hand to her. She hesitated. She was still annoyed with him, and rightfully so. But with her wool riding habit thoroughly soaked, she needed his help. Finally, she took his hand, and he gave a great heave, pulling her onto dry land.
Panting with the combined effort, they stood not six inches apart. Her hand, cold and wet, remained in his, but her cheeks were bright and flushed. And in her eyes shone something other than annoyance.
Knowledge.
Knowledge that only existed between them.
Knowledge of last night.
“If it isn’t the family Windermere!” came a voice from the not-too-far distance.
Valentina snatched her hand back and stepped away from Archie. He felt the loss, even as he understood its necessity.
Delilah groaned, and Juliet giggled.
Approaching them with his too-high top hat and solid brass cane was none other than the tall, sharpishly thin figureof Mr. Oliver Quincy, the man who two years ago had fallen in love with Delilah at first sight and proposed marriage at second during a social assembly in the village of Bumpstead Hollow. Delilah had laughed for a solid minute before soundly rejecting him. Quincy, however, hadn’t been in the least embarrassed. He hadn’t enough sense to experience embarrassment.
“What have we here?” the man asked, taking in their motley little grouping.
“A trifling mishap is all,” said Archie. He’d noticed that Valentina had begun shivering. “She needs something warm and dry,” he said to anyone who would listen. His own overcoat was soaked.
Quincy didn’t take the hint. It was Delilah who played gallant as she shed her spencer and handed it down to Valentina.
“Archie,” said Juliet, “help her up onto my saddle. She can ride home with me.”
“Um,” began Valentina, clearly adding up the steps it would take to get her off the ground and onto Juliet’s mount.
Archie met Valentina’s eye. “Nothing to it.”
Still, she didn’t move.
“Trust me,” he said, only to her.
She swallowed before finally surrendering to the idea. She must’ve reached the conclusion that she was outnumbered by Windermeres. Resistance would be futile.
“Where do you want me?” she asked, and instantly froze.
Given last night’s kiss, it was a question laden with possibility.
No.
“Erm,” began Archie, attempting to correct the direction of his thoughts. “Stand here.” He indicated a place at the side of the horse. Once she’d done as instructed, he continued, “Now, when I say hop, you jump with all your might.”
Wary eyebrows crinkled together.
He stepped forward and placed his hands on her waist.
“What—”
