Hera sent him a look of disapproval, which he pretended not to see. So, she stepped outside the carriage to judge the weather for herself. The day had warmed, but she hooked the parasol over her arm just in case Fee changed her mind.
They stood back along a short stone wall as the carriage pulled away. As they waited for the halo of dust to clear, she marveled.
What a strange little group they must have seemed. Right now, anyone looking out one of the cottages’ windows might assume they were a family.
Her fantastical thought produced an unwelcome stab of longing.
She glanced surreptitiously at the duke. Karl never would have held his own daughter as the duke held Fee. Nor would Karl have taken the time to converse with his son the way Hurtheven conversed with Delmare.
The duke respected the children as the tiny people they were, and would, she thought, make an excellent father.
Delmare’s shout and Fee’s simultaneous squeal refocused her attention on the road as a glossy, black cart fashioned with a cage full of screaming primates jostled past them at a considerable clip.
She lifted her scarf across her face and squinted after the tiny, travelling prison. Her heart panged with sympathy for the poor creatures, taken from their natural homes and habitats, only to be carted off to who-knew-where with absolutely no control over their fate.
“New additions for Lord Chandon’s famous menagerie, no doubt,” Hurtheven explained. “His estate isn’t too much farther to the northwest.”
Hera frowned.Why collect and cage living beings? To quell a lordship’s boredom, naturally!
“Frankly,” Hurtheven murmured, “I don’t approve, either.”
She glanced at him suspiciously. She hadn’t said a word. Had she?
He slanted her a smile. “Your features are more expressive than you are aware, Mrs. Montrose.”
“I’ll have to be more careful.”
“Now”—he winked—“that would be a shame.”
His teasing wink generated a second sensation as equally unwelcome as her longing had been.
“Maybe the cart will also stop at the inn?” Fee asked hopefully.
“Maybe,” Hurtheven answered.
“Let’s go, then!” Fee bounced as if he were a pony she could urge into a trot.
Delmare skipped ahead toward the embankment. “The path is here!” he called over his shoulder. “Just like the coachman said.”
“Jones is very experienced. Which is why...” He raised his brows expectantly.
“...We consult him before making final decisions about the route,” Delmare answered.
“Very good.” Hurtheven made his way down to the path without a single unsteady step.
Hera lifted her skirts and searched for a solid place to place her foot, finding none. Suddenly he was there, free hand outstretched, the courtly embodiment of manners and breeding and masculine charm. If that weren’t enough to remind her to take care, a faint, heavenly scent clung to his person. She would have refused to touch him, but she couldn’t be rude.
Not in front of Fee. The child was hard enough to manage as she was!
She placed her hand in his. Contact threaded the now familiar, though no less unsettling, warmth though her veins.
“Thank you.” She stepped onto the pathway and immediately tugged back her hand, instinctively holding her fist against her chest as if she’d been singed.
Which she had been.
“Down,” Fee commanded.
“I’d like to be set down, now,please,” Hera corrected.
