Chapter 1
Lady Alexandra Peregrine did not run—ladies did not run—but she certainly wasn’t strolling. Her muslin skirts were hitched high, her chin tilted in defiance, and her hazel eyes sparkled with the unmistakable glint of mischief. If one were to observe her, one might reasonably suspect she was fleeing something. Or, more precisely, someone.
Lord Cedric Hargrove.
The man was a walking yawn, with a penchant for discussing crop rotations—most recently, he had waxed poetic about the improved bounty of turnips when grown in proximity to cabbages—and a nasal voice that grated like poorly tuned violin strings. Worse still, he had cornered her near the lemonade table and launched into a lengthy explanation of his future estate improvements. Alexandra had nodded politely for nearly five minutes before deciding she would rather face a horde of matchmaking mamas than endure one more moment of his courtship.
Which was how she now found herself weaving through the elaborately trimmed hedges of Lord and Lady Ashworth's infamous spring garden maze.
"If I die in this blasted labyrinth," she muttered under her breath, brushing a leaf from her sleeve, "I hope someone tells my father it was Cedric's fault."
"And what a tragedy that would be," drawled a voice behind her, rich with amusement and a hint of something she could not quite place—danger, perhaps.
Alexandra spun on her heel and promptly collided with a broad, solid chest. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs and sent her stumbling back. She might have regained her balance if the gentleman had not also taken a step forward, resulting in a rather dramatic tangle of limbs and gravity.
They landed with a most undignified thud into a bed of spring tulips, a sudden hush falling over the moment. Alexandra’s breath caught as she registered the surprising warmth of the man beneath her, the spicy scent of him mingling with crushed petals and earth. Her pulse gave an unwelcome flutter, and for a fraction of a second, she was acutely aware of how close they were. It was merely the tumble, nothing more. Certainly not interest. Heavens, no. Then annoyance surged to the surface, swift and blessedly familiar.
"Oof," the man said, blinking up at the sky.
Alexandra, sprawled inelegantly atop him, shoved herself upright with as much dignity as she could manage. Her bonnet was askew, a tulip petal clung to her hair, and she was fairly certain she had crushed at least half the flowerbed beneath them.
"You absolute menace," she declared, breath still shallow as she brushed back a curl that had come loose in the fall, glaring down at the man.
He lifted a brow—and blast it, why did he have to have such absurdly handsome features? Black hair tousled to perfection, a rakish smirk playing at his lips, and eyes the shade of emerald sin. It was entirely unfair.
"I beg your pardon," he said, unrepentant. "But I believe it was you who came barreling around that corner like a startled deer."
"I was escaping."
"A duel? Highwaymen? An overzealous horticulturist?"
She narrowed her eyes, brushing an invisible speck from her sleeve as if banishing the very thought of him. "Lord Cedric Hargrove," she muttered, with all the venom of a curse.
"Ah." The stranger nodded sagely. "That is a justifiable reason to flee."
Before she could retort, a soft giggle came from behind the hedge. Alexandra craned her neck and spotted Lady Louisa Pembroke, her best friend, peering around the leafy corner with unmistakable delight.
"Well," Louisa called cheerfully, "this looks promising."
From another direction came a lazy voice, distinctly male and laced with amusement. "Langley, are you seducing debutantes in flowerbeds now? Even for you, that's rather audacious."
Alexandra stiffened. Langley? As in Magnus Berkshire, the Earl of Langley—the very man her sisters had warned her about in hushed tones and scandalized whispers? That roguish charmer with a reputation longer than the Thames?
She pushed off him at once. "You’re him?"
He sat up, brushing tulip petals from his lapel. "I do hope that wasn’t a tone of disappointment."
Alexandra took a sharp step back and crossed her arms, as though forming a shield of propriety around herself. For the briefest moment, something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or curiosity—and it rattled her more than she cared to admit. "More like horror."
Langley laughed. Actually laughed. A deep, rich sound that vibrated through the ruined flowerbed.
Alexandra stood, smoothing her skirts with sharp, agitated movements. She tilted her chin a fraction higher, as if dignity could be re-buttoned like a loose cuff. "Well, that’s quite enough humiliation for one afternoon," she muttered under her breath. "You might have warned me."
"That I was devastatingly handsome? I’m told it’s more fun as a surprise."
Alexandra rolled her eyes, though an unwelcome flush crept up her neck. The man was insufferable—and annoyingly correct.
"That you were Langley," she snapped.
