* * *
"You look like a cat who's just been offered a dish of double cream," James, Lord Redford, said, tossing a pebble at Magnus as they found seats near the rose-covered pergola.
Magnus leaned back, smug. "She is unlike anyone I have ever met."
"Yes, she possesses a working mind and an aversion to your charm. Must be a novelty."
Magnus clutched his chest in mock offense, gasping dramatically. "Wounded, truly. By my own closest friend."
Magnus grinned. "I do so love a challenge."
James gave him a dry look, then leaned forward slightly, his tone more serious than before. "Don’t toy with this one."
"Who says I will?” Magnus arched a questioning brow.
"You always do."
Magnus fell quiet for a moment, eyes scanning the garden as if she might reappear at any moment. "She didn’t swoon, you know. Not once."
"Yes, and you adored it."
"She’s refreshing,” he said.
"She’s dangerous,” James countered.
Magnus looked toward the hedge maze where she had vanished, a slow smile curving his lips. He’d expected another simpering miss—but she was all sharp edges and fire. There had been something disarming in her eyes, a refusal to be charmed, that scraped against the polished mask he wore. Being truly seen—without flattery, without pretense—felt oddly like exposure. And he wasn't sure if he hated it or craved more. The memory of her glare lingered, and for the first time in a long while, he wondered what it might feel like to be truly seen by someone who didn’t already think they knew him. "All the best women are.”
* * *
Alexandra sat in her family’s open carriage on the journey back to Grosvenor Square, her forehead resting lightly against the window frame as she watched the tidy streets of Mayfair blur past in a wash of spring green and pale sunshine, arms crossed, brow furrowed.
"You’re brooding," Louisa said, bumping Alexandra’s shoulder lightly with her own. "Don’t deny it."
"I am reflecting."
"On the way his eyes sparkled when he smirked at you?"
"On how best to avoid ever seeing him again,” Alexandra said.
"Which means you will see him again.” Louisa gave a satisfied smirk.
Alexandra exhaled sharply, pulling her bonnet off and letting the breeze lift tendrils of her hair. A tightness lingered in her chest, a dull ache of frustration she couldn’t quite name. "Men like him are dangerous. They make women forget their senses."
"And maybe, sometimes, that’s not such a bad thing."
Alexandra turned to her friend, lips twitching despite herself. "You are the worst influence." Her smile faltered for a breath. "And the only person who might actually understand why surrendering control—even just a little—terrifies me."
"And yet, you adore me,” Louisa said.
Alexandra sighed. "Only because I haven’t found a suitable replacement." Though sometimes, in quieter moments like this, she wondered if she pushed people away too easily—if the armor she wore to keep others out had become a little too comfortable. She had learned early that attention, especially the flattering kind, often came with strings—or expectations she had no intention of fulfilling.
She glanced out the window as the carriage rolled on through the streets of Mayfair, the scent of spring thick in the air.
Somewhere, Lord Langley, was probably smiling that infuriating smile. She told herself he was irrelevant, unworthy of another thought. And yet, his face kept drifting back into her mind, unbidden and annoyingly vivid. She could feel it in her bones—a maddening certainty that no matter how fiercely she tried to banish him from her thoughts, the rogue was going to be impossible to forget.
And Alexandra, for all her protests, knew one thing for certain: This spring would not be nearly as dull as she’d planned.
Chapter 2
