He was…
Gorgeous!
A chill ran through Caroline, and she swallowed hard.
“I—yes. This monster’s name is Pip—Pippen, actually. My brother named him after my mother’s grandfather,” Caroline rambled before tearing her gaze back to his little dog, who seemed equally approving, with her tail wagging back and forth across the grass. “And what do you call this little darling?”
He dropped his gaze to the tiny body beside him and grimaced. “Charlie, actually. Despite the emasculating ribbon. He is male and he belongs to my mother.”
“Well, emasculated or not, his proper behavior is a credit to both Charlie and your mother.” Pip could learn a thing or two from the little terrier. Caroline bent down to retrieve the border collie’s leading string, and this time she wound it around her wrist several times.
“I’ll tell her you approve.” He laughed again. It was a deep and pleasant tone that vibrated from the top of Caroline’s head all the way to her toes. And for the first time in months… a light cracked open inside of her and she found herself grinning.
Not that she hadn’t smiled in the past year, but she’d done so because it was expected. Feeling this fleeting hint of joy, she didn’t want the sensation to end.
“Pip belongs to my brother.” She shuffled her feet back and forth. Had she told him that already?
“Exuberant fellow.” The man rose from the bench.
She immediately pictured Reed running and jumping across the park. “No one will ever accuse my brother of that.” It took all her self-discipline to keep from giggling.
“Not your brother. The dog—Pip.”
Again, the laugh. She’d never met this man before, she was sure of that, and yet he seemed familiar.
“Ah, yes.” Caroline dropped her gaze to the collie. Propriety prohibited her from enjoying the pleasant company of this gentleman much longer. She may have literally fallen on her face at her debut, but even she wasn’t so countrified that she didn’t comprehend the most basic rules of society.
She held one finger up so Eloisa wouldn’t grow impatient and conceded that she’d have to take her leave. “I am very sorry to have interrupted you.”
“Are you? I’m not.” He cocked a brow, and she wondered… Was he flirting with her?
As a flirt, she’d proved herself an utter failure and for the first time since coming to London, she wished that wasn’t the case.
The normal debutantes giggled and asked questions and fluttered their lashes, wasted efforts, or so Caroline had believed.
She considered attempting to mimic the less ridiculous gestures, only to immediately dismiss the idea. Instead, she glanced to the abandoned newspaper this stranger had been reading. London Daily Gazette was printed boldly across the top of the front page.
She wrinkled her nose. “Waste of a paper.” Surely, everyone must feel the same?
As an avid reader, Caroline had found the publication laden with mostly half-truths and made-up stories. She couldn’t begin to count how many inaccuracies she’d discovered since last spring, when her mother had ordered a subscription delivered daily.
“You don’t find it informative?” His smile fell. “Or entertaining?” Oh dear. Apparently, he did not feel the same.
Everything she knew about being a lady would suggest she retreat. Compliment the articles. Fawn over his excellent taste.
But really, it was a terrible paper. She couldn’t in good conscience allow its misinformation to spread unchecked. “Too many errors.” She wrinkled her nose. “This new owner—this bumbling publisher—well, he wouldn’t know real facts if they jumped up and bit him in the—” She cut herself off. “If he cares at all about printing the truth, his first priority ought to be to check for accuracy. I don’t know how many times I’ve read a story and within a few hours, learned it was only partially true, or in some cases, a complete fabrication. Quite disappointing, really. I expected more.”
The gentleman stared at her, his eyes wary now. “But most of the articles are spot on,” he argued.
“And that’s unfortunate,” she responded as she straightened up. “Because a single bad one taints the entire paper. Erroneous reports rob every other story of legitimacy. This Mr. Black fellow is little more than an imposter and would do all of London a favor to sell out so a real newspaper man can take over.”
Maxwell Black furrowed his brows and inhaled. By God, the chit packed a wallop. He raised a hand to his chest, thinking it would have been less painful to have been stabbed through the heart.
By attacking the Gazette, she’d hit him where it hurt the most. The assault had come disguised in perfume and lace.
He’d initially been amused to be interrupted by the dog, chased by a delightful bundle of femininity. Her deep blue eyes sparkled with intelligence even though she lacked common beauty. Escaped strands of hair peeking out from beneath her bonnet weren’t quite brown, nor were they blonde either, and she possessed a rather plain figure.
There was something about her, though—an uncommon genuineness. She’d come running after her dog rather than sending her servant, and by the time she’d caught up to him, her cheeks had flushed a pretty pink. Her smile was infectious, and for some reason, he’d found himself making conversation with her.
