She scrunched up her nose—which was, of course, as cute as a button…
“Maybe I’m just tired of society.” Her tone was meant to be glib, but it wavered. When Leopold didn’t accept that for an answer, she sighed.
“I was recently jilted by a marquess. Members of Thetonlook down on that sort of thing, you know, and I wasn’t looking forward to clawing my way back into their graces. On top of that, my parents?—”
“Winterhope,” he said. But she hadn’t been jilted. Winterhope himself claimed not to have actually asked for her hand.
“I don’t see myself coming back from that—not when everyone knows. Evenyouknow about it.”
Leopold frowned. Thetonplayed by their own set of ridiculous rules, rules Leopold didn’t even bother trying to understand. But she had more to say on the matter.
“I thought Lord Winterhope was a decent person, but he seduced my cousin the same week he promised to propose to me—and then they stole Margie.”
“Who is Margie?”
“My cat.”
“Why would Winterhope steal your cat?”
Her cheeks were wet now, the rain falling in a steady drizzle.
“My cat, my fiancé. What’s the difference?” But then she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters, really, does it?”
Her gaze locked with his and he still couldn’t read her thoughts.
Likely, Lady Amelia knew the rules of thetonbetter than Leopold did. If she thought Society wouldn’t welcome her, who was he to challenge that?
Still… She was a beautiful woman. If he was one of those lords, he’d not dismiss her so easily. How could any male dismiss a mouth like hers? Heart-shaped, as tempting as a ripe strawberry.
Just then, the carriage Leopold had hired and kept hidden until now drew up beside them. With the rain picking up, it wasn’t a moment too soon. They would travel to Smuggler’s Manor, the estate he’d purchased six years prior, and keep her there until the Foxbourne situation was resolved. The journey would take two or three days.
His estate’s name still made him chuckle to himself. Nearly a thousand years old, the main residence had been renovated in the sixteenth century. Situated on a hill overlooking the craggy cliffs near the village of Fisherman’s Bottom, the location, condition, and price had all been perfect. Ultimately, however, it had been the name that sealed the deal for him. How could he resist?
“Your chariot, my lady,” Leopold said.
“Are you mocking me?” She crossed her arms in front of her.
Instead of answering, he merely opened the door and pulled out the step. When he offered his hand, she stared at his black glove but then deliberately placed her much smaller hand in his. Her fingernails were neatly trimmed and polished, her skin the color of cream.
Leopold couldn’t remember ever seeing a proper lady in public without gloves, and she must have read his expression.
“I take them off when I crochet.” She dropped her gaze to the step. She was embarrassed.For not wearing gloves.
He would never understand these people.
“I really don’t care,” he said. But he needed one more thing. And once she’d situated herself inside the carriage, Leopold held out his hand. “I’ll need that pendant your mother mentioned.”
She seemed confused at first, before both hands flew to her neck. “But?—”
“Hand it over.” He wouldn’t explain, but he exhaled. “You’ll get it back. Consider it… security,My Lady.” He had no problem making the last two words sound insulting.
Looking even more defeated, she reached up behind her and then dropped the gold chain and charm into his hand.
Once he had gotten her out of the rain and safely tucked away, Leopold’s most trusted employee strolled across to him. Good old Fitz was a foot shorter than Leopold, and nearly half Leopold’s weight. As usual, even with his spectacles splattered with rain and slightly lopsided on his nose, he appeared cool and calm. “Will you wish to ride outside or in the coach…?” Fitz had taken charge of Loki, Leopold’s mount, along with his own, and led them through the brush to where their gang had agreed to meet.
Across the clearing, Loki waited patiently.
Fitz’s stare shot to the sky. “It is raining.”
