She stood and offered her warmest smile, and his cool gray eyes softened as he bowed over her hand. Good; his lordship was willing to be pleased, although perhaps it was the fit of her riding habit and not her smile that affected him.
“You are very punctual,” she said. With a gesture of her hand, she added, “I don’t believe you met my friend Miss Gainford the other evening. Madeline, Lord St. Aubyn.”
The viscount and Madeline eyed each other rather warily but exchanged polite greetings. Since St. Aubyn might be underfoot in the future, it seemed advisable that they become acquainted. Perhaps if Madeline approved of him more, she would drop her regular pleas for Diana to retreat to respectability.
Outside, the viscount helped Diana mount Phaedra, then asked as he stood by her stirrup, “Are you suffering ill effects from yesterday’s ride, Mrs. Lindsay?”
Diana glanced down with a rueful smile. “Some unmentionable parts of my anatomy are reminding me of how long it had been since I last sat on a horse.”
The taut planes of his face relaxed a little, and his gray eyes twinkled. “I’m not surprised to hear that. After I’d been five months on a ship, I noticed the same thing myself.”
The twinkle became more wicked as he gravely added, “If you think that massage might help any of your unmentionable parts, I will be delighted to offer what assistance I can.”
With equal gravity Diana murmured, “A noble and generous offer, my lord, but I prefer to struggle bravely on unaided.”
With that, he chuckled and swung onto his own horse. “There was nothing the least bit noble or generous about my offer, and well you know it.”
Effortlessly he guided his horse so close their knees almost touched. “I should have realized you would be sore today. We can do something other than ride; perhaps hire a boat and go up the river.”
Diana was touched; she wouldn’t have expected him to be so considerate. “You are very kind, but I shall do well enough when I’ve warmed up. I hadn’t realized how much I missed riding until yesterday. My body will just have to become accustomed to it again.”
“Does that mean that the loan horse is now a gift horse?” he asked as he started his mount down Charles Street.
“No, but riding her does weaken my resolve,” Diana admitted as they headed west toward Richmond. “Phaedra is by far the finest horse I’ve ever been on. I’m surprised you let a rider of unknown skills on her back.”
“So am I,” Gervase said with more honesty than tact; he had suffered a pang giving Phaedra to a virtual stranger. Too late he realized that his companion might be offended by his doubts of her skill and he gave a questioning glance.
The wonderful blue eyes were brimming with mirth. “I assume you don’t believe in wasting time on fine false phrases?”
“No, I don’t, though I try not to be rude.” He thought a moment, then qualified, “At least, I prefer my rudeness to be intentional rather than accidental.”
She laughed outright, a chime-sweet sound that made him want to join in. “That is honesty with a vengeance, my lord. Are you intentionally rude often?”
It was impossible not to smile at her. “No, not too often. I prefer to use rudeness only when I wish to make a point.”
They were riding through a street market, and conversation stopped as they carefully threaded their horses through the crowd. Though Mrs. Lindsay seemed to enjoy his company, Gervase felt off-balance and unsure of himself. None of his previous mistresses had required anything resembling a courtship, but then, he had never pursued a high-level Cyprian like this one, and he had no idea what she expected of him.
For the first time in his life, the viscount wished he had studied the art of flirtation. Did the lady want witty repartee? Florid compliments? Declarations of undying passion? He hoped not; while she certainly inspired physical passion, he had no intention of perjuring himself with lies of love. A major reason for consorting with lightskirts was to avoid untidy emotions.
The streets were less crowded as they headed away from the commercial districts, and Gervase slanted a look sideways at his companion. The woman was so heart-stoppingly beautiful that his brain seemed to go blank whenever he was around her.
Riding showed off her profile to great advantage, both the classic symmetry of chin and brow and the less classic but charming little nose. Diana’s shining mahogany hair swept back from her face before falling in a riot of curls down her dark blue riding habit, and she looked misleadingly young and innocent. Even in repose, her full lips seemed on the verge of smiling.
Gervase remembered how those lips felt beneath his, then forced his attention back to the road. He would never make it through the day if he didn’t suppress his lustful thoughts. She was undermining his prized self-control with remarkable ease, and he didn’t like it one damned bit. With the iron discipline that he had been perfecting all his life, he forced his mind into other channels. Fortunately Diana now offered a topic that helped distract him from contemplation of her charms.
“Where did your five months on shipboard take you?” she asked as they slowed their horses behind a small flock of sheep.
“India. Five months out and five months back—almost a year of one’s life just to go and return.”
“India!” she said dreamily, her eyes distant. “I’ve always been fascinated by it. Were you there a long time?”
“About five years. I was in the army under Wellesley.” As oncoming traffic thinned, they circled the sheep and moved into a trot. “I returned two years ago, after my father died.”
“Did you like India?”
Gervase hesitated before replying. “It’s difficult to talk about India in terms of like and dislike. Everything is so very different. Even the sunlight is different, harsh and yellow, not like the cool blue light of England. . . .” His voice trailed off as he thought of how much he had changed in those years. He had gone to India in anger and depression, lived with danger and discomfort, and returned to England his own man at last.
When Diana’s soft voice said, “Tell me about it,” Gervase began to talk. For the rest of the ride to Richmond, he spoke of India’s wonders, her killing heat and poverty, her teeming cities, her strange religions with their sometimes moving, sometimes sickening rites. None of his acquaintances, even his cousin Francis, had shown more than a passing interest in India, but Diana’s grave attention led Gervase to say more than he would have thought possible. As he talked of his one expedition to the north, where he saw the mountains called the Roof of the World, it occurred to him what a strange conversation this was to have with a whore.
