‘She isn’t a member of the peerage.’ Thomas sounded like a pompous prig. The approving look he earned from Madame Laurent only made him feel like a bigger arse, but something about Miss Blair provoked him to lash out.
Miss Blair flicked her gaze to him, her gloved hand twitching. The light in Madame Laurent’s showroom brightened for a flicker as though all the lamps suddenly flared. His eyes must be playing tricks.
If her slightly trembling lips meant anything, his arrow had hit the mark. Instead of feeling triumph, Thomas felt small and petty. Because he was behaving small and petty.
‘Ah. A point in your favour.’ Cynthia smiled kindly at Miss Blair. ‘There are far too many silly misses making their debuts this year. It would be ghastly if you were among their set.’ She covered grandly for him, but it was no excuse for Thomas’ rude behaviour.
‘Thankfully, I’m old enough to have learned that pedigree doesnot denote one’s worth.’ Miss Blair looked pointedly at him. Madame Laurent’s indignant exclamation left none of them in doubt as to her feelings on the matter.
‘Miss Blair is Superintendent MacDougal’s niece.’ Thomas tried to soften his tone and failed.
Cynthia’s smile grew brighter. She stepped forward, her hand extended to Miss Blair. The young lady’s eyes widened as she took his sister’s hand and was pulled into a hug. The raven jumped off her shoulder and landed on a nearby mannequin, much to Madame Laurent’s outrage.
‘Well, any niece of MacDougal’s comes from the best pedigree of all and is a friend of our family. We owe your uncle an unpayable debt, my dear.’
‘Merde!I must insist you take your bird and get out of my store. I cannot ’ave ’im making a mess on my dresses.’ Madame Laurent strode to the door in a righteous fluttering of skirts and pushed it open, pointing her bony finger to the street outside as if Miss Blair might not know how to exit a room.
‘Messy dresses!’ Sir Robin fluffed his feathers, his talons digging deeper into the mannequin.
‘Of course, Madame Laurent. I think we should all go. Our alterations are done for today. I shall have someone come and collect the finished gown in a week.’ Cynthia smiled at the modiste, then turned back to Miss Blair. ‘Thomas can escort you to Gunter’s. As soon as I’ve put myself to rights, I shall meet you both there so we can get better acquainted.’
Thomas stiffened. Alarming tingles jolted through him at the very idea of escorting Miss Blair anywhere. He was reminded of an old feeling from the battlefield. The fear of knowing any moment might be his last, and the consequent thrill of still being alive. Both terrifying and addictively potent. ‘I don’t think Miss Blair?—’
‘I would love that.’ Miss Blair spoke over him. She turned hergolden gaze to him, and the warmth in her eyes cooled considerably. ‘Lieutenant General Grey, shall we take my carriage, or do you have your own?’
Once more, Miss Blair had flummoxed him.
Infuriating woman!
‘I came in a hansom.’ It seemed a waste to put his coachman to so much trouble for a quick visit with his sister. Now he cursed himself for being at Miss Blair’s mercy. A place he vowed never to be again.
‘Marvellous. You can ride with me. Unless you’d rather hail another cab?’ She widened her eyes in false innocence. Of course, he wasn’t going to hire a cab and ride separately to the same location. But the idea of being trapped with her inside a small carriage tightened the tension thrumming through him.
‘It would be my pleasure to join you in your carriage.’ He ground out the acceptance with the terse tone of a man demanding a duel.
‘Oh, this is going to be such fun.’ His sister’s slow smile did nothing to alleviate his darkening mood.
Clio never realised how small her cabriolet was until she had to fit a large, angry man inside with her. It didn’t help that the weather had turned into an icy drizzle, forcing them to sit beneath a sturdy wool blanket to avoid ruining their clothes in the half-open carriage. She should have brought the landau, but Clio loved to drive and hated giving that control over to a coachman. Sir Robin Goodfellow didn’t help matters. Always insistent on where he sat, the raven preferred to be nearest the window. This forced Clio to sit in the centre of the carriage with Lieutenant General Grey pressed next to her. Why she invited him to go with her at all was a mystery.
Pride.
She wanted to show him what a skilled driver she was. It was rare for a woman to be afforded such an opportunity, but Aunt Rowan wouldn’t dare restrict her nieces in any endeavour they wished to pursue, regardless of how society might judge them. And so, Clio had insisted on learning how to drive her small, swift carriage and practised until her abilities rivalled any gentleman of the ton. She wanted Lieutenant General Grey to see how formidable she was despite her age and gender. And this was her punishment for caring about his opinion. A mistake she wouldn’t make again.
Thank goodness Gunter’s was only a short drive down Berkeley Square. Despite their close quarters, it was so delicious to take the lead when Lieutenant General Grey obviously preferred having the upper hand.
One of the few things we have in common.
An uncomfortable silence descended. Lieutenant General Grey’s emerald eyes were focused on watching the street ahead as Clio seamlessly entered the flow of London traffic.
‘I’m surprised your aunt allows you to drive alone. A rather dangerous activity, wouldn’t you say?’ He gritted out the words, his hand gripping the side of the carriage as she swerved to avoid a wide cart carrying barrels of beer. Clio glanced at him while he kept his gaze on the road. He had a Roman nose, stupidly full lips for such a hard man, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw which clenched rhythmically. The twitch of muscle fascinated her as it hardened his already granite profile. His black hair was almost a perfect match to her own, the fine ends curling just a bit at his neck. She was reminded of her first vision of him. He had been younger. His hair was crisp and perfectly combed, his face softer. But she preferred him now. Hard and a bit wild. She hated to admit it, but he was her ideal version of masculine beauty.
Returning her focus to the road, she tried not to embarrass herself by running them into a post.
Must not make moon eyes at Mr Dark-and-Surly. Now… what did he say? Ah, yes. Shouldn’t women avoid driving? No. But we should certainly avoid men like you.
‘My aunt allows me to make my own choices. Almost as though I might have rational thoughts in my head and enough intelligence to navigate this world as well as any man. I suppose some might find that far more dangerous than driving a cabriolet.’
When she first met Lieutenant General Grey, she hadn’t recognised him. It was only later that night, when discussing her investigation with Ellie and Helena, they reminded Clio of his infamous past.
