Behind him, he heard her squeal in playful frustration at his cheat and then they were off in earnest. He dodged the other horses on the path and she kept up with him, leaning forward on her mount, urging the filly with murmured words rather than a whip or crop.
They were neck and neck as they rounded the last curve toward the main gate of the park where dozens of people were gathered before they streamed in for the daily promenade. He heard men calling out to them to stop and the blurry faces of the crowd were certainly filled with irritation. It was perfect.
He pulled up to a stop just at the gate and she was but a few steps behind him, her jaunty top hat now at an even more off-kilter angle and her face lit up with laughter and exertion. He could hear the crowd around him murmuring and grumbling, clucking their tongues in disapproval. Of course Arabella seemed to give not even one care about any of that as she leaned in and cupped his cheek. The touch was electric, instant fire and passion that burned through him.
“Mr. Windham, I thinkyouare a very bad influence,” she said before she leaned over and kissed him right there in front of the Corner Gate with the crowd gaping at the very wicked display.
She only barely parted her lips, just traced his with her tongue, but he felt like she’d devoured him. The heat of her flowed through him, burning him to his core and leaving him panting and breathless when she pulled away. Her pupils were dilated, but otherwise she seemed unbothered by the entire interaction.
“I lost,almostfairly,” she said with a wink. “And so it seems I must submit to your terms now. You may lead me back to your wicked lair, Mr. Windham. I cannot wait to see where such a villain lurks now that he’s back in the city.”
CHAPTER7
It was Arabella’s business to know about the lives and situations of the Upper Ten Thousand. She studied Debrett’s with her sisters at least monthly, collected every paper and gossip rag that existed and used the courtesan network to find out everything she could. It was often tedious work, but when it paid off, it was very much worth the time and effort.
The side effect of that study was that when she and Silas rode up to his front door, she recognized the townhouse immediately. It was a beautiful place, with wrought-iron terracing and intricate white stonework along its carefully painted face.
“Wasn’t this the Earl of Montague’s place?” she asked.
Silas swung down from his horse and then offered her a hand down from her own. She was wearing gloves and so was he, but she still felt the heat of him when he took her hand. He released her as the front door opened and a very stern-looking butler stepped out to greet them.
“Mr. Windham,” he intoned, all propriety, but Arabella heard the faintest hint of disgust behind it. She wrinkled her brow and glanced at Silas.
“Poole,” he said. “Miss Comerford and I will require some refreshments.”
The servant glanced at her. She could tell he recognized her name. That wasn’t new. She’d built a reputation so nearly everyone would, down to those below stairs. What the butler felt about her presence here was less clear, but it didn’t seem particularly positive. “I see. The west parlor is ready for guests, I’ll arrange for tea.”
As she and Silas walked into the house behind Poole, Arabella took the foyer in. It was very fine, with marble floors and stuffy art. Gilding was the fashion here, it seemed, for it seemed to dance along the edge of any surface that had been left still for more than a moment. A surprise since Silas seemed anything but a gilding man.
He led her into a parlor off the ridiculous front hall and she caught her breath. The gilding continued into this room, slashed across the edges of anything the designer could find. It was even on the ceiling, outlining the carved plaster in…well, she supposed the effect was meant to be elegance. Gaudy was the word she would use, herself.
“Will you be offended if I tell you this house doesn’t seem to fit you?” she asked.
He stopped and looked around the room, almost as if he had never taken it in fully before. Then he glanced at her. “I’m letting it for the Season, so to be fair it isn’t mine to fit. It is dandified, isn’t it? Christ, the little figurines. They’re atrocious.”
He waved his hand toward a few of them on the mantelpiece. There had to be at least a dozen porcelain monstrosities perched there. Little people in different costumes, all meant to be the happy working class, she thought based on the tools each one held. One had a shovel, another a tray. They all had blank little faces and delicate paint jobs. She giggled. “Is that one meant to be a shepherd?”
He leaned in closer to the item in question and wrinkled his brow. “Ithinkso. With silver, high-heeled slippers and a golden crook, no less. It’s a patent misunderstanding of what those of lesser rank live like.”
“Well,theyall have that,” she mused.
She walked past him and moved to the window. It had a nice view of the street and the park across from it. Not Hyde Park, from where they’d come, but a nice smaller park, Wildwood. It was still a fashionable address, but not as flashy.
“Why did you let a place?” she asked. “I think you had a home here in London before, didn’t you?”
There was a slightest hint of a flinch that came across his handsome face. A pinching of his lips that told a tale before he even said a word.
“That house was given to me by my father. It was…complicated. When I left I gave it up. Sold it, actually, to help finance some of my adventures in America.”
She swallowed. She wasn’t in the dark about Silas’s circumstances. After all, she’d made a study of his past for years. But it was different to look him in the face while he discussed that past rather than simply read things or hear whispers.
“You left right after your father’s death,” she said.
Again, there was the ripple of pain but it slipped away when Poole entered the room with the tea service. He set it on the sideboard and then turned back toward them. “Is there anything else, Mr. Windham?”
“No.” Silas didn’t look at him. “That will be all. Thank you, Poole.”
The servant left and Silas shook his head as he moved to shut the door to the parlor behind him, then over to the sideboard. “That prick truly hates me.” She blinked, uncertain if he was referring to his father or the butler. “I suppose I should be happy it was Montague’s solicitor who made the arrangements for the rental, not his servants or else I never would have made the cut. Do you take milk or sugar?”
