Chapter Nine
Nicholas was rather proud of his curricle.The pair of matched bays moved with the simple grace of long-practiced partners, the polished brass gleamed in the sun, and the wheels had been reinforced last summer with a bit of ingenuity that made the whole rig feel smoother than silk on cobblestones.Even so, the true triumph of the afternoon wasn’t the vehicle.It was the presence of the woman seated beside him.
Lady Beatrix.
Stiff as a frostbitten fencepost.
Nicholas could charm a crowd, sway a committee, and appease a difficult duke.It should not be this difficult to survive a look from Lady Beatrix.
She sat with perfect posture, her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes trained somewhere in the middle distance, not quite watching the other carriages in Hyde Park and certainly not looking at him.
She was dressed perfectly, as always.Her pelisse was a soft green, trimmed in ivory silk piping that caught the morning light and played up the gold in her hair.Beneath it, a sprigged muslin gown hinted at pale green, the fabric light enough to shift with the breeze and tempt the imagination.Her bonnet, a wide-brimmed confection of cream straw and palest rose ribbon, shielded her face just enough to give her an air of genteel aloofness—but not enough to hide the delicate curve of her jaw or the flash of sea-green eyes when she deigned to glance his way.Every detail about her had been assembled with intention.Immaculate.Untouchable.And seated beside him, ankles crossed, as if she could not wait for the drive to end.
Nicholas flicked the reins with an idle hand, guiding the team through a winding track near the Serpentine.The pretty summer afternoon had drawn out the usual parade of Society—new gowns fluttering, hats nodding, gentlemen posturing.
Lady Beatrix didn’t flinch or preen or even attempt to acknowledge a single one of them.
He allowed himself a slow smile.
The Duke of Winston had taken him off guard when he’d announced the courtship, to be certain, but once Nicholas had recovered from the initial surprise and his father’s edicts, he’d recognized the opportunity for what it was.
A formal attachment to Lady Beatrix played directly into his plans, after all.It was the future he’d been angling toward, albeit more swiftly than scheduled.He’d intended to let her come around on her own, to draw her toward him with the slow-burn of innuendo and pointed provocations.
Now, he’d simply do all that…with her father’s blessing.
Not a bad hand to play.
Still.
She was not speaking to him.
Which was somewhat inconvenient, as he found her conversation preferable to most of London’s, even when it was laced with barbs.Especially when it was laced with barbs.
“I believe that old codger in the blue coat just attempted to bow while seated,” he said, with the sort of thoughtful air one might use when spotting a rare bird.“Remarkable flexibility for a man in his dotage.”
Silence.
Nicholas turned his head slowly, as if trying to confirm her presence.“Lady Beatrix?”
Nothing.
“I say, have you been replaced by a wax replica?Blink once if not.”
She exhaled sharply through her nose.
Ah, progress.
“I did wonder whether you might choose to leap from the carriage at the first curve,” he continued mildly.“I’m gratified that you resisted the urge.Though if you’re simply waiting for a more dramatic drop—say, near the bridge—I’d appreciate fair warning.I’ll need to tighten the reins.”
Her gaze slid toward him at last, though her mouth remained resolutely shut.
Nicholas smiled.“There she is.”
“I am here against my will,” she said finally.
“A fact that wounds me deeply,” he returned.“But I must say, you hide it beautifully.Only a hint of murderous tension in your jaw.”
She gave him a look that might’ve set his coat alight.“Do not mistake my silence for submission.”
