“Until he returned from the dead and tried to murder you for seducing his wife.”
Julian stared down at Carenza. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Laughing at the great Julian Laurent? Never.” Carenza grinned at him. “You must admit that it is rather amusing.”
“Not when you’re in the middle of … a certain act, and a man bursts in brandishing a pistol and threatens to shoot off your most prized possession.”
Carenza was laughing so hard that Julian was able to draw her off the path and into the shade of a group of trees before she realized it. He turned her so that they were hidden from view and her back was against a tree.
She looked up at him. “I’m sorry, but I have to know. How did you get away?”
“I threw Lady Brenton into her husband’s arms, causing him to drop the pistol. While he dealt with her hysterics, I gathered my clothing and left.”
“And he didn’t come after you?”
“He did turn up at my house at some point,” Julian acknowledged. “He had a notion of challenging me to a duel.”
Carenza considered him. “And did he?”
“Not after I’d invited him to watch me shoot.” Julian paused. “In truth, once we’d had a drink together, he was quite amenable to forgetting the whole thing.”
“I find that rather unlikely.”
“Then you underestimate my powers of persuasion, my dear,” Julian said. “He was well aware of his wife’s predilections and normally tolerated them because he is not in good health and the marriage was not a love match. He was more annoyed that she had brought a man into his house—which she’d promised not to do—than the fact she was having an affair.”
“How lucky for you.”
“I am always the luckiest of men.” Julian sounded as if he were mocking himself. “Ask my mother or Percival Walcott.”
“My father always says we create our own luck,” Carenza said. “Perhaps you should take more credit for your actions than you think.”
He studied her for a long moment before leaning in close. “May I kiss you?”
He had an uncanny knack of deflecting the conversation away from himself. Not for the first time, Carenza wondered why. “In a public park, with your brother bearing down on us?”
“Yes.” His gaze grew more intent. “You’re buttoned into a tightly cut riding habit that covers you from your neck to your toes. Your mouth is the only part Icankiss.”
Carenza pretended to sigh. “With such unassailable logic, how can I deny you?”
His kiss, in contrast to the lightness of his tone, was surprisingly direct and intimate. Carenza responded immediately, her tongue clashing with his as he sought mastery of her mouth. She brought her hand up to his neck.
“Tallyho!” Aragon’s loud voice came from the path close to their hiding place.
Julian released her. “As usual, my brother has impeccable timing.” He offered her his hand. “Shall we go and find him? Hopefully he’s gotten over his chagrin about being beaten by a woman and will prove more agreeable company on the way back.”
As soon as Carenza stepped back on the path, Julian let go of her hand.
Aragon offered her his arm. “Shall we walk back together, my lady? I’m sure you’ve had enough of Julian’s nonsense. He’s all very good in a drawing room charming the ladies, but his equine knowledge is sadly lacking.”
By the time they reached their horses, Carenza had worked out that Aragon was horse-mad and very little other than that mattered to him. She’d barely had to speak as he’d enumerated on the breeding of the mare he’d lent her to ride, the pedigree lines of all the horse’s immediate ancestors, and the prospects Aragon was considering as studs.
As her groom approached, Aragon finished his monologue with, “Jolly good show, Lady Smythe-Harding. You’re just the kind of filly I like to mount.”
Carenza thought she heard the groom give a quiet snort. She smiled at Aragon. “Thank you for the chance to ride your beautiful mare, sir. It was a privilege.”
Aragon looked ridiculously pleased with himself. “Next time we’ll go out without my annoying little brother, eh? We can have a proper gallop.”
“And another race?” Carenza asked.
