“What makes him more challenging?”he asked while they walked, the meadow’s tall grass brushing his boots until they reached the footpath.
“He’s not easily deceived,” she said, then sent him a quick sideways glance.“I can see it in his eyes – a question filled with distrust, like he’s expecting a trap.Consequently, I must bide my time.As it is, I already fear I may have overplayed my hand slightly.”
Concern tightened Dorian’s expression.“How do you mean?”
“I found out what he was reading, purchased a copy of the same book, and allowed it to spill from my bag when last we met.Despite the interest he showed, I think he believed it too much a coincidence given that I also happened to show up at Reed’s.My being there before he arrived ought to confirm that he wasn’t followed.Still, I deliberately chose to pull back for a bit – allow his suspicions to ease.”
“A wise decision,” Dorian agreed, though none of what she’d said addressed what he believed to be the most pressing issue of all.Namely Mr.Croft, the man.
He was strikingly handsome, and with his sister now dead, Samantha would have to target him more directly.It didn’t take much imagination to figure out where that might lead.The real test, he supposed, would be whether she’d be able to keep her end goal in sight while seducing her way into his heart.
She couldn’t afford to develop feelings.
It would undoubtedly be a challenge.She’d have to throw herself head-first into it, or risk all her hard work going to waste.Dorian could only hope she’d have the good sense to keep her heart out of harm’s way.
“Don’t forget what he stands for,” he told her as they returned through a gate that separated the property’s wilderness from the more manicured garden.
“Devious manipulation capable of destroying lives,” she muttered, the words hard and concise, as though she firmly believed them.
He nodded, confident in the knowledge that she remained true to the cause.
* * *
A gentleman impeccably dressed according to the latest style was what everyone saw when they looked at the man who rode along Rotten Row.Murderer would never occur to any of them.
They were his peers.Friends and acquaintances.Some were even relations.
He tipped his hat and smiled at Viscount Ottersburg and his wife as they passed him in their open barouche.A leisurely ride in the park was an excellent way for him to lose himself for the afternoon.Out here, amid the fresh air and picturesque scenery, the visions that crept in when he closed his eyes were easily buried.
“Fancy a race?”asked Gregory St.Croix, the Duke of Eldridge’s youngest son.Seated upon his Arabian thoroughbred with his black hair neatly tied in a queue, he glanced at his two companions with mischief in his bright eyes.
“On your mark,” said the man.
“Shall we say until the edge of the Serpentine?”asked Nigel Lawrence, the Marquess of Avernail’s fifth youngest son.His brother’s horse-riding accident and the paralysis this had led to did not deter him from wanting to race.
“As the crow flies, on the count of three.”Gregory swung his mount around and waited for his friends to line up beside him.“One, two… Go!”
The horses snorted and angled their necks, creating a straight line from nose to tail as they leapt into motion.The man leaned into his saddle and clicked his tongue, urging his mount into a gallop.
Air rushed across his face.His hands tightened around the reins, squeezing them so tightly his fingers began to burn.The drum of hooves against the ground kept pace with his heart, drowning out his ever increasing need to rid the world of whores.
In this moment, he was at peace, at one with the beast, his only focus on getting to the finish line first.He gauged it to be no more than a hundred yards away now.The water beyond it gleamed in response to the morning sun, creating an orb of light that gave the illusion of liquid fire.
Shoulders tight, he kept his breaths even while jamming his heels against his horse’s flanks.“Come on.”
No sooner were the words spoken than the air shifted around him, a sort of invisible push and release as Gregory flew past with Nigel in swift pursuit.
With a muttered curse, he made one final attempt at claiming victory over his friends.He slapped his mount’s rump and whipped the reins.
It was to no avail.The Duke of Eldridge’s son reached the finish line first, narrowly avoiding two ladies who strolled along the edge of the lake.
They glared at him as he gave a victorious cheer.Nigel, ever the rogue, sent the pair a wide smile.“Take pity on him, I beg you.He’s not accustomed to winning.”
“Don’t believe a word he says,” Gregory told the two women while circling around and drawing nearer to where they stood.He removed his hat and winked at the pair before dropping his voice and telling them smoothly, “My friend is a terrible liar.”
“And you, sir?”One of the women asked boldly, her deep brown eyes falling upon the one man she ought to avoid.“If your friends are liars and losers, then what are you?”
Her friend tittered, a coquettish sound that grated his nerves.Both ladies blushed in response to all the attention they’d gained, the harm that had nearly come to them moments ago completely forgotten.
