“Glorious. You lookedgloriouson that horse.”
Dahlia blinked, her gaze darting to the Thoroughbred. “He’s an excellent ride,” she replied, sure her face was bright red from exertion.
Anthony took another step toward her. “Is he?”
Blinking again, Dahlia furrowed a brow. “I said he was.”
“Iwant that honor,” he stated, once again wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her hard against him.
“What...?”
Her response was cut off when he captured her lips with his, kissing her quite thoroughly. He continued to do so, until he felt her body finally soften, her rigid stance weakening against the front of his body. When he was sure she had given up fighting his hold, he pulled his lips from hers. “Marry me, Dahlia. Be my viscountess. My eventual countess,” he whispered.
Her body once again stiffened in his arms, and he winced.
Dahlia pulled away enough to gaze at him in horror. “Are youdrunk?”
It was Anthony’s turn to blink. “What? No!” he replied. “How can you ask me that?”
Staring at him as if he had grown horns and a trident for a tail, Dahlia huffed. “Howoldare you?”
Anthony inhaled softly, surprised by the query. “Almost one-and-twenty,” he replied.
“Whatever are you thinking to propose marriage at your age?” she asked in despair.
He stared at her a moment before exhaustion had him sinking to the ground, his knees on the track as he sat back on his haunches. “If I wait until I am older to ask, some other young buck will have claimed you as his wife,” he replied. “I cannot let that happen.”
Dahlia rolled her eyes. “I can assure you, that willneverhappen,” she replied. “I have decided I won’t be marrying anyone.”
Anthony stared up at her. “What?”
She rolled her eyes again. “I have decided I have no intention of bending over a library table in order to bear someone’s heir,” she said, with all the indignation she could muster.
His eyes darting to one side, Anthony tried to make sense of her response and quickly came to his feet. “What are talking about?”
Dahlia scoffed. “Sexual intercourse, of course,” she replied in a whisper.
He blinked. “Over a library table?” he asked in confusion.
She seemed to lose some of her resolve, but she still lifted her chin in defiance. “I’ve heard it’s done that way. In order to ensure a boy is conceived.”
At a loss for words, Anthony scoffed. “My lady, I would never treat you so,” he whispered. “I would only ever make love to you in a soft bed. After I’ve pleasured you to within an inch of your life,” he murmured.
This last had Dahlia wavering slightly. He reached out to steady her with a hand on her shoulder. “We belong together, Dahlia. We’ve known it since we were children,” he murmured, sounding as if he were resigned to the idea.
Her brows furrowing, Dahlia shook her head. “You don’t love me,” she whispered.
Anthony winced. “Perhaps... perhaps not yet,” he admitted. “But it won’t be long.” He might not have felt affection for her, but his body’s reaction to holding hers had certainly been a surprise. Despite how tired he felt, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her senseless. Strip her bare and make mad, passionate love to her.
He even glanced down at the road, an image of them, naked, rolling about on her velvet riding habit, forming in his mind’s eye as his cock hardened even more.
At that moment, the groom stepped up with both horses. “My lady? Is this man bothering you?”
Dahlia tore her gaze from Anthony. “No, Winston. Lord Breckinridge is leaving now,” she replied. She took the reins of the Thoroughbred, and the groom quickly knelt and formed his gloved hands into a step onto which she placed one of her booted feet. She lifted herself onto the sidesaddle and then arranged her skirts over the back of the horse, wincing at seeing clods of dirt and mud streaking the velvet.
“Lord Breckinridge,” she said with a nod.
Anthony stared up at her and swallowed, realizing she was dismissing him. “Will I see you at Lady Morganfield’s garden party tomorrow?” he asked.
Dahlia afforded him one last glance. “I suppose,” she replied. She hit her left heel into the horse, and he surged forward into an immediate trot.
Watching her go, Anthony sighed before turning his attention to the groom. “Keep her safe,” he said.
Winston gave a start. “Of course, sir,” he replied.
Mounting his walker, Anthony directed one last look at Lady Dahlia before he urged his horse toward the exit of Hyde Park. Given the speed at which the walker had been forced to run, even if only briefly, his gait was sluggish at first before it evened into a slow walk.
He might have made it all the way to the southeast gate but for the man who stood in the middle of the road, just under the Triumphal Arch.
