“I am not opposed to them,” she replied. “I understand the male obligation to the family line, and I would meet it. Or, if a mistress can provide them, I would happily raise any bastards as mine so long as it was properly handled.”
“And I take it you wish to have your own affairs,” he replied. “Which I can abide if there is discretion.”
“You may be rest assured I have no interest in dalliances,” she replied, looking straight ahead. “I simply want to live my own life, in the manner I wish to live it. Unfortunately, I cannot do that without the protection of a man, and you seem, on first inspection, to be honorable enough to allow it.”
Clearly Miss Morehouse wanted only one thing from him—his name. No doubt she would be easily convinced to pursue a hasty marriage, then retreat to the country without him, andhe would have his full inheritance and all the mistresses such money could buy.
An odd, hollow sensation crept into his chest, dampening the triumph he should have been feeling at securing Miss Morehouse’s interest. Perhaps it was simply the worry that he might still lose his chance tonight at the Lyon’s Den.
Or maybe it was something more. Some traitorous feeling he dared not name.
The two sat in a silence that was somehow neither tense nor comfortable. It simply was.
Would this be his future with her?
Surely not. He would have other pursuits—learning the business of being a viscount would have to be enough for now. He turned his attention to the road, focusing on the steady rhythm of the horses and searching for some banal subject to fill the air when Miss Morehouse spoke up.
“I see Miss Howard,” she said, gesturing to a clump of trees under which stood several ladies. “I should not leave her alone for too long.”
Clearly fifteen minutes with Tom had been too long.
“Would you like me to get you and Miss Howard some shaved ice?” he asked, desperate to make the afternoon’s activities feel a little less transactional.
She nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
He brought the curricle to a stop out of the way of traffic and saw Miss Morehouse to her companion before stalking off to one of the many vendors who set up tents along the Serpentine ready to sell shaved ice, lemonade, and other delights to those who were promenading along the water’s edge. He maneuvered his way through the crowds, watching the dance of gentlemen and ladies playing the game that was courting among the upper classes.
A flutter of pink caught his eye just before he reached his destination, and on the air, a hint lilac. As if summoned, he turned to see a park bench under a shaded tree, where none other than Georgiana Hawthorne sat with another young lady and Mr. Osbourne, all engaged in animated conversation. Tom was struck by the conviviality of the scene, and even more so by the pang of envy it caused. Ridiculous.
He was about to stalk away in search of shaved ice when he watched John Osbourne bow toward the ladies, then walk toward the refreshment stand. No doubt he was on a similar errand for Georgie.
Whatever possessed Tom to approach her, he couldn’t say—perhaps it was simple madness or morbid curiosity. Whatever it was, he found himself sauntering toward the bench, every step making his heart beat faster even as he willed himself calm.
She looked up almost immediately, as if she had sensed his presence. The smile she’d worn while she was speaking to her companion disappeared almost immediately, her eyes growing wide with surprise. The fact that he’d broken her smile tore at him momentarily, even as he chided himself for the emotion. After all, it was she who’d trampled over his heart when he’d offered it to her.
“Lady Georgiana,” he said, bowing formally.
“Mr. B—” she stumbled, pink creeping into her cheeks. “My apologies—Mr. Worthington.” She pointed to her friend. “Allow me to present Miss Lily Duigood.”
Miss Duigood was a pretty thing, with dark curly hair. While finely dressed, Tom had the distinct impression the dress was a borrowed one, and while flattering, was of an older style. She might have been his own age—hardly old enough, it seemed, to be a chaperone herself.
“It is a pleasure,” she said, before looking to Georgie. “I believe I see an acquaintance from one of the baroness’s salons. Do you mind terribly if I went and said hello? I won’t be long.”
The very lastthing Georgie wanted was to be alone with Tom, but she could hardly deny Lily the opportunity to say hello to a friend. Besides, Mr. Osbourne would be back with a lemon ice shortly, and there were more than enough people around to make any conversation with a gentleman hardly scandalous.
“Of course,” she said to Lily.
Lily nodded, then giving Tom a curtsy, scurried off.
“Were you enjoying your afternoon with Miss Morehouse?” she asked. She’d seen them in his curricle as they walked by Rotten Row and had all but forced herself to focus on Mr. Osbourne’s enthusiasm for the horses trotting up in the park.
“I did,” he said, his mouth hitching into a smile that did not convey any sense of conviction. Almost immediately his eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head as he appeared to study her face. “What?”
Now it was her turn to be confused. “Excuse me?”
He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice. “You’re giving me that look.”
“What look?”
