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‘I’m afraid no one but I can do that,’ he answered curtly, and then saw the infant’s face fall and his mother’s eyes blaze for a moment with maternal fierceness. Lord Rockliffe could hardly believe the words that next came out of his mouth, to break the habit of a lifetime. ‘But would you like to come up beside me and have a short tool round the Park?’ He cocked an enquiring eyebrow at Sybella.
James was immediately energised by such an offer and had begun to try to clamber up over the wheel into the curricle.
‘Help the boy, Grimshaw!’ Lord Rockliffe said imperiously to his Tiger, who had been perched silently behind him, watching this interchange with sour disbelief.
He had sprung down in a trice, before Sybella had been able to consider this offer, and swung the boy up onto the seat beside his master. ‘There you goes, young spunky varmint.’
‘I’ll bring him back to you in ten minutes. Just walk on, I’ll find you.’ The fresh, high-bred horses were sidling and restless and, with the slightest movement on the reins, sprang forward. Sybella caught a glimpse of James’s radiant face, Lord Rockliffe’s fluttering capes, and then they had disappeared back through the trees.
The dark lord glanced sideways at his very young passenger. ‘How old are you, James?’
‘My name’s Jim. I’m three.’ James’s eyes were on the horses’ heads. ‘You got four bays, where the other two?’
‘Now hold on tight. I don’t want you falling off.’
‘Won’t fall off. Not a baby.’
‘How do you know I’ve got four bays?’
‘Saw ’em. Racin’ on the road.’ Lord Rockliffe could not recall which race or which road, but he was more interested in the provenance of this surprising child.
‘Where’s your father, Jim?’
‘In heaven,’ was the uncompromising reply.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Never saw ’im. A ’ussar. Goin’ to be one too. An’ a top-sawyer, like Papa. These are prime, ain’t they?’ His innocent blue eyes looked up at this stranger for affirmation of his judgement on his horseflesh.
‘They are indeed, Jim. You’ve got a good eye for rum prancers.’ He heard Grimshaw’s disapproving snort behind him.
‘Yes. Got one at ’ome. Dasher.’
‘And where’s home, Jim?’
‘The Manor. Long away. Slept in an inn to get ’ere.’ And one little gloved hand held tight to the longest cape of Lord Rockliffe’s driving coat.
The beautiful weather had brought another two men into the Park on their mounts. Mr Brabazon had asked to meet his ward, Lord Lynwood, by the Serpentine, for an informal update on his latest gaming losses and future plans. As he approached, Freddie Lynwood noticed Hades was looking very fine indeed, his coat as black and glossy as his master’s boots. He glanced at his cousin’s face, never certain in what mood he might find him. He appeared brooding and abstracted, his dark brows drawn together over heavy-lidded eyes. Dammit, why was he always so dashed difficult to read? Did the man even have a heart under that polished and unruffled exterior?
His lordship himself was mounted on his flashy grey and hailed his cousin, whose frown deepened at the sight of this exquisite sprig of fashion spurring his horse into a canter.
‘Freddie, where on earth did you get that waistcoat? Not from my tailor, I hope.’
‘Don’t start roasting me, Ant. We can’t all be as immaculate and sober-suited as you.’
‘Well, then, tell me what’s brewing. How much are you under the hatches?’
‘Not too bad. In fact, I’m quite flush in the pocket, thank you for your concern. Since my accident, I’ve given up larking all hours. I fear the Royal Saloon and White’s have been suffering without my custom.’
‘No doubt they’ll survive.’
‘But Val’s been such a good friend. He’s a veritable top-of-the-trees. He’s invited me round for dinner and cards with his friends. He has a damned good French cook, too.’
‘Do you mean Valentine Ravenell, the Dandy Marquis?’
‘I do. He’s a regular out-and-outer and the nicest man in London.’
‘No doubt. But beware, Freddie. He has you and the other young Pinks of the ton as friends, but he also runs with a really wild crowd. I don’t want you risking a brush with the law.’
