All The Ways To Ruin A Rogue(41)

            “She should be horsewhipped,” the widow complained between gulping sobs, stepping high and holding out her soggy skirts. “She deserves no less. You should call on her brother and see that she is punished.”

            He stared straight ahead, struggling to slow his stride for her dragging pace. A prickly feeling swept over his chest as he listened to this woman disparage Aurelia. “It was an accident,” he heard himself say, defending her.

            “She’s a menace. That one should be kept on a tight leash,” the widow complained. “Her family should put her in a sanitarium.”

            He released a long-suffering breath. “Come now. That’s a trifle extreme, don’t you think?”

            She blinked at him. “I am serious. It’s done, you know. For women of her mercurial temperament.”

            He shook his head. The chit was abhorrent. He could not hide from that reality any longer. He’d prefer sharing a bed with a diseased monkey. He wanted nothing more than to deposit her in her curricle and be rid of her for good. She tempted him no more. He supposed he could thank Aurelia for giving him the opportunity to see her true colors . . . but he rather resented the fact that she had provided him with that insight.

            Max enjoyed his bed sport. He didn’t need great insight into the character of the females he enjoyed. He took his pleasure, gave it in return, and then moved on. Aurelia had made that impossible in this instance and he entirely blamed her.

            “Camden,” the widow whined. “You’re still walking much too quickly.”

            He slowed his pace yet again, convinced that if he went any slower he would be standing still.

            His gaze scoured the far edges of the park, searching for a glimpse of Aurelia in the rolling green. He knew she was fleeing for home not a far distance from where they were. She enjoyed her walks. She would not have made use of a carriage or mount on so short a length. He would overtake her on horseback.

            He dragged a bracing breath deep into his lungs. No more of her pranks. This had gone far enough. No more of her sharp tongue. It would end this day. Once and for all.

            Reaching the curricle, he assisted the widow up into it and closed the door after her. He had tied his horse to the back of the conveyance earlier so that they could ride together, but his only goal right now was to reclaim his mount and go after Aurelia. His blood pumped harder at the thought of delivering her a much deserved set-down.

            “Lord Camden! Where are you going?” Mrs. Knotgrass demanded from where she sat, her hair hanging in wet tangles around her. For some reason he had a flash of Aurelia’s hair . . . the dark mahogany flowing freely over her shoulders. He blinked, banishing the mental comparison and focused on the woman before him. There was not a man who would turn from the invitation in the widow’s eyes. And yet he did not want her. Bloody hell.

            He bowed smartly. “It’s been a pleasure.”

            Her face reddened. “We did not even yet have our picnic . . .”

            He motioned to his person. “I am hardly in a fit state.” It would be ungentlemanly to point out that she was not either.

            She moistened her chattering lips and pouted. “But we had been having such a lovely time.”

            Had they? He recalled their interaction before they happened on Aurelia. He’d been going through the motions . . . flirting, praising her beauty, entertaining her with empty conversation. And he had never been more bored. Not that he was one to share anything of himself with his paramours—but she had not asked a single thing about him.

            She reached out and covered his hand with her own. “No need for it to end so soon. We can retire to my house. My servants can see to your clothes . . . while we make ourselves more comfortable in my rooms . . .”