You May Kiss the Bride(41)

After leaving his grandmother’s townhouse, Gabriel had abstractedly begun walking, at first almost aimlessly, but somehow his feet took him to a certain shop in Beaufort Square, where he purchased maps of both North and South America. Once back in his private parlor at the York House, he spread them out upon a table and looked at them for a very long time.

He had a plan, he reminded himself. He was not to be manipulated, entangled, caged. Penhallows rose above all that. And Penhallows always got their way.



“Her name,” said Gabriel, “is Daisy. Give her this.”

With one hand holding the reins, he held something out to Livia. Gingerly she took it. A lump of sugar. She closed her fingers around it and he said:

“No. Like this.” Gently he uncurled her fingers. “Keep your palm flat.”

Pleasure at his touch—his unexpected gentleness—shivered through Livia, and bravely she extended her palm toward the monster whose attributes she’d been cataloging in a rather panicky way. Big nose, big eyes, long neck, broad back, giant rump, skinny legs, sharp hooves, horribly sharp hooves . . . And a whiskery, tickly mouth, daintily accepting the sugar lump, without biting her hand off at the wrist with those enormous teeth.

How nice to still have both her hands.

“Well done, Livia,” Gabriel said, and all at once she felt ridiculously proud of herself. She smiled up at him.

“Ready to try again?” he asked.

“Can I get off whenever I want to?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do my best, then.”

“That’s all one can do. May I?”

“Yes,” she said, and felt that same shivery pleasure as his hands went round her waist, lifting her easily into the saddle.

“Here’s a nice, level path,” he said. “I’ll lead Daisy, as slow as you like. All right?”

“Y-yes.”

They walked back and forth for a little while, and Livia gradually relaxed her death-grip on the pommel. She was sure she didn’t make an impressive figure, but at least she managed to retain consciousness the whole time.

“Not so bad, Livia?”

“Not so bad—” Livia began to cautiously answer, but just then Daisy vigorously shook her big milky-white head as a bee got too close, and she gave a little shriek and grabbed again at the pommel.

“Steady,” Gabriel said, and just for a moment his hand was on her waist. Then it was gone, and as soon as her heart had stopped pounding quite so hard—because of the bee and Daisy shaking her head, of course—Livia looked down at him curiously.

“What’s the matter with you today?” she asked.

“Nothing’s the matter.”

“Yes, there is. You haven’t snapped at me once, or criticized me, or mocked me.”

He glanced up at her, and she saw, in the cool remoteness of his expression, fresh confirmation of what she’d just said. Despite his pleasant manner, he looked as if he were mentally a thousand miles away.

“Then you should be glad that I’m being less awful than usual.” His voice was even.

“You’re not always awful,” Livia said. One must, after all, be fair. “You were wonderful to talk to your grandmother about changing her menus. Not just for me, but for Miss Cott and the staff, too.”

“A brief aberration, no doubt.”

“Surely not,” she answered, and wondered why on earth she was defending him from himself.

“Fortunately, it doesn’t matter what you think of me, or I of you.”

Oh, that was dismissive. And hurtful. And how stupid of her to feel that way. But feelings were such uncontrollable things, and now, vehemently, she wanted to hurt him in return. “I’m reassured,” she retorted. “You’re back to being mean and lofty. The perfect Penhallow.”

He only shrugged. “It’s the truth about our situation, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. I’m just a thing to you. And speaking of things, I’m done with this lesson. I want to go back to your grandmother’s. A great many new items are coming for me today—some very expensive gowns and shawls and slippers—and I want to go wallow in them, like a pig in slops.”

“A delightful analogy.”

“Well, that’s what ladies here do, I’ve learned. If they’re not talking about phlegm, cataplasms, or bilious extrusions.”

“Kindly spare me the details. Here we are at the stables. Allow me to help you down.”

“I can get down by myself,” Livia said angrily, and swung her knee over the pommel, but in her haste not very skillfully, unfortunately, and might have ended up dangling upside down by one leg if not for Gabriel seizing her, freeing her foot from the stirrup, and setting her upright. His hands were set firmly around her shoulders, and he was so close that she caught the subtle scent of him, soap and leather and pure masculinity.