You May Kiss the Bride(47)

“Good Lord, who knows, and who cares? You’re quite maudlin this morning. Why this odd line of questioning?”

Livia looked at him, thoughtful. “At breakfast, your grandmother spoke a little about the past. Her recollections seemed very painful to her.”

He shrugged again. “Yes, well, I don’t know her very well either. I went off to school shortly after my parents died, as I would have regardless, and saw her only sporadically after that. However, this sad little story of yours certainly explains Grandmama’s determination to see me—us—married and repopulating the dwindling Penhallow stock. Too bad for her.”

Livia’s mouth thinned. She said nothing, only gazed fixedly ahead, between Daisy’s velvety ears.

“I see I have offended your delicate sensibilities! Very missish and ladylike and proper of you, my dear. You’ve learned your lessons well.”

She was ignoring him now, and when Gabriel glanced over at Livia’s profile, he saw that her expression was stony. Oh God, he was indeed a stuffy ass. But this engagement was, for some reason, getting harder by the day, not easier as it should have been. And then to be dragged into an uncomfortable conversation about the past, when he spent far too much time dwelling on his strange future—well, a man had his limits.

They’d come to Cheap Street, its cobbled lanes crowded with carriages and carts and gigs, while the pavements flanking it on either side, abutting the shops, were abustle with pedestrians. Livia had to learn how to negotiate streets like this, but nonetheless Gabriel kept a wary eye on Livia’s placid horse Daisy, and on Livia, too.

She was still staring straight ahead, but all at once she gasped, stiffened, and then scrambled off Daisy’s back with more haste than dignity, providing anyone who happened to be looking a scandalous glimpse of long shapely legs, and once her boots made contact with the ground she darted forward among the press of vehicles, the tail of her riding-habit dragging dangerously behind her.

Christ Almighty, she’d be crushed under a carriage, thought Gabriel, adrenaline roaring through him, and immediately he slid off Primus, praying that both horses would remain safe and calm, and quickly threaded his way toward Livia. A yellow high-perch phaeton was bowling straight toward her, its driver shouting and waving his whip, and Gabriel’s heart seemed to stop in his chest. There was no way that he could reach her in time.

“Livia!” he shouted, urgently, desperately.

Hopelessly.

Time slowed down to a horrifying crawl.

He was going to lose her.

No.

Please, God, no.

He could only watch as Livia, with what felt like an excruciating slowness, bent down and picked up something in the street. Then—reminding him, somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, of an exquisitely choreographed dance he had once seen in Spain—she whirled about, grabbed the tail of her gown, and at the very last moment sidestepped the phaeton.

Vaguely Gabriel heard the high-pitched female screams issuing from the pavements on either side of them.

The phaeton’s driver abruptly pulled up short, and time resumed its normal pace as Gabriel finally reached Livia, who stood stock-still, not yet having gained the safety of the pavement, clutching something to her breast.

Fear having spun, in a heartbeat, into relief and then anger, it was in a blind fury that he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “You little idiot! What the devil were you doing?” He actually shook Livia, so enraged was he, before he realized that her face was dead white, with ominous undertones of sickly green.

“Oh, good God!” he muttered savagely. Without bothering to see what she was holding in her arms, he quickly turned her around, propelled her to the pavement where he spotted a large wooden crate, and steered her to it; none too gently, he had her sit (she did have a propensity for sitting on the oddest things, but it certainly wasn’t his problem right now). “Stay!” he ordered her, much as he would a willful dog, then turned back to the street.

Two enterprising jarveys from a nearby hack stand had thrust themselves into the fray. One had already grasped Daisy’s dangling reins, but the other was still nervously attempting to approach Primus, who danced a little, clearly taking exception to the overtures of a stranger.

Swiftly Gabriel went to Primus, took hold of his reins, and calmed him with a few soft words; he then led him aside while the other jarvey did the same with Daisy. Gabriel had just thanked them and given them both some coins when he realized that the phaeton’s driver, still within easy shouting distance, was continuing to do just that, his profane invective only getting louder and nastier.

In a towering rage Gabriel turned and looked up at the driver, a young man who evidently aspired to the Four Horse Club as he wore a long many-caped greatcoat with enormous mother-of-pearl buttons and his showy bays were outfitted with silver harnesses. Extravagantly waving his whip about, the driver not only denounced Livia’s virtue but slandered Gabriel and every one of his antecedents in highly vulgar terms.