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Authors: Suzanne Enoch
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Tess.”
So now he was humoring her, more than likely because he was annoyed that she hadn’t given him the chance to ask her about marriage. She was only attempting to save his blasted self-respect. Of course he had such an overblown sense of his own—or Montrose’s—irresistibility that he had no idea she was actually being kind. Of course she could never allow him to realize either of those points.
Theresa smiled. “And you will now tell me the names of everyone you know who will be attending the Ridgemont soiree tonight.”
His expression lifted a little as they trotted down the drive. “Everyone?”
“Absolutely everyone.”
She almost immediately regretted making the request, but it did give him something to say. And it therefore allowed her to enjoy the ride and the remainder of the morning without having to fish about for topics of conversation. Theresa smiled and returned the wave of the trio of Parker-Lyons sisters in their barouche.
Once they reached St. James’s Park she started Cleopatra along the hard-packed earth path that ran beneath the tall stands of oak and ash trees. Yes, this was much more fun than sitting on a sofa and dashing the hopes of a likely suitor before he could realize on his own that they would never, ever suit.
Ahead of them someone on a big gray horse rode across the path at a breakneck pace, winding in and out of the trees with a speed and precision that only the finest of riders could manage. It wasn’t a particularly safe endeavor considering the number of carriages and pedestrians about, but horse and rider avoided them all with little apparent effort.
“He’s going to break his neck,” Lionel said from beside her.
She’d forgotten her would-be suitor was even there. “Who is that?”
“Bartholomew James. It’s his gelding, anyw—”
“That?” Theresa pointed at the rider, her jaw nearly dropping. “That is Tolly James? He can barely walk!”
Lionel shrugged. “He ain’t walking.”
She returned her gaze to the rider. “No, he isn’t,” she mused.
As they drew closer she could make out what looked like a tightly wrapped sheath of leather around his left knee, from mid-thigh to mid-calf. Considering how much a rider used his knees, especially on twists and turns such as those he and his horse were engaging in, Colonel James must have been in extreme pain. And yet he continued his bruising ride.
“Maybe he’s been looking for sympathy and he’s not as crippled as he pretends.” Lionel stopped half in front of her, blocking her view of the colonel. “The East India Company don’t like stories of men getting murdered, regardless. He’d best watch himself.”
Theresa had seen enough. “Let’s go, shall we?” Clucking at Cleopatra, she turned the mare away.
A heartbeat later Colonel James and his splendid dark gray horse thundered up on her—then came to a sliding, grinding stop. “Good morning, Miss Weller.”
For a bare second she felt breathless, quite unableto remember what she was supposed to say. Hatless, his too-long dark hair tossed by the wind, his great-coat flared out behind him, his whiskey gold eyes alight, he looked absolutely mesmerizing. She shook herself. “Colonel.”
“Were you out looking for me?”
“I should say not.” For a second she glared at him. Clearly he was attempting to unsettle her. “Though I am forced to observe,” she continued aloud, “that if you can ride this well, surely you can manage a dance. Or at least a social call.”
Before he could respond to that, she sent Cleopatra into a trot. She hardly noticed when Lionel caught up to her and resumed his recitation of the evening’s guest list. That should do it. She couldn’t think of a way to make it more obvious to Bartholomew James that he interested her without standing straight up and saying it. And ladies did not do such things.
Chapter Five
“I have seen many a young lady, swayed by pretty words and pretty eyes, fall from Society’s
So now he was humoring her, more than likely because he was annoyed that she hadn’t given him the chance to ask her about marriage. She was only attempting to save his blasted self-respect. Of course he had such an overblown sense of his own—or Montrose’s—irresistibility that he had no idea she was actually being kind. Of course she could never allow him to realize either of those points.
Theresa smiled. “And you will now tell me the names of everyone you know who will be attending the Ridgemont soiree tonight.”
His expression lifted a little as they trotted down the drive. “Everyone?”
“Absolutely everyone.”
She almost immediately regretted making the request, but it did give him something to say. And it therefore allowed her to enjoy the ride and the remainder of the morning without having to fish about for topics of conversation. Theresa smiled and returned the wave of the trio of Parker-Lyons sisters in their barouche.
Once they reached St. James’s Park she started Cleopatra along the hard-packed earth path that ran beneath the tall stands of oak and ash trees. Yes, this was much more fun than sitting on a sofa and dashing the hopes of a likely suitor before he could realize on his own that they would never, ever suit.
Ahead of them someone on a big gray horse rode across the path at a breakneck pace, winding in and out of the trees with a speed and precision that only the finest of riders could manage. It wasn’t a particularly safe endeavor considering the number of carriages and pedestrians about, but horse and rider avoided them all with little apparent effort.
“He’s going to break his neck,” Lionel said from beside her.
She’d forgotten her would-be suitor was even there. “Who is that?”
“Bartholomew James. It’s his gelding, anyw—”
“That?” Theresa pointed at the rider, her jaw nearly dropping. “That is Tolly James? He can barely walk!”
Lionel shrugged. “He ain’t walking.”
She returned her gaze to the rider. “No, he isn’t,” she mused.
As they drew closer she could make out what looked like a tightly wrapped sheath of leather around his left knee, from mid-thigh to mid-calf. Considering how much a rider used his knees, especially on twists and turns such as those he and his horse were engaging in, Colonel James must have been in extreme pain. And yet he continued his bruising ride.
“Maybe he’s been looking for sympathy and he’s not as crippled as he pretends.” Lionel stopped half in front of her, blocking her view of the colonel. “The East India Company don’t like stories of men getting murdered, regardless. He’d best watch himself.”
Theresa had seen enough. “Let’s go, shall we?” Clucking at Cleopatra, she turned the mare away.
A heartbeat later Colonel James and his splendid dark gray horse thundered up on her—then came to a sliding, grinding stop. “Good morning, Miss Weller.”
For a bare second she felt breathless, quite unableto remember what she was supposed to say. Hatless, his too-long dark hair tossed by the wind, his great-coat flared out behind him, his whiskey gold eyes alight, he looked absolutely mesmerizing. She shook herself. “Colonel.”
“Were you out looking for me?”
“I should say not.” For a second she glared at him. Clearly he was attempting to unsettle her. “Though I am forced to observe,” she continued aloud, “that if you can ride this well, surely you can manage a dance. Or at least a social call.”
Before he could respond to that, she sent Cleopatra into a trot. She hardly noticed when Lionel caught up to her and resumed his recitation of the evening’s guest list. That should do it. She couldn’t think of a way to make it more obvious to Bartholomew James that he interested her without standing straight up and saying it. And ladies did not do such things.
Chapter Five
“I have seen many a young lady, swayed by pretty words and pretty eyes, fall from Society’s
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