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Authors: Daphne du Bois
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kind of man mothers lived in dread of. He was also, most certainly, not Sir Timothy Stanton.
Kitty shot a disapproving look at the man, and nodded a chilly greeting before looking over at her charge. Araminta had mentioned no arrangements to meet disreputable-looking men. In fact, Araminta seemed to blanche, while her eyes flamed with something Kitty couldn’t read.
“Lord Chestleton,” Araminta greeted stiffly. “I found I had trouble sleeping and so I came for a walk.”
“Is that so? How curious,” he murmured, mouth curling in wry amusement.
“Indeed. Allow me to introduce my duenna and former nurse, Mrs Catherine Wakefield.” There was a very pointed note in her voice, which the marquis chose to ignore, while he took in the pinched, disapproving expression on the older woman’s face.
“How do you do, Mrs Wakefield?” he asked, eyes sparkling mischievously.
“I am well, thank you, my lord.” Kitty’s voice held a very distinct chill, but Chestleon ignored that as well, his appreciative eyes returning to Araminta, and lingering in a way that made her squirm.
“Now then, my dear Miss Barrington, I do seem to recall a promise made while we danced last night, that you should take a turn with me in my phaeton. Since we happened to meet so fortuitously, now seems as good a time as any.”
Araminta was about to deny any knowledge of making such a promise, angry that he would dare use the same trick twice, when his exact words came to her attention. Last night while we danced , he had said. She had a very clear memory of their conversation during the dance — the implied blackmail, the way his eyes had lingered over her form. It had replayed endlessly in her mind while she lay in bed, unable to snatch a moment’s sleep. Was this it, she wondered bleakly to herself, was this the moment he asked the price of his silence? And how would his request reflect on her?
“Very well, my lord. I will take a turn in the phaeton with you. But only a very short one. It would not do, otherwise. Sir Timothy would not approve, you know.”
Chestleton chuckled lazily in a way that made her give him an offended glare. “I am sure that he would not, Miss Barrington. But has he any grounds to disapprove?”
He was mocking her, she realised, and chose to ignore that remark. “Kitty will, of course, accompany us,” she coldly informed the handsome nobleman. Jasper shot the former nurse a look before shrugging and motioning for his groom to descend and help the ladies up onto the vehicle. The groom handed Araminta up first, who carefully adjusted her skirts on the seat next to the Marquis, hoping that no one would see her in a phaeton with such a disreputable man. The groom had just turned to help Kitty up, when the Marquis snapped the reins held in his gloved hands and the horses shot off.
Jasper Devereaux had excellent taste in horses, and this pair had been a particularly fine purchase. They were strong and built for speed, as highly sensitive to his whims as well-bred race horses. Araminta Barrington learned of their speed first hand as she gave a yelp of surprise. The unexpected burst of speed had torn the parasol clean out of her hand, and she turned, horrified, to watch it fall to the paving stones behind her, meeting Kitty’s equally surprised and horrified eyes.
Araminta clutched onto her seat as the carriage flew down the path, while Lord Chestleton sat next to her, in complete control and obviously enjoying himself.
“Lord Chestleton, what are you doing? Stop this carriage this instant!” She demanded, her voice coloured in equal parts with fear and outrage. “Stop! Before someone sees us, or you turn us over and kill us.”
“Nonsense. I am in perfect control, my dear. And I can hardly have been expected to enjoy my time in your company with your harridan of a duenna looking over my shoulder, could I?”
“I demand that you stop this vehicle and let me off! How dare you take such liberties. This is
Kitty shot a disapproving look at the man, and nodded a chilly greeting before looking over at her charge. Araminta had mentioned no arrangements to meet disreputable-looking men. In fact, Araminta seemed to blanche, while her eyes flamed with something Kitty couldn’t read.
“Lord Chestleton,” Araminta greeted stiffly. “I found I had trouble sleeping and so I came for a walk.”
“Is that so? How curious,” he murmured, mouth curling in wry amusement.
“Indeed. Allow me to introduce my duenna and former nurse, Mrs Catherine Wakefield.” There was a very pointed note in her voice, which the marquis chose to ignore, while he took in the pinched, disapproving expression on the older woman’s face.
“How do you do, Mrs Wakefield?” he asked, eyes sparkling mischievously.
“I am well, thank you, my lord.” Kitty’s voice held a very distinct chill, but Chestleon ignored that as well, his appreciative eyes returning to Araminta, and lingering in a way that made her squirm.
“Now then, my dear Miss Barrington, I do seem to recall a promise made while we danced last night, that you should take a turn with me in my phaeton. Since we happened to meet so fortuitously, now seems as good a time as any.”
Araminta was about to deny any knowledge of making such a promise, angry that he would dare use the same trick twice, when his exact words came to her attention. Last night while we danced , he had said. She had a very clear memory of their conversation during the dance — the implied blackmail, the way his eyes had lingered over her form. It had replayed endlessly in her mind while she lay in bed, unable to snatch a moment’s sleep. Was this it, she wondered bleakly to herself, was this the moment he asked the price of his silence? And how would his request reflect on her?
“Very well, my lord. I will take a turn in the phaeton with you. But only a very short one. It would not do, otherwise. Sir Timothy would not approve, you know.”
Chestleton chuckled lazily in a way that made her give him an offended glare. “I am sure that he would not, Miss Barrington. But has he any grounds to disapprove?”
He was mocking her, she realised, and chose to ignore that remark. “Kitty will, of course, accompany us,” she coldly informed the handsome nobleman. Jasper shot the former nurse a look before shrugging and motioning for his groom to descend and help the ladies up onto the vehicle. The groom handed Araminta up first, who carefully adjusted her skirts on the seat next to the Marquis, hoping that no one would see her in a phaeton with such a disreputable man. The groom had just turned to help Kitty up, when the Marquis snapped the reins held in his gloved hands and the horses shot off.
Jasper Devereaux had excellent taste in horses, and this pair had been a particularly fine purchase. They were strong and built for speed, as highly sensitive to his whims as well-bred race horses. Araminta Barrington learned of their speed first hand as she gave a yelp of surprise. The unexpected burst of speed had torn the parasol clean out of her hand, and she turned, horrified, to watch it fall to the paving stones behind her, meeting Kitty’s equally surprised and horrified eyes.
Araminta clutched onto her seat as the carriage flew down the path, while Lord Chestleton sat next to her, in complete control and obviously enjoying himself.
“Lord Chestleton, what are you doing? Stop this carriage this instant!” She demanded, her voice coloured in equal parts with fear and outrage. “Stop! Before someone sees us, or you turn us over and kill us.”
“Nonsense. I am in perfect control, my dear. And I can hardly have been expected to enjoy my time in your company with your harridan of a duenna looking over my shoulder, could I?”
“I demand that you stop this vehicle and let me off! How dare you take such liberties. This is
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