Lily ignored the dog. “Then why worry about a chaperone at all? My reputation is not exactly gilded.”
Because she was every man’s dream. And a chaperone was essential. Not just a doddering old lady with poor eyesight and worse hearing. She needed a chaperone who both understood the critical, time-sensitive nature of the situation and was able to—should it be necessary—drop a man into unconsciousness if he were too forward.
There weren’t many pugilist chaperones to be had in London on short notice, Alec imagined.
But there was an ideal solution. One he had devised in the dead of night, as he forced himself to think of her as ward and not woman. He was rather proud of his success. “I’m not worried.”
She stopped, looking at him with utter disbelief. “You’re not.”
“Not in the slightest.” He rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have the ideal chaperone for you.”
That auburn brow rose again, threatening to lose itself in her hair. “And who is that?”
He smiled. He had her now. “Me.”
She laughed, the sound light and lovely and temptation incarnate. “Honestly.”
“I am being quite honest.”
Her brow furrowed, and he resisted the urge to soothe the twin wrinkles above her nose. “You are no kind of chaperone.”
“Nonsense. I’m the best possible chaperone.” He paused, ticking off the reasons on his fingers. “I have a vested interest in your finding a successful match so I can leave London and never return—”
“Something you could do this moment if you’d simply give me the funds to leave.”
He ignored the statement and continued. “I am predisposed to loathe all Englishmen, so I will be on my guard more than some aging spinster.”
She raised a brow. “You are old and unmarried as well, Your Grace. I would have a care with whom you call an aging spinster.”
He ignored the taunt. “And, as a man, I am more than able to predict any compromising situations.”
Lily pursed her lips and was silent for a long minute—long enough for Alec to conclude that he had won her over to his argument, particularly when she nodded. “It sounds as though you’ve planned the whole thing quite perfectly.”
“I have, rather.”
He’d risen early to do so, committed to getting Lily married soonest. He intended to sign her dowry papers the moment she selected a suitor, and return to Scotland.
And forget about her.
“There is only one problem with your plan.”
“What is that?” There was no problem with the plan. He’d considered the plan from all angles.
“It has to do with compromising situations.”
He did not like the phrase on her lips. Or, perhaps he liked the phrase too much on her lips.
Irrelevant.
There was no problem with the plan.
“You see, Your Grace, since you arrived in London, I’ve found myself in precisely one compromising situation.” She stood straight and leveled him with a cool, grey gaze. “Last night. With you.”
It seemed there was a problem with the plan.
Chapter 12
ONE DUKE’S LOSS IS ANOTHER EARL’S GAIN
When she exited Dog House the next afternoon, dressed for a walk in Hyde Park with a gentleman she did not know, Lily was expecting a simple vehicle. Black. Possibly emblazoned with some kind of canine crest, considering her current residence. What she found, however, was a curricle beyond any conveyance Lily had ever seen.
It was not the sleek two-seated gig that young men rode proudly throughout London. Nor was it the elaborate gilded curricle in which ladies spent their Hyde Park afternoons.
It was unparalleled, and not only because Angus and Hardy sat at the center of the seating block like perfect little canine guards. Enormous and high seated, with great black wheels that reached nearly to her shoulder, the entire vehicle gleamed, pristine in the sunlight, even the wheels—which seemed to have somehow avoided the grime of the city’s cobblestone streets.
As if the vehicle and the dogs weren’t enough, the horses were remarkable. So black they shone nearly blue in the sun, and perfectly matched—precisely the same height, the same width. They took her breath away.
And all that before the driver appeared, coming around the side of the vehicle, tall and broad and tartan-clad, looking at once exceedingly wealthy and utterly wild with his bronzed legs and his wide shoulders and his eyes that seemed to see everything and his lips . . .
No. No lips.
She was not thinking of lips today.
Certainly not lips belonging to the Duke of Warnick.
She lifted her chin in the direction of the curricle as she descended the steps to Dog House. “This is beautiful.”
He grinned, turning to admire the curricle. “ ’Tis, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t help but match his smile with a shake of her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“That’s because there isn’t anything like it,” he said. “It’s custom made.”
Her brow furrowed. “You’ve a custom curricle? Whatever for? Do you spend a great deal of time driving about the Scottish countryside, eager to be seen?”
He laughed at the question, the sound warm like the unseasonable day. “It’s built for racing. Very light, perfectly balanced, fast as a bullet. It’s virtually unbeatable.”
She did not care for the image of him careening down a road at high speeds, putting himself in danger, but she ignored the concern. It wasn’t as though he were hers to worry about, after all. “Designed by you?”
“By Eversley, as a matter of fact.”
Confusion came once more. “So it belongs to the marquess.”
“Nae. He traded it to me.”
“For what?” She couldn’t imagine what a comparable item might have been.
“For a used saddle.”
Her mouth fell open. “Why would he do that?”
He smirked, rocking back on his heels. “Because the idiot man fell in love.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, but I was not about to turn the offer down.” He extended a hand to her. “Shall we go?”
She did not hesitate, letting him hand her up onto the seat—higher than any curricle seat in which she’d ever sat—to take her place next to Hardy, who immediately set his face in her lap for scratching. Lily was happy to oblige.
Alec pulled himself up to sit next to Angus. “You’re going to ruin my dog with sausage and adoration.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “It’s not as though I’m dressing him in jeweled crowns.”
He smiled at the jest, so quickly she wouldn’t have seen it if she hadn’t been looking. But she was. He had a beautiful smile. Not that she was noticing for any specific reason. It was simple fact. Like the sky being blue, or dogs having tails.
She was distracted from her line of dunderheaded thought when the vehicle began to move in the calmest ride she’d ever had, the box barely shifting with the motion of the wheels.
It was a glorious curricle. “I should like one of these.”
“I shall buy you one. As a wedding gift.”
Always with his mind on the goal—to get her married—to make her another’s problem. “If it is a wedding gift, it will not be mine. I’d rather it were a—”
He cut her a look. “A what?”
She shook her head. “I was going to say that I’d rather it was a birthday gift.”
“And your money is not enough?” he said, dryly.
“My money is my due. A gift, though, I have always thought one would be nice.”
“Always thought?” He looked to her. “You’ve never received a birthday gift?”