Page 34 of Almost A Scoundrel
This was certainly not the way Phaedra had anticipated their first public drive through Hyde Park to go. She leaned back against his broad chest. Neither did she care to complain, because suddenly, the nightmare seemed to disappear and, in its place, settled another sort of thrill.
Phaedra could get used to being rescued by earls who had strong arms and smelled like tobacco and coffee.
They raced across the streets of London, Deerhurst guiding them through alleyways and paths Phaedra did not recognize until no more buildings appeared familiar to her.
She had thought Deerhurst would take her home, but he hadn’t, and she could no longer hear the pursuit of horses galloping behind them.
“Where, exactly, are we going?”
The earl had been tight-lipped during their escape, and Phaedra hadn’t questioned him for fear that she might pull his concentration from their mad dash through town.
Now, curiosity bloomed. Phaedra was not sure whether that delighted her or made her unsettled. But she did feel something to the effect of fluttering in her chest.
She cast Deerhurst a sidelong glance.
Awareness pricked at the tips of her fingers. He appeared ever the posh gentleman. Yet there was a wildness to him. It was not a quality one noticed straightaway. It came slowly, beckoning to anyone who paid any notice.
They came to a stop before a decrepit old building.
Phaedra knitted her brows. “Why have we stopped?”
“We can find shelter here for the moment.”
Shelter? Here?
She glanced at the building again. They’d ventured into a seedy part of London, not a neighborhood any lady wished to find herself in.
“Could we not find shelter at home?”
His gaze turned to her, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Are you worried for your safety, Lady Phaedra?”
“Of course not,” Phaedra hedged. “I’m more worried for yours, Deerhurst. Look at you; you’re dressed like the lord you are. I, at least, donned a simple day dress.” Pink, but simple. She wished she’d brought a cloak.
He chuckled. “A potato sack couldn’t hide your beauty, my lady.”
“I should be flattered.” Phaedra eyed the scoundrel. “Yet, I’m not.”
“Are you so used to flattery that a compliment has no meaning anymore?”
Phaedra snorted.
But he wasn’t wrong. Phaedra distrusted flowery words more than she distrusted the men who uttered them. Flattery could seduce; those wretched rapscallions could not.
“I see that I’m right,” Deerhurst said, this thumb tracing her cheeks. “Am I not allowed to compliment the lady I am courting?”
“Fakecourting.”
“A fake compliment, then.”
Phaedra narrowed her eyes. “You were right, Deerhurst. You are no knight.”
A roguish smile stretched across his lips. “Then you thought of me as a gentleman before? Didn’t you label me a scoundrel?”
Lud, the man was incorrigible.
Phaedra huffed. “I have not quite decided what to think of you,” she lied, and to divert his attention from his question because she liked him more than she ought, she said, “Are we going to stand out here all day or are we going to seek shelter?”
“Do not sound so skeptical,” Deerhurst said with a smile. “We are safe here.”
