Page 62 of Thief of the Ton
She withdrew her hand.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I should not have asked about your pony.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. What’s done is done. Father was…”
He broke off, unwilling to speak further, lest he reveal his father’s identity. The last thing he wished to see was the bitter hatred return to her eyes—not when the compassion that he saw in them now swelled his heart.
“Is your father dead?”
“He’s very much alive. But he lives abroad. We don’t get on.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I cannot imagine not loving a parent. My papa is everything to me. I only wish he could have come to London.”
“But his health prevented it.”
She nodded. “Each day with him is a gift. I was unwilling to leave him, but he told me it was his greatest wish for me to have a Season in London—and I’d do anything to make him happy again.”
The vehemence in her tone, and the love in her eyes, tore at his heart. What might it have been like to have enjoyed such a bond with his own father—to have loved him so deeply that he’d do anything to make him happy?
But he could never love that bitter old bastard.
“I should be getting back,” she said. “Aunt will be wondering where I am.”
“May I walk with you?”
She laughed. “I doubt your companion would be agreeable to that. He looks restless. You should finish your ride.”
He glanced toward Poseidon. The horse tossed his head up and down, shifting on the ground with pent-up energy. Even though Peregrine had ridden him all the way over to Hythe Manor, the horse had yet to tire, and needed a good, long gallop.
“Will you be safe on your own, Miss de Grande?”
She let out a laugh. “I was on my own when you came upon me, Lord Marlow. I have no need of a man to take care of me.” She offered her hand. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
He took it, curling his fingers round hers. “Perhaps you’d favor me with a dance after supper.”
Her eyes crinkled into a smile. “I’d like that.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, then released her. Then he mounted Poseidon and set off. He turned to see her following along the path. She waved, and he raised his hand in salute. Then he urged Poseidon forward and emerged from the forest into a wide-open field.
Had he remained in that forest with her a moment longer, he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her into oblivion. The urge to claim her had almost overpowered him, but he would find some release in the ride.
He pushed Poseidon into a gallop. As he approached the edge of the field, he leaned forward and steered the animal toward the hedge lining the field. In a smooth, graceful movement, the horse leaped into the air and sailed over the hedge. Peregrine leaned back as Poseidon landed on the other side then raced across the landscape, relishing the freedom that could only be experienced when away from the rest of the world—at one, with his horse.
By the time he arrived at the stables, Poseidon had lost his restlessness. Peregrine dismounted and led the horse toward a stall. A groom came running and took the reins.
“That’s a fine animal you have there, sir.”
Peregrine nodded his thanks, then approached the main house. He spotted a familiar, tall figure running across the lawn—the muslin of her gown clinging to her form, doing nothing to conceal the shape of her legs.
Miss de Grande.
A free spirit who followed her own path—a young woman who would shepherd a little snake to sanctuary with no thought for her safety. She was the embodiment of love—a loyal soul who placed the happiness of another before her own indulgences. She cared nothing for Society and its rules.
She was his perfect match.
Chapter Nineteen
Lavinia made herway to the edge of the drawing room and sipped her coffee. Why did the sound of ladies talking make her ears feel as if they were being turned inside out? She’d almost rather visit Dr. Williams to have a rotten tooth pulled. No—shewouldrather have a tooth pulled, where the brief spike of pain would at least be followed by blessed relief. When ladies gathered to gossip, there was no relief to be had—the torture was perpetual.
