Page 60 of Thief of the Ton
“He’d only bite if a clumsy oaf trod on him by mistake,” she replied, “which is whyyoushould stay back.”
“Are you calling me a clumsy oaf, Miss de Grande?”
A ripple of mirth bubbled inside his throat at the expression of horror in her eyes.
Then she resumed her attention on the ground, and a smile curved her lips.
“He’s moving!” she cried. “There you go, little chap. I suggest you remain concealed in the bracken.” She dropped the stick and wiped her hands.
“Why bother with the creature?” Peregrine asked. “Most people would either run from a snake, or try to kill it.”
“Allcreatures deserve a chance,” she replied, “and the misunderstood doubly so.”
“How so?”
“Because they must fight harder to survive.” She gestured toward the bracken. “I was merely giving one of my fellow misfits a helping hand, to protect him from those who might misunderstand him merely for what he is.”
His heart ached at her meaning. Did she consider herself an outcast because of her father’s ruination?
“Your slithery friend is most fortunate to have you as his champion,” he said.
“Are you mocking me, Lord Marlow?”
“Not at all,” he replied. “And you needn’t fear for your friend’s safety. There are surprisingly few oafs in this part of the estate. Present company excepted, of course. Our host said something about rain clouds, and the whole party elected to remain indoors.”
“I’drather be outdoors than stuck inside listening to tittle-tattle,” she said, “even if under the threat of rain.”
“I’m sure your aunt, and the other ladies, would object to their conversation being referred to astittle-tattle.”
“I daresay they would—as would the gentlemen who tittle-tattle just as much.” Smiling, she took one last glance at the undergrowth, then approached Peregrine, her hand outstretched. He drew in a sharp breath in anticipation of her touch.
But she passed him and approached his horse.
“Be careful,” he said. “Poseidon doesn’t take to strangers.”
“Poseidon?” She arched an eyebrow. “God of the sea, and tamer of horses.”
“Youknowthat?”
Her smile slipped, and she resumed her attention on the horse. Peregrine tensed his body, but rather than rear up, Poseidon dipped his head and let out a low snort. She placed her hand on the horse’s forehead and caressed his nose.
“There’s a beautiful boy!” she cooed. “Youwouldn’t reel in shock at the notion of my having read the classics, would you?”
“Forgive me,” Peregrine said. “It’s just that a young lady is not—”
“Let me guess,” she interrupted. “A young lady is not usually educated in anything other than embroidery, drawing room gossip, and the ability to glide across the floor with her nose stuck in the air to portray her superiority.”
“I meant no offense,” he said.
She met his gaze, mischief gleaming in her eyes.
“You spoke the truth, Lord Marlow,” she said. “And the truth will always be preferred to flattery. I’m afraid I’ve been a disappointment to my poor aunt. While she did her utmost to school me in the manners of a lady, I preferred other pursuits.”
“You seem to have a way with horses,” Peregrine said. “Do you ride?”
She nodded. “Our horse Samson is an excellent mount. I ride him every day at home.” She let out a sigh. “How I miss him!”
“Isn’t he with you in London?”
