Page 55 of Doxy for the Ton
There seemed little point in maintaining the charade, given that Wheeler understood their circumstances, but Alexander found himself compelled to step forward and hold out his hand, as if she were a sought-after debutante and he the gallant suitor.
“Lady Rex,” he said, “I’m come to escort you for a promenade about the park, if you’d be so kind as to oblige me?”
Mimi took his hand, and smiled as he lifted hers to his lips.
She played her part well, with not even the slightest glimmer of irony in her eyes. He only saw pleasure and anticipation. She was either extremely accomplished at playing the part, or…
Or the life of a lady came naturally to her.
But now was not the time to ask about her birth, or her history—not when she had gifted him with that beautiful smile.
“Thank you,” she said. “I should like that.”
“You look beautiful,” he said. “If all your new gowns are as pretty, then I consider it money well spent.”
Her smile disappeared.
Shit.
She withdrew her hand and retreated into the hallway. “Shall we go?” she asked. “I’m sure you’re as anxious to achieve your objective as I am to achieve mine.”
He followed her outside and glanced at Wheeler in time to see him shake his head, as if disappointed.
Well, Alexander would be damned if a servant looked down on him.
“The door, if you please, Wheeler,” he said.
The butler rolled his eyes, then opened the front door. Alexander held out his arm and Mimi took it, curling her gloved hand about his sleeve. Then he escorted her outside, and they set off toward Hyde Park.
Silence thickened in the air, punctuated by their footsteps and the distant clip-clop of hooves and the rattle of wheels as carriages rolled along the streets, conveying their occupants to luncheons and tea parties. Alexander cast a sidelong glance at his companion, but she maintained her gaze on the road ahead, her expression impassive.
Why did she not speak? In his experience, the most difficult challenge for a man was getting a woman toceasetalking. Women always wanted to fill any moment of quiet with inane chatter, as if the more they said, the more interesting they became, when in reality the reverse was true. Doxies filled the void with their demands for payment and inquiries about what else they could do to please their customers—for a coin, of course. Wives were worse. Even after securing a man’s hand, their demands increased, as if they sought to own him. That was why most men spent each day getting foxed at White’s—to numb the pain that the incessant demands of women inflicted on their ears.
“The weather’s very fine today,” he said, breaking the silence. “London’s often warmer than the country this time of year.”
Other than arch an eyebrow, she didn’t respond, keeping her gaze straight ahead.
Bugger. Where had her smile gone?
“I meant no disrespect earlier,” he said, “when I said your gown was money well spent. I may only be a man”—she let out a snort—“but I can appreciate a fine gown.”
Before she could respond, a voice hailed them.
“I say! I thought it was you.”
A couple arm in arm approached the entrance to the park. The man—tall, with blond hair and the broad-shouldered, athletic build that appealed to women, whores, and ladies alike—raised a hand in salute.
The very same hand that had planted a shiner on Alexander’s face.
The man’s companion was unlike the women he usually preferred—in that she lacked the usual look of slavish adoration on her face.
“Foxton,” Alexander said, “what are you doing about at this hour? I thought you’d be in White’s by now on your fifth brandy.”
“Whereas you’re unlikely to darken the doors of White’s again,” came the reply.
“Why might that be, Adam?” the woman on Foxton’s arm asked.
Adam?Since when had Foxton permitted his admirers to address him with such familiarity?
