Page 58 of Doxy for the Ton
A boy, barely out of leading strings, ran past them, toward a man and a woman. The man swooped down and lifted him up into the air.
“Come to Papa!” he cried, as the child dissolved into giggles, then they continued along the path, a nursemaid trotting after them.
Mimi followed them with her gaze, a smile on her lips. She glanced back at Alexander, and his heart soared as her smile broadened, illuminating her beautiful eyes.
Then she released his arm. “Eleanor!” she cried.
Her smile had been for another.
Alexander turned to see Whitcombe and his wife. The duchess approached Mimi, hands outstretched.
“How delightful,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve found the opportunity to explore the park at last.”
Jealousy flared as the women embraced, which intensified as Alexander caught sight of Whitcombe staring at Mimi with frank appraisal.
No you don’t, Whitcombe. She’smine.
Alexander approached Mimi, and she stiffened as he placed a hand on her shoulder.
Whitcombe glanced at Alexander’s hand and arched a dark brow, as if in amusement. Then the corner of his mouth creased into the precursor of a smile.
Or perhaps a sneer. With Whitcombe, one could never tell.
“Lady Rex, I presume,” he said, his voice sounding deeper than usual.
Mimi nodded, and her lips parted as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. A soft bloom colored her cheeks, and the beast within Alexander’s soul let out a low growl.
Mine.
“You must be the Duke of Whitcombe,” she said. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.”
“Oh, I doubtthat,” Whitcombe said, the crease in his mouth deepening.
“You think me insincere?” she asked.
“Not at all, Lady Rex,” Whitcombe said, glancing once more at Alexander. “It was notyourpleasure—or lack thereof—to which I referred.”
Alexander removed his hand from Mimi’s shoulder and placed it on the small of her back. Whitcombe recognized the gesture for what it was—a male beast laying claim to a female before his rival—and the crease in his mouth dipped into a full-blown smile. In response, he took his wife’s arm and drew her close.
Whitcombe represented no threat—his devotion to his wife was legendary at White’s. But no matter how much he held the duchess close, Alexander couldn’t quieten the beast in his soul.
Mine.
“Did you say something, old chap?” Whitcombe asked.
“Montague,” his wife admonished him, and Whitcombe chuckled.
“Forgive me, Sawbridge,” he said. “You can’t blame a fellow for being intrigued by your new…companion.” He glanced at Mimi again and inclined his head. “I’ve been anxious to meet the woman who’s made such an impression on my wife after such a short acquaintance. Eleanor is usually so discerning with her friendships.”
Mimi’s blush deepened, and Alexander curled his free hand into a fist. “Whitcombe, you’ve no right to—”
“Forgive my husband,” the duchess interrupted, casting a frown at Whitcombe. “I may be discerning in my choice of friends, but it seems not so much in my choice of husband. Montague, you of all people should understand the difference between discernment and prejudice.”
She offered her arm to Mimi. “Shall we walk, Lady Rex? I’m in need of intelligent conversation—and I’m anxious to show you some of my favorite spots in the park.”
Mimi glanced toward Alexander, as if asking permission, and he nodded. Then she took the duchess’s arm and the two of them strolled ahead. With a sigh, Alexander followed, Whitcombe at his side. As they approached the bend in the path, Alexander’s gaze fell to the grass verge. It still bore the deep furrows—evidence of the accident that had claimed two lives. The path no longer bore the thick bloodstain, but the mark of shame still existed, carved indelibly into Alexander’s soul.
“I suppose I should apologize,” Whitcombe said.
