Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

Isobel hesitated, following Thayer’s progress until he exited the room. “You’ve never explained to me why the two of you ceased to be friends,” she finally said.

“That’s none of your concern,” Alec answered, a little more sharply than he intended.

She slanted a quizzical look at him, but didn’t press the matter. “You may dislike dancing, but I know you are not adverse to enjoying the romantic and picturesque splendors of Nature. Lord Andover has proposed having a picnic in Spring Gardens tomorrow, which is reached by taking a boat across the River Avon—”

“I can’t,” interrupted Alec.

“Oh, you are not allowed to say no,” announced Isobel airily. “It will be a lovely outing, and Andover is already asking Caro as we speak. We need you to make up the correct numbers.”

“We aren’t sitting down to a formal supper,” he said softly. “Besides, my absence won’t be a disappointment to her,”

“But it will be to me,” she said. “I’ve seen so little of you since you arrived here. Please say you will come.”

He was about to refuse again when the recollection of rough hands reaching out to seize her suddenly leapt to mind.

His heart skipped a beat, as if a steel fist had caught hold of it for an instant and given a warning squeeze.

“Very well,” he muttered.

“Thank you.” Fluffing her skirts, Isobel made to take her leave. “Don’t look so glum. Chances are you might actually enjoy the outing.”

As she shifted the picnic hamper on the slatted seat, a sudden gust caught Caro’s bonnet strings and swirled them into a flapping tangle of azure-colored silk.

“Mmmph!” A laugh cleared the tail end of ribbon from her mouth. “Andy, this outing was an absolutely splendid idea,” she announced, tilting her cheeks up to the sun. “Crossing the river feels like an adventure.”

The ferryman’s boat bobbed through the rippling currents. Gold-flecked sparks skimmed over the water, their flashes warming the Pulteney Bridge to the color of melted butter.

“What a lovely view,” exclaimed Isobel, clamping a hand on her hat to keep it from blowing off. “Why, it looks even more charming from this perspective.

“It was modeled after the famous Ponte Vecchio in Florence,” explained Alec.

“I should like to travel some day,” mused Caro. “To Florence, to Rome, to Venice, and beyond.” Her sigh was quickly swallowed by the breeze. “Such historic places are so rich in history and fascinating sights that they can’t help but be inspiring.”

“Many a great sonnet has been penned about those fabled cities,” said Alec softly.

Was he teasing her? A sidelong glance told her nothing. All she could see was the dark silhouette of his profile backlit by the bright blue sky.

“I can well imagine that,” she responded, deciding to answer from the heart. “How could a poet not be moved by thinking of all the experiences the city’s stones have witnessed?”

“Oh, I daresay there are poems written about Bath,” said Andover cheerfully. “Though I can’t seem to recall any.”

Isobel giggled.

“Obviously they weren’t very memorable,” murmured Caro.

“No matter. This outing is something I shall not soon forget,” said Isobel. “A glorious day, good friends, and the company of my dear brother, whom I see so rarely when I am at home

.”

“You forgot to mention the fresh strawberry tart and clotted cream,” pointed out Andover.

“That’s because if our cook keeps feeding me such rich treats, I shall soon be plump as a Strasbourg goose.”

“You’re still naught but skin and bones,” growled Alec.

His sister shot him a reproving look. “There is no need to dwell on my illness, Alec. The danger has passed.”

His expression might be unreadable, but now that she had decided to have a closer look at the recent havey-cavey events, Caro had every intention of quizzing him on what more he had learned about the attack as soon as she could get him alone.