Then her own eyes widened at his appearance. Most men did what she wished of them, but surprisingly, he had followed her every dictate, and his sartorial elegance surpassed all her expectations.
His curling black mane had been marginally tamed by a shorter cut. His exquisitely tailored green coat, buff breeches, and shiny Hessian boots molded his tall, athletic form to perfection. And a pristine white cravat set off his bronzed features.
The combined effect turned Deverill into a rugged Adonis who made her pulse race.
“Do I pass muster?” he asked, seeing her scrutiny.
Though silently admiring his splendor, Kate flashed a vague smile and answered dispassionately, “You do look more civilized. Doubtless you will make the society mamas swoon.”
Amusement tugged at his mouth. “I am more interested in making their daughters swoon.”
An easy task if my response is any indication.
Kate banished the wayward thought. It vexed her that Deverill could still make her want him without even trying, especially when she’d vowed to remain immune to his irresistible allure.
He, however, was scrutinizing her in return. She had bound her tresses into a chignon and donned a jaunty, plumed, military-style hat. His approving gaze swept over her forest-green riding habit, then returned to her face. “That color complements your eyes.”
Ignoring the feminine thrill of his masculine praise, Kate murmured a polite thank-you, then gathered her gloves and put them on as she led the way outside, where their mounts awaited.
“Your chaperone won’t be joining us?” Deverill asked.
“Nell doesn’t enjoy riding. I have a dependable groom who regularly accompanies me on my morning rides.”
“Are you permitted to be alone with me?”
Her mouth curved at his taunt. “We will hardly be alone in a public park with my groom following behind. Besides, it is a shrewd tactic for me to take you riding and show you off. We want to incite curiosity and interest and tantalize prospective candidates. This morning I will present you to only a few people, but I’ve already put out word with the busiest gossips that you are looking for a bride. That by itself will garner you immediate attention wherever you go.”
Her groom stood in the drive, holding the reins of her flashy chestnut mare and his own sturdy cob, while a footman held a strapping gray for Deverill. Deverill helped Kate mount her sidesaddle, and when he had swung up on his own horse, she led the way from Grosvenor Square, through the elegant streets of Mayfair to Hyde Park, with her servant trailing respectfully behind, far enough for their conversation to remain private.
“This is more satisfying than convening in your drawing room,” Deverill observed. “I hoped to see you without your watchdog hounding my every action.”
“Nell would make a poor watchdog since she has no teeth,” Kate said, smiling, before steering the topic to a safer one. “How did you find the Valmere estate?”
Deverill looked thoughtful. “It was in better shape than I expected.”
“I must commend you. Ash spoke highly of how you are meeting the obligations that come with noble privilege.”
“I am happy for his guidance.”
“I shall have him attend your formal debut. His friendship and patronage can only help you become accepted.”
“It already has,” Deverill said. “I was welcomed more graciously than I anticipated. Lady Melford and her daughters didn’t seem overly distressed that the title and lands have changed hands and left them financially at my mercy.”
“Because they were raised to believe that the laws of primogeniture are the natural order of things—and because, according to Ash, you provided them with an extremely generous settlement. I know Barbara Melford but have yet to meet her two daughters. Harriet and Mary are too young to be out in society yet.”
“Lady Melford agrees that it is fitting for a man of my age and circumstances to settle down.” Deverill glanced over at Kate, as if judging her response. “Now that I’ve dealt with my first priorities, I can turn to providing a mistress for the estate.”
Kate was not happy to be reminded of Deverill’s desire to marry someone else, or that her emotions were such a confusing mess of contradiction. She ought to be pleased by this proof that he was serious about conquering the British upper class
.
She shook off her ridiculous pang of jealousy. “I have identified seven possible candidates. Two I would categorize as ‘obedient’ in nature. Two more are fairly ‘docile.’ But you should beware of getting what you wish for. I doubt you truly want a meek wife. You would be bored witless.”
“Perhaps.”
“I think compatibility is vitally important when making a match,” she began, then caught herself. “But, of course, the decision will be yours.”
“You are all consideration, allowing me to choose my own bride,” Deverill said dryly.