Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)

“You must fear for your eternity, my lord,” she said, taking a tentative step toward him. “For you will surely suffer the consequences of spiriting a widow away from her father’s home.”

“Madam, I am more than prepared to suffer the fiery pits of hell for it,” he said cheerfully and popped open his umbrella as he carelessly pulled her into the rain.

Chapter Eight

They ran across the manicured lawn beneath their umbrellas, Kate’s bonnet dangling from her hand, through the mews that ran along the side of the vicar’s house and out to the main street.

At the gate, Montgomery stopped and stood on tiptoe to peer out through the ornate wood carvings that adorned the top of the fence. “Perfect,” he said low. “There’s no one about

in this wretched weather.” He grabbed the gate handle, pulled it open, then took Kate’s free hand securely in his and pulled her along behind him, through the gate, and to the left, striding purposefully down the walkway, Kate running to keep up.

She felt as if she were eloping, running off to something spectacularly secret.

At the corner of the street, there was a large black landau coach, fully closed, with a gold crest painted on the side, attached to a team of four grays. Two men were perched atop the driver’s seat, their hats pulled low over their heads and the collars of their greatcoats turned up around their ears.

Upon seeing the viscount, one of them hopped down and quickly put down a small footstool before the coach door.

He pulled open the door as they reached the coach. “Milord,” he said, bobbing his head.

“Thank you, Percy.” Montgomery held his umbrella high over Kate, took hers, and handed it to the man before helping her into the interior of the coach.

Kate gasped as she settled onto the velvet bench; the interior walls were covered with red silk; the two opposing benches were covered in bloodred rose petals that filled the coach with a heavenly scent.

Montgomery came in behind her, landing directly across from her on the dark velvet squabs, his knees almost touching Kate’s, beaming proudly as the door swung shut behind him. “What do you think? Is it to your liking?”

“It’s lovely,” she said. “Breathtaking. I shudder to think how many innocent roses met their demise here.”

He laughed, tapped the ceiling, and the coach lurched forward.

“Was it some sort of accident?” Kate asked, looking at them scattered on the floor, on the bench, and sticking to his wet boots and her wet hem.

“Ach, have I failed so miserably? I rather hoped you’d find the look and scent of them appealing.”

“Oh, of course I do,” she said laughingly. “But it’s a pity that they’ll lie inside your coach while we . . . while we are elsewhere? Or do you intend to picnic in the coach?”

“There are plenty of roses in England. A veritable army of them, actually,” he said with a wink, and leaned over, withdrew a small flagon of wine from beneath the bench and then a small glass. And another. “It seems as if my genius is not yet apparent to you.”

“On the contrary—a picnic in a coach is quite imaginative. Some might even be moved to call it genius.”

He grinned, obviously pleased by that. “Imaginative, perhaps, but a bit close, wouldn’t you agree? No, the picnic is somewhere else entirely,” he said as he poured a small amount of wine into a glass and handed it to her. “We shall be leisure in the course to our destination, where you will dine on roasted hen, tender leeks, and sweet pudding.”

“How lovely,” Kate murmured and sipped her wine, felt a warm glow from it and the knowledge that the handsome man sitting across from her had gone to so much trouble on the slim chance that she might agree to his insanity.

It was beyond her ability to comprehend, really. A wealthy viscount, a vicar’s widow . . . it was scarcely the sort of affair that the Morning Times alluded to among the ton. Men of Montgomery’s stature attracted any number of women—in fact, she’d read such speculation about him on more than one occasion. But he had been steadfast in his pursuit of her, and at the moment, she hardly cared of his motives. The butterflies he always seemed to put in her belly had somehow expanded into an entire aviary of wings beating away inside her, making her feel giddy with wild excitement.

It felt as if she had scarcely sipped her wine when the coach came to a halt. She detected the pungent scent of fish and heard the voices of several men.

“Where are we?” she asked.

Montgomery smiled enigmatically. “At the river’s edge,” he said as the door swung open. “We’re to take a short journey upstream,” he added and disappeared through the open door, then extended his hand to help her down.

Kate didn’t know precisely where on the Thames they had come to. They hurried across a rain-slicked dock to a waiting barge. In the middle of the barge was a large, box-shaped enclosure. Three boatmen were on board, two with oars in hand, and another at the rudder. A fourth waited patiently on the dock, next to a thick rope that anchored the barge to the dock.

“Mind your step,” Montgomery warned her and hopped onto the barge, then caught her by the waist, lifted her off the dock, and swung her down onto the barge. With a boyish smile, he grabbed her hand, pulled her into the boxed enclosure.

She made a sound of surprise as she ducked and entered the enclosure. The small area was furnished with thick brocade pillows. The walls were velvet, and two tiny port-holes graced each side. There were candles in the sconces, a basket at the opening, and rose petals everywhere. Everywhere. They covered the cushions, the blankets, the baskets.

Kate was so awed by the sight of it that she scarcely noticed Montgomery was helping her in, seating her on a pile of cushions next to the porthole. He covered her with a blanket, then took his place next to her. From their vantage point, they had a view of the river as they headed upstream.