Hero, Come Back (Cynster 9.50)

A pleasant voice said, “Good afternoon, Miss Ashford. Elderby.”

She turned as Reggie Carmarthen joined them, nodding urbanely to Elderby. With his customary lazy, good-humored grace, Reggie reached for her hand; she’d given it to him before she’d thought. He met her eyes with an easy smile, shook her hand, but didn’t release it. Calmly he set it on his sleeve, as if he were her cavalier and she’d been waiting for him to join her.

“Odd place to stroll, although it is quiet, I grant you. Thought I saw your mama’s carriage—we should head back before she gets impatient.”

That was a lie; she hadn’t come with her mother. Reggie smiled innocuously at Elderby; he couldn’t see Benjy, on her other side, screened by her wide skirts.

Elderby threw her a dark yet uncertain look, then bowed stiffly. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Ashford.” He hesitated, then added, “I’ll be in touch in due course.”

It was, realistically, the best she could hope for; suppressing her mental curses at Reggie’s interruption, she inclined her head. “Indeed, my lord. We’ll look forward to hearing from you shortly.”

With a last glance at Benjy, Elderby nodded curtly to Reggie, set his hat on his head, and strode away.

Reggie watched Elderby go, then let his expression of amiable idiocy fade. He turned to Anne. “What the devil was that about?”

The look she threw him was complex; she was irritated with him for interrupting, but there was stubbornness and a certain assessment in her gaze. She hesitated, then drew the young lad who’d been standing on her other side forward. “Allow me to present Benjamin. Benjy, this is Mr. Carmarthen.”

The boy glanced at her, then at him, then bowed, a trifle awkwardly. “Good afternoon, sir.”

Reggie blinked. Anne had not supplied the boy’s surname—hardly necessary. The striking features borne by all male Caverlocks, currently numbering the old Duke of Portsmouth, his heir, Hugh, Marquess of Elderby, and his second son Lord Thomas Caverlock, a peer of Reggie’s, looked up at him as the boy straightened.

He held out his hand, and solemnly shook Benjamin’s. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

What the hell was going on?

Releasing Benjamin, Reggie looked at Anne. He’d recognized her soft voice, and all notion of politely retreating had vanished. Anne was Amelia’s sister-in-law, Luc Ashford’s second sister, known to all family and close friends as highly nervous in crowds.

They hadn’t met for some years; he suspected she avoided tonnish gatherings. Rapid calculation revealed she must be twenty-six. She seemed… perhaps an inch taller, more assured, more definite, certainly more striking than he recalled, but then she wasn’t shrinking against any wall at the moment. She was elegantly turned out in a dark green walking dress. Her expression was open, decided, her face framed by lustrous brown hair caught up in a topknot, then allowed to cascade about her head in lush waves. Her eyes were light brown, the color of caramel, large and set under delicately arched brows. Her lips were blush rose, sensuously curved, decidedly vulnerable.

Intensely feminine.

As were the curves of breast and waist revealed by the tightly fitting bodice…

Jerking his mind from the unexpected track, he frowned. “Now cut line—what is this about?”

A frown lit her eyes, a warning one. “I’ll explain once we’ve returned Benjy to the House.” Retaking Benjy’s hand, she turned back along the path.

Reggie pivoted and fell in beside her. “Which house? Is Luc in town?”

“No. Not Calverton House.” Anne hesitated, then added, more softly, “The Foundling House.”

Pieces of the puzzle fell, jigsawlike, into place, but the picture in his mind was incomplete. His long strides relaxed, he retook her arm, wound it with his, forcing her to slow. “Much better to stroll without a care, rather than rush off so purposefully. No need for the ignorant to wonder what your purpose is.”

The look she cast him was, again, assessing, but she obediently slowed.

“This House—I vaguely recall hearing that you and your sisters had become involved in some charity of that sort.”

Anne nodded, fighting to quell the peculiar skittishness dancing along her nerves. This was Reggie; she’d known him for years. She couldn’t understand why her senses were leaping, let alone explain the fact it wasn’t in fear. She drew breath, aware of a tightness in her chest. “Portia and Penelope became involved first, when it was merely an idea. You know what they’re like.”

“Two more determined and opinionated young ladies it would be difficult to find.”

“Yes, well, they joined with three other ladies and established the Foundling House for training some of the foundlings who pass through the Foundling Hospital in Bloomsbury. Some of them are quite presentable.” She paused, then added, “Like Benjy.”

She sensed Reggie’s glance but didn’t meet it; she was acutely conscious of him as he paced beside her. “We train as many as we can for work as maids, footmen, and so on. It gives them a means to earn their way.”

“I see.”

Reggie glanced at Benjy, striding manfully along on her other side, but he asked no more.