A Reckless Encounter

“Ah, the British are so aggressive.”

“Yes. You might keep that in mind should you ever plan a small revolution of your own.”

She gave him an arch look, eyes innocently wide.

“If memory serves, my lord, England didn’t do so well in the last great revolution with the American Colonies.”

“A slight case of miscalculation. We do learn from our mistakes, however.”

“Apparently there are lapses in memory, as it was not so very long ago that there was another war with America. It was in 1812 and didn’t end well for you then, either.”

“Touché, Miss St. Clair. I yield to the victorious Colonist.”

She laughed, a soft sound of amusement, genuine and contagious. “You yield so easily, my lord. I’m surprised. And a bit disappointed. I thought you a more worthy foe.”

“I am a worthy foe in more intimate matters, Miss St. Clair.” He smiled at her when she gave him a startled glance, and had the satisfaction of seeing color flood her cheeks.

It was only a matter of time. He’d give her today, by God, with her damned lady’s maid and chaperon sitting like a watchful cat in the boot of the curricle, but the next time he took her for a ride, it would be under his terms.

She was a mystery, an intrigue, a lovely, sensual female. He was developing a ferocious itch for her. It was damned inconvenient.

“America,” she said with a betraying tremor in her lovely lilting drawl, an obvious attempt to ease the tension between them, “is very different from England. It’s so vast. I think that’s what first strikes visitors. One can go afoot for months and not reach the distant shores. It’s so large, no road exists from one coast to the other. To reach Spanish California one must travel months by ship.”

Amused by her effort, he said, “I’ve been to Spanish California, but it was a long time ago, when I was barely out of Oxford. Now the United States and Spain have an ongoing quarrel with Mexico over the territory. It makes it inconvenient to visit.”

“Then describe it for me, since you’ve seen it.” Her glance at him was speculative. “I was told it’s a marvelous place with constant sunshine, soft winds and lush grass for miles and miles.”

“An apt description. A vast wilderness, but excellent for cattle and hermits.”

“That sounds a bit prejudicial.”

“It wasn’t what I expected but I wasn’t disappointed. I found California to be—a challenge. Wild. A place where a man’s past doesn’t matter, only his ability to survive.”

“You seem adept at survival.”

“So do you, Miss St. Clair.”

With a light shrug, she turned her head to gaze at the much tamer aspect of flower beds and tree-lined drive. He had the sense there was much she didn’t say.

Colter guided the horses more slowly along the curve of the path. It was more crowded in this part of the park, with curricles, landaus and horsemen exhibiting not only equestrian skill, but excellent horseflesh and lovely riding apparel. Nobility rubbed elbows with riffraff.

Madame Poirier, procurer of prostitutes, had several of her newest recruits decked out in all their finery and parading the park in a gleaming brougham with gilded harness and trappings. The ladybirds were near as lovely as the horses, and he recognized several of the men eyeing them appraisingly.

“Isn’t that Sir John?”

He followed Celia’s gaze and saw Harvey approach Madame Poirier’s carriage; sunlight gilded his hair with the same bright glints as the brass harness. An elegant horseman, the baronet rode a flashy bay from his father’s stables. Colter recognized it, remembered Baron Leawood at Tattersall’s purchasing the mare. He’d almost tried to outbid him, but decided against it. If Harvey was riding his father’s mounts, his own stable must be depleted. It was a matter of pride for a man to parade his own cattle through the park.

“Yes,” he said, “Harvey seems to be showing off his fine horsemanship.”

“And his fine horse as well as his diverse tastes.”

“Ah, do I detect jealousy?”

“Only of the horse, my lord. It’s a beautiful beast. I imagine such a lovely animal is quite costly.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it was. I was there when it was first shown at Tattersall’s. Do you ride, Miss St. Clair?”

There was a brief pause before she said, “Not well. I much prefer my riding to be done in a well-sprung landau.”