“I’m considered a dab hand,” she said with the same eager tone as soon as he was seated beside her.
The bench was narrow, requiring that their legs touch. He had a bit more space on his side and could move over a tad, but decided he preferred the contact with Charlotte’s rose-scented body, however incidental. He also liked the way the folds of her sprigged muslin skirt bunched up against his buckskin breeches.
Alistair nodded to the groom to let go the horse, then gave the reins a slap and pulled out into traffic. “I wasn’t aware driving lessons were part of a lady’s education these days.”
“Steven taught me. Said one never knows what skills may come in handy.” Her smile hinted there were a great many unusual skills that had been part of her education.
Alistair returned her smile, eager to explore the extent of her unorthodox learning.
Before traffic became any heavier, he shared with Miss Parnell what he’d learned so far about Sir Nigel. He spared a glance to witness her response to his findings, and had to force his attention back to his driving, away from her finger tapping her lush lower lip.
“Perhaps my theory is all wrong, and has been from the beginning.” She let out a sigh big enough that he felt it against his side. “Sir Nigel has nothing to do with the object, and last night we were simply witnessing nothing more sinister than a lover’s quarrel.”
They turned into the park and down Rotten Row, joining the slow parade of vehicles. “It’s early days yet,” Alistair said, disliking the sound of defeat in her voice.
“No,” she said, her voice laced with dejection. “Steven was right, and I was wrong. I should leave it alone, and just play at being a milk-and-water miss, like he wants.” She let out another sigh that brushed her rib cage against his, her downcast gaze focused on the ground passing beneath the phaeton’s wheels.
He had a hard time believing she would give up so easily. Even on their brief acquaintance, this seemed out of character for her.
Then he remembered how she had played the vapid miss when they first danced. He hid a smile. “It’s a good thing you have no intention of treading the boards, Miss Parnell.”
She gave him a wide-eyed innocent stare, which he returned.
After a few moments she gave him a rueful grin. “Too much?”
“If you really wanted to drive, all you had to do was say so.” He did a quick check to make sure traffic was still flowing as slowly as usual through the park.
She opened her mouth, no doubt to argue that she had said so, but closed it when he thrust the reins into her hands. She sat up straighter and adjusted the reins in her grip, her teeth flashing in a smile. “He has such a sweet gait, does he not?” She pointed her chin at the bay gelding in the traces.
“Maxwell does, and he has a tender mouth, as well.” Alistair forced his hands to stay flat on his knees so they wouldn’t snatch back the reins. Everything was fine so far. No children or dogs playing nearby that could startle the horse, no reason to expect Miss Parnell to drive them into the Serpentine.
“I shall take extra care, then.” The reins adjusted to her apparent satisfaction, she settled back in the seat, seemingly prepared to continue driving for the rest of their outing.
They rode in companionable silence for several minutes. Alistair tried to look everywhere at once, to spot anything that might upset Miss Parnell or the horse, and at the same time keeping an eye on her. Two little boys chasing a dog, shouting and barking, ran toward the carriage. Alistair tensed, ready to take back control, but she kept the horse steady with just a flick of the reins. The dog suddenly doubled back and chased the boys away from the vehicles.
“Please try to relax, Lord Moncreiffe. I’ll have you know I haven’t overturned a cart since I was ten.” She flashed him a quick grin, then returned her attention to the crowded road ahead.
Alistair did not relax his vigil, but he did allow some of the tension to leave his shoulders. They continued along the crowded path, nodding at acquaintances, returning a waved greeting now and then. The looks of disappointment on several women’s faces, misses and matrons alike, were almost comical. When he’d decided to bring Miss Parnell for a drive, he’d only thought of it as a chance to talk without being overheard, rather than it being a public outing with his fiancée.
While he was accustomed to women staring at him, he was surprised to realize two men on the path behind them were staring at Miss Parnell. Were they disappointed suitors? They were dressed well enough to blend in with the park crowd currently on parade, but something about them seemed a bit off. Like they’d be more comfortable in the company of Nick, or Miss Parnell’s half brother, Steven.
But Nick had sailed on the midnight tide just before the newspapers printed the engagement announcement. Alistair shouldn’t be surprised that her brother had set someone to watch over him with Miss Parnell, as a chaperone of sorts. If he had a sister, he imagined he would be quite protective, too, if she had just become engaged to a stranger.
Perhaps his imagination was simply being overly suspicious, thinking they were being watched. But the men had stayed just behind them, within one or two carriage lengths for the last complete round through the park, past all of the park gates, and had not paused to speak to anyone.
Then again, neither had he and Miss Parnell.
So focused on his thoughts, Alistair was startled when he heard his name called. Up ahead, two riders were threading their horses between the carriages, coming closer to the phaeton.
Clarke hailed him again. Miss Parnell slowed the horse and edged to the side of the path.
“Moncreiffe, well met,” Clarke called as he and his companion reined in their mounts beside the phaeton. “See, I told you that was him,” he said in a loud aside to the other man. “Dorian here didn’t believe that was you, letting a woman drive your carriage.” His fatuous grin showed far too many teeth.
“My fiancée was demonstrating her technique,” Alistair replied.
“So the rumors are true,” Dorian said good-naturedly. “Snared by parson’s mousetrap. And so soon.”
“But Dorian, lad, can’t you see why?” Clarke doffed his hat and held it over his heart. “Moncreiffe, had I seen her first, I vow I would have fought you for the lady’s favor.”
From the corner of his eye, Alistair watched Miss Parnell’s reaction. Judging by the amused smile on her lips, she didn’t seem to mind the interruption.
“Well, Moncreiffe, don’t keep us pining away any longer.” Dorian removed his hat as well. “Introduce us to your lovely bride-to-be.”
Alistair cleared his throat. This was the first time in his life he’d made this particular introduction. “Miss Parnell, may I make known to you two friends and fellow astronomers, Mr. Clarke and Sir Dorian. Gentlemen, my fiancée, Miss Charlotte Parnell.” He was proud his voice remained calm.
It was amazingly easy to refer to the attractive, mysterious woman at his side as his fiancée.
“Charmed, Miss Parnell.” Clarke lifted her hand to drop a kiss on her gloved knuckles. He continued to hold her hand longer than necessary.
Alistair cleared his throat. Twice.
Clarke finally took the hint and let go. The twinkle in Miss Parnell’s eye told him she hadn’t missed his little display.
Dorian was not to be left out. “So pleased to meet the charming miss who stole Moncreiffe’s heart,” he said, just before bestowing a kiss on her knuckles as well. At least he let go promptly.
Miss Parnell took the attention in stride, gracefully acknowledging their tribute, without the preening he might have expected. She simply adjusted the reins in her grip again as soon as her hands were free.
Plenty of women had aspired to be his viscountess, banking on his future prospects, which would make his wife a marchioness and eventually a duchess. Somehow Miss Parnell seemed immune to such concerns.
But was she, really?
Or was this just more of her playacting, and she had no intention of crying off by the end
of the Little Season? He had considered that possibility when they’d first entered into their agreement, but decided Miss Parnell was in earnest about outwitting her brother and had no designs on becoming a viscountess.
It was too late to second-guess himself. “I hate to be rude, gentlemen, but you’re cutting in to unchaperoned time with my fiancée.”
“And precious time that is.” Dorian set his hat back on his head.
“Aye,” Clarke seconded. “To be sure, I would not let two brigands such as ourselves waste a moment more of it.” He shoved his hat back on, bowed toward Miss Parnell from his seat in the saddle, and nudged his horse away from the phaeton.
“I do hope we’ll see much more of you in the future, Miss Parnell,” Dorian said, just before he followed Clarke back out into the crowded path.
A few carriages rumbled past the phaeton, then there was a break and Miss Parnell gave the reins a light slap, and Maxwell plodded on.
“Well, then,” Alistair said, stretching one arm along the back of the bench, not quite touching Miss Parnell’s blue velvet spencer. “What do you want to do next?”
“Wh-What do you mean?” Her fingers tightened just a bit, her thumb restlessly rubbing the leather rein.
“About Madame Melisande and Sir Nigel.”
Her fingers stilled.
“If you truly think he has nothing to do with the missing object, are you going back to following her around, or have you another plan?”
“I’m not certain yet. I haven’t had time to formulate a strategy.” She spared him a sidelong glance, her blue eyes sparkling with good humor. “I’ve been a bit distracted.”
Alistair leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I do my best,” he whispered in her ear. He was inordinately pleased with the goose bumps that instantly rose on the exposed flesh at her neck, the tiny hitch in her breathing. This close, he caught a hint of her rosewater perfume. If he were to nuzzle her neck, kiss her just there, beneath her ear, he’d be surrounded by her scent.
Not wishing to draw undue attention from any passersby, he reluctantly leaned back. He couldn’t help glancing at the road behind them as he did so. He froze. The two men on horseback were still there, two carriages back. They should have passed by while Clarke and Dorian had been annoying him.
“I don’t wish to alarm you,” he said, leaning close again. “But I think two men are following us. They seem far more interested in you than in me. Is there perhaps a jilted or unsuccessful suitor in your past, someone you’d like to tell me about?”
“Blast.” Miss Parnell kept her eyes on the road ahead, her expression neutral. “Would one of them happen to look like he’s borrowed the clothes he’s wearing, and have curly black hair desperately in need of a wash?”
Under the pretext of adjusting his sleeve, with his arm still resting on the back of the bench, Alistair took another look behind. “An apt description. Friend of yours?”
“Only in that he’s the reason you and I bumped into each other that first day.”
“He’s followed you before?” Still no cause for concern, Alistair reminded himself. Blakeney was exactly the sort of person to set someone watching his sister and not tell her about it, especially given his clandestine profession.
“I turned down several streets and went in and out of three shops to make sure I wasn’t simply being unreasonably suspicious. I didn’t become concerned until the second fellow joined him.” Her gaze darted to Alistair, then back to the road. “I knew they wouldn’t come any closer if I was with another man.”
He took his eyes off the road ahead to stare at her. “Are you saying I was the lesser of two evils?” He was uncertain if he should take umbrage at her assessment of him being safe.
“When faced with the choice of devils or angels, I think it most wise to associate with heavenly hosts.”
Alistair coughed. Was an angelic comparison worse than an unintentional insult, or better?
“I consider myself fortunate that you had stopped to peer through that shop window. By the way, what was it you were looking at?”
“An eyepiece for my telescope.” He glanced over his shoulder. Both men were still there, two carriage lengths back, deep in conversation, as though they cared not a whit about Miss Parnell. “They seem to be distracted. Turn here, now! Let’s see if we can get rid of them altogether.”
“You’re willing to let me drive out on the open street?” She turned the horse, leaving the park.
“Is there a reason I should not?” He itched to take back the reins, but forced his hands to remain on his lap. This exit was on the far side from where they had entered the park, which meant they would have to negotiate even more of London’s clogged streets to get Miss Parnell back home.
“Steven wanted me to know how to drive, but he’d never actually let me do so in traffic if he were with me.”
Alistair hoped he sounded convincing. “I trust you to know your limits, and that you will give back the reins before taking any foolish risks with me, my carriage,” he spared her a smile, “or poor Maxwell.”
Her quiet reply was lost in the clatter of a mail coach lumbering past in the opposite direction and the call of an orange vendor. It sounded suspiciously like “bleedin’ miracle,” but he couldn’t be sure.
His heart only stopped two or three times, certain they were about to be killed, but each time Miss Parnell kept the horse and phaeton under control. He managed to keep his hands to himself as she made a few unnecessary turns, making sure they were not being followed, before driving unerringly to her town house. He was too tense to engage in idle conversation on the journey, and did not wish to risk distracting her, so his comments were limited to informing her that they seemed to have given their two followers the slip.
After what seemed like hours, she reined Maxwell in at the front of the town house. Alistair jumped down and jogged to the other side of the carriage, beating the footman so he could be the one to assist Miss Parnell in descending to the street.
Lifting her at the waist instead of just offering her a hand down was not forward behavior for an engaged couple, even if he did let his hold linger and slide across a tad more of her velvet-covered curves than absolutely necessary.
His friends thought him oblivious to his effect on the fairer sex, when in truth he was merely circumspect—he had no wish to raise unwarranted hope in any maiden’s thoughts by responding to her flirtatious overtures. With Miss Parnell, however, there was no risk of her reading unintended meaning into his actions, since they were engaged in subterfuge together.
And to be successful in their deception, they had to act the part of a betrothed couple. She demonstrated her unspoken understanding of this by the way she rested her hands on his shoulders, letting her fingers slide through the hair at his nape.
By the gleam in her eye as he set her on her feet, and the way she patted the phaeton, he realized he’d made a grave mistake that afternoon. She would now expect to be allowed to drive his carriage again.
He almost groaned.
She said something, too softly for him to hear, so he bent down and turned his head, the better to hear her over the noise of the traffic.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and kissed him on the cheek.
Stunned, he didn’t immediately pull back. He wished he’d taken the time to shave again before their outing, worried her tender lips might have been scraped by his stubble. Her soft, delectable lips, currently curved in a sensual smile.
The footman cleared his throat.
They sprang apart. Alistair straightened to his full height and offered his arm to escort Miss Parnell up the steps. He waited until they were exactly halfway to the door, out of earshot of the footman, groom, and the butler holding it open, before speaking.
“I’ve been invited to the Eccleston’s rout this evening.”
Miss Parnell raised her brows in polite query.
“Their town house is one square over from the hotel where Madame Melisande is staying. The vie
w from their roof offers an excellent line of sight to her balcony.”
“And you know this because…? I thought astronomers gazed up at the night sky. Now it turns out you’re a Peeping Tom?” The late afternoon sunlight hit her teasing eyes at just the right angle, making them bright and clear. Bottomless pools of blue, deep enough to drown in.
Alistair gave himself a mental shake. “Knowing what view is afforded by the host’s roof is how I decide which invitations to accept.”
“Wouldn’t it be simpler to just stay home?”
He shook his head. “And deal with the displeasure of both my father and grandfather? That way lies madness.”
Miss Parnell patted his arm with her free hand. “But how does the view from the Eccleston’s roof help us, if you have to attend the rout?”
“Lord Eccleston is a member of The Royal Society. He’ll not only give me permission to take my telescope up to his roof, he’ll expect me to do so.”
“So you make a grand public appearance, appease your relatives, then escape up to the rooftop?”
“I don’t know about ‘grand,’ but yes, that’s the general idea.”
Miss Parnell gave a slight shake of her head. “Sir Nigel may not be involved after all, but I still think Madame Melisande is very much in the thick of things. Rather than spying on her, I think it would be more productive if I searched her room again. She doesn’t carry the item in her reticule.”
Alistair felt his hair practically stand on end at the thought of Miss Parnell dangling from the roof. But he already knew her well enough to know that forbidding her to do so would be a waste of breath. “May I suggest a compromise? Tonight I will watch her, observe her schedule and that of her servants. Perhaps she will even take the item from its hiding place in order to gloat. Once we know her household’s schedule, we’ll be able to determine the safest time to search her lodgings.”
He watched the warring emotions flit across Miss Parnell’s delightful face, the urge to act now, versus the logical approach he’d presented.
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