Chapter Three

"I s this fast enough for you?" Victor had to raise his voice to be heard over the spinning wheels and thumping hooves. He should have known his mother's enigmatic companion would be so intrepid, that she'd be exhilarated rather than fearful to be flying across the countryside at breakneck speeds.

She wasn't afraid of his mother, after all. The thought had him biting back a chuckle.

"Can they go faster?"

Victor risked a sideways glance to see if she was serious, but when he did so, he found himself suddenly caught up in the most unexpected sensations… Like he'd been frozen for years and was suddenly seated near a warm fire.

The wind had caught her bonnet, causing it to dangle behind her. Or perhaps it wasn't the wind. Perhaps she'd done it intentionally.

Regardless, seeing her looking so free was… dizzying.

Her eyes sparkled emerald in the sunlight, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and dozens of spiraling curls had escaped her coiffure to tangle around her face and behind her.

Flaming red. Wild and untamed. By God, the color was even more brilliant than he'd imagined.

And he had imagined it more than once. He'd imagined touching it under wildly inappropriate circumstances.

Was it as silky as it looked? Would she protest if he tugged on it, or would she tilt her head back, exposing her neck…

Victor swallowed hard and forced his gaze back to the road in front of them. He didn't allow himself to look over again.

She trusted him to drive safely.

As they flew down the straight road, he absorbed the sound of her laughter. It was a rich, throaty sound that vibrated through his veins and was surprisingly infectious. By the time he drew the horses to a walk and turned around to head back toward the village, he felt an unfamiliar stiffness in his cheeks. When he frowned, he realized why.

How long had he been grinning like an idiot?

"Did you have a particular destination in mind?" he asked, his voice sounding a little strangled.

"I usually purchase a pasty from Mrs. Rooney's shop," she answered. "To eat later. Food always tastes better when eaten outside."

"And where would you like to picnic?" He sent her a sideways glance, or more of a glance really, reluctant to look away.

"If I told you now, this wouldn't be a proper adventure, now would it?" Her voice caught just a little.

Victor could have argued, but decided against it. It was oddly satisfying to allow Miss Sparrow to take control.

"Do you know how to drive?" he asked impulsively.

"I drove one of my father's carts a few times, but… Pokey was only a pony. I probably could have walked faster." She turned so that she was partially facing him, and out of concern for her safety, he wound his arm around her waist.

"Well then, if today is to be a true adventure…" Still supporting her, he offered her the reins. Of course, she took them.

Twenty minutes later, following a more harrowing ride than he'd expected, they rolled into the village. They'd never been in any real danger. Victor had been prepared to take control if necessary, and yet his heart was pounding like a drum.

"I don't know how you've stayed alive this long," he commented dryly, assisting her off the tall vehicle.

She smoothed her skirts and met his gaze. "What is life without a few risks?"

Victor contemplated her philosophy as they crossed the road to Mrs. Rooney's small shop. He'd lived three and thirty years in this world, overseeing multiple estates, participating in parliament, and following all the rules. He had a legacy to uphold. There wasn't room in his life for risk.

"It's different for me," he said.

She sent him a disapproving glance just as they entered the shop, but although Mrs. Rooney studied them curiously, she happily packed up a basket with four pasties and a bottle of wine.

"For the poor," Miss Sparrow informed the lively woman before bidding her good day.

As they exited the shop, Victor raised his eyebrows at her questioningly, and she explained, "It's best to account for as many possibilities as we can. What would happen if your mother came to this very shop and heard we purchased food for a picnic instead? Or if someone else overheard and it got back to her? I would be done for."

Victor was mildly flummoxed. Her reasoning made sense, and yet… "How do you think of such things?" And why did he appreciate her cunning?

"Experience, mostly," Miss Sparrow answered lightly. "I've not been caught yet, though there have been a few close calls. But enough about that—we've a picnic waiting for us." And so saying, she practically skipped back to the curricle with the basket of food swinging from her arm. When she reached the vehicle, she made a valiant effort to climb aboard herself before Victor all but lifted her back onto the bench.

"Have you always been… a little delinquent?" he asked while storing the basket on the floor by her feet. It struck him that, aside from knowing she'd been raised in a modest household three villages over, he knew very little about her past.

Victor got the curricle moving once more, this time at a more sedate pace.

This way he could look at her if the urge struck.

"Delinquent?" she said. "I wouldn't say I'm delinquent, per se…"

"What word would you prefer, then?"

Tapping her chin, she paused, but not for long. "An opportunist, who is also a realist."

Not the answer he'd expected, and he fought back another ridiculous grin. The unpredictability was refreshing and a little… exciting. But though it was unexpected, he didn't think her response was inaccurate. Victor recalled how she'd handled Mr. Frye in the foyer and found himself nodding. She was also very good at reading people. She had known Mr. Frye wouldn't argue with her.

And she'd known she could confide in him—someone who could have sacked her in a heartbeat.

"Do your parents appreciate these…talents?"

"My father does, but my mum says they're going to lead to my ruin someday."

Her mum was not entirely wrong, and yet, having observed her handling of his mother these past months, Victor wouldn't change anything about this woman.

There wasn't much in this life that brought him pleasure… But Miss Evalina Sparrow did. It was as baffling as it was enticing.

They travelled in companionable silence for a few minutes, until they came upon an intersection in the road and Victor realized that he still had no idea where Miss Sparrow intended to take them.

"You still haven't told me where we're going."

"Drive straight for now, then take the second turn on the left."

Victor knew the road well. "We're going to the church?"

"Yes and no. We're going to picnic in the old cemetery behind it."

"Hmm…" A cemetery, he supposed, wasn't all that extraordinary a location for a picnic. He'd spent a fair amount of time at his own family's graveyard, especially in the months following his father's death. So he didn't argue. This was her adventure, after all.

He still wasn't entirely sure why he'd agreed to it.

He'd never been the sort to lose his senses when confronted with a beautiful woman—not the gentle ladies of the ton , and definitely not with any of his servants.

But something about her, the way she looked at him, the way she spoke now that she'd let some of her walls down, was strangely compelling. And the bench wasn't all that wide. With each bump and turn, his awareness of the feminine curves pressed along his side waged a silent war with his conscience.

A war his conscience was losing today.

He shook his head. Truth be told, he knew precisely why he'd come.

Evalina Sparrow.

This inner war had begun months before—and had been going on since the first time he'd met her. Perhaps a full day spent in her company would free her from his thoughts. She'd say something to reveal a lack in character, or she'd bore him somehow.

It was the best he could hope for, having already committed to the outing.

"Why is it different for you?" she asked. He didn't require her to expand on her meaning. She was taking up one of their previous conversations right where they'd left off.

"Because," he said, dismissing words such as ‘responsibility' and ‘legacy' while contemplating his answer. "I… I am Ferris." He was the duke, as was his father, and his grandfather, going back centuries. They had fought for and won their position. It was up to him to maintain it.

"Yes. But in the end, you are still just a man."

Her words slipped right through his armor, unleashing old but familiar doubts—ones he'd believed settled years before.

"I can't expect you to understand," he said.

Rather than argue, she placed her hand on his elbow, as though to comfort him. He shook his head. What the devil was wrong with him?

Conversation fell away for the remainder of the drive, both seemingly lost in their own thoughts. By the time they drove around the church to where centuries of villagers had been laid to rest, Victor conceded that as long as he'd already skipped out on his duties for the day, he might as well enjoy himself.

He relaxed his shoulders, but it was Miss Sparrow who broke the silence. "It's quiet today."

"Vicar Handley is in London this week, so the regular services have been postponed."

Miss Sparrow simply hummed in response.

Approaching the cemetery gates, Victor slowed the vehicle to a stop and then dismounted, turning to assist Miss Sparrow after him. Her dainty hand was dwarfed in his, but her grip was firm, her touch warm even through their gloves. The sun, although high in the sky, flickered through the tall trees and some drifting clouds.

"The weather's not usually so cooperative," he remarked as she turned to retrieve the supplies for their picnic from the footwell of the curricle.

"Lucky, isn't it," Miss Sparrow chimed brightly. "It would be a shame to waste a day like this toiling away indoors. What would you have been doing anyway, if you hadn't come out with me?"

Victor tugged the gate open and gestured for Miss Sparrow to precede him through it, tempted, but not allowing himself to set his hand on her back. After the gate closed behind them, they struck out along one of the narrow dirt paths that wove throughout the gravestones.

"Correspondence, mostly," he replied. "And there is still a decent amount of work to be done before Lady Lucinda's arrival."

"She's the one you're to marry, right? According to your mother, anyway."

Victor chuckled. "You're certainly blunt."

"Life's too short to dance around hedges."

Her ensuing silence had him contemplating an answer. Lady Lucinda had all the right connections. As the daughter of a wealthy earl, she'd been raised to manage estates like his.

She would be, as his mother had said on numerous occasions, the perfect duchess.

So why did the idea affect him like fingernails scraping a chalkboard?

His arm brushed Miss Sparrow's accidentally, but rather than move away, Victor flexed his hand. Her palm met his and without considering his intentions, he'd threaded their fingers together.

"I am expected to marry her, yes." The words tasted bitter in his mouth, and he fully expected Miss Sparrow to tug out of his grasp.

He felt a gentle squeeze instead.

"Do you always have to do what people expect of you?" she asked quietly.

His pulse thrummed in his neck, and he swallowed hard.

The question ought to be easy to answer. So why did he feel so conflicted?

And then, Miss Sparrow seemingly dismissed it. She dropped his hand and had turned to examine the massive tree that marked the border of the cemetery.

The trunk was thick, with twisting branches winding around and up, and in those gnarling shapes, one could almost make out faces and limbs.

Miss Sparrow sent him a mischievous glance.

"Let's climb it," she said in that matter-of-fact manner of hers, setting the basket on the ground.

She was so spontaneous, plucky.

Her lack of inhibitions energized him and for the first time in ages, he found himself feeling…

Excited.

Any other woman, and he'd decline the suggestion outright.

But she was not any other woman. No. She was Evalina Sparrow.

"As you wish." He settled his hand on her waist, offering support she probably didn't need as she stepped onto the lowest branch and pulled herself up.

But watching her well-worn half-boots disappear into the tree, exhilaration lifted his heart. And as he grasped the branch and pulled himself up, decades fell away.

"Do you do this often?" he asked, looking up before averting his eyes from ogling her legs.

And then just as quickly stole a second glance.

Trailing his gaze up the length of stocking-covered calves and thighs, he startled to realize she was staring down at him.

"Do I allow handsome dukes to look up my skirts? Not usually, no." She was laughing!

"I certainly hope not." Victor lifted his hand to the next branch but instead of gripping it, he wound his fingers around her ankle. "Evalina."

She stilled, as though torn.

Victor lazily circled her ankle bone with his thumb and then licked his lips.