He awaited Louise's verdict. She regarded him for a disconcertingly long time, but eventually smiled and inclined her head. "Richmond, then, if you think it will serve."
That last comment had him inwardly frowning, but he got no chance to probe for an explanation — he wasn't even sure he wanted one; Louise turned and spoke to the girls, who'd already outlined their plans to Amelia.
Louise indicated her approval. Amelia stood, shooting a sharp glance his way. "I'll have to change."
He rose. "We'll wait."
Crossing the room, he opened the door and held it for her. Pausing in the doorway, she looked up at him, suspicion in her eyes. He smiled. Screened from the others, he flicked her cheek. "Hurry up." After a fractional pause, he added, "I guarantee you'll enjoy it."
Her eyes searched his, then she elevated her nose and left.
Ten minutes later, she returned, in a gown of sprigged muslin, cherry red against white. Three flounces adorned its hem; the bodice fitted snugly, and the sleeves were tiny puffs. A bright red ribbon was threaded through her curls, a wider ribbon of the same shade was wound about the handle of the parasol tucked under her arm. Luc gave silent thanks that she didn't favor bonnets; he'd make sure that when they walked, she kept the parasol shut.
She was pulling on red kid gloves; half boots of the same shade were on her feet. She looked delectable — good enough to eat.
He rose. The two younger girls were by the window, examining the small ornaments laid out on the wide sill; he collected them with a glance and turned to where Emily was chatting with Louise. "We'd better make a start."
They made their farewells, then he waved his charges on, closing the door as he followed them into the hall. The girls bustled on, beaming at Colthorpe as he opened the front door for them. Reaching out, Luc captured Amelia's hand, twined her arm with his. Glanced down as she looked up at him. "You'll enjoy the drive."
She raised a skeptical brow. "And the hours at Richmond spent following those three?"
He smiled and looked ahead. "Those you'll enjoy even more."
This time, he dictated where they would all sit. The three girls dutifully took the seat behind the coachman, facing Luc and Amelia. As the coach rolled off, Amelia cast him a suspicious glance, then opened her parasol, deploying it to shade her face.
The girls chatted and looked about, exclaiming at the sights as the carriage turned south, crossed the river at Chelsea, then rumbled west past villages and hamlets. Although the girls were only a foot away, seated as she was with Luc, Amelia felt no compelling need to listen to their conversation.
Luc said nothing, looking about idly, elegantly at ease beside her. He had to keep his distance to avoid her parasol; compensating, he'd spread his arms, one along the carriage's side, the other along the back of the seat.
She wondered what he was up to, but as the miles rumbled uneventfully by, she relaxed. Only then did she realize how tense she'd become — how intense she'd been for the past several months, doggedly pursuing her plan. Her plan, which had landed her here, where she wished to be.
With the right gentleman beside her.
She'd just come to that realization and let a small smile curve her lips, when Luc's fingertips brushed the soft tendrils exposed at her nape. She froze, couldn't quite hide her reactive shiver. As usual, she'd worn her hair pulled into a topknot, but it was naturally curly, so tiny locks sprang loose, feather-light, sensitive to the touch.
Turning her head, she intended to frown, but the look in Luc's eyes distracted her. Intent, he watched her; his fingertips shifted, stroked again.
"What are you smiling at?"
The light in those dark eyes wasn't teasing; he wanted to know. She looked forward, would have shrugged but… she didn't want him to take his hand away. "I was just thinking…" She gestured to the bucolic scenery through which they were rolling. "I haven't been out to Richmond for years. I'd forgotten how restful the drive can be."
She glanced back at him, again found herself trapped in his eyes.
"You gad about too much." His eyes remained on hers, his fingers firmed. "From now on, you won't have to."
She had to smile; trust a man to imagine that the only reason ladies "gadded about" was in pursuit of them. "There'll still be the Season, and making appearances. More or less obligatory, after all."
The girls were engrossed with their own topics; he and she could converse freely.
"Only up to a point." He paused, then coolly stated, "In the coming months I think you'll discover there's other activities more to your taste than whirling around ballrooms."
She had absolutely no doubt to what activities he was alluding; his gaze was anything but cool. Meeting it, she arched one brow. "Such as?"
The look in his eyes stated very clearly: that's for me to know and you to learn.
"Oh, look! Is that Richmond village?"
They both turned to see Fiona pointing; Amelia inwardly cursed. She glanced at Luc, but he retrieved his arm and turned away. The moment was gone.
Or so he led her to believe. Only when they were strolling in the girls' wake under the spreading oaks and beeches did she realize he had another agenda beyond entertaining his sisters — one that involved only them.
They were under a large oak that hid them from view, the girls ahead, already clear of the shadows, when Luc tugged her to a halt, spun her to him, and kissed her, swift, hard and all too sure.
Then he released her, resettled her hand on his arm, and strolled on.
She stared at him. "What was that for?"
He looked at her, eyes glinting from beneath his lashes as they passed into the sunshine. "I didn't think I needed a reason."
She blinked, faced forward. He didn't, of course. Not to kiss her, or… anything else.
He had a fertile imagination — the rest of the day passed in giddy absorption in what became a lighthearted game. At first, when his long fingers found the gap in her glove cuffs, and stroked, toyed, with caresses that were so innocent it was hard to comprehend why they felt so illicit, she couldn't see any reason to discourage him; she was more concerned with trying to predict just what he would be at next — what sensitive spot he would choose to tease — with a breath, with a touch, with a kiss.
Later, after they'd lunched at the Star and Garter, then, as the afternoon waxed glorious, started down the hill, she concluded that, for propriety's sake, she had to at least protest. The sliding, glancing passage of his hand over her hip, over the curve of her bottom, covered only by a thin layer of muslin and a silk chemise, was explicit enough to make her blush. She knew perfectly well no one else could see, however…
Yet when she grasped the moment as they passed under another useful tree and turned to him, lips opening on a rebuke — she found herself in his arms being thoroughly kissed. Kissed witless; when he released her, she'd forgotten what she'd wanted to say.
Lips curving wickedly, he tweaked a curl, and, one hand on her bottom, turned her toward the carriage.
She kept her parasol up all the way home to hide her blush from his sisters. The man was a rake! His fingers now rested not at her nape but even more possessively, heavy at the curve where her shoulder met her neck.
The most amazing discovery was that she liked his fingers there — liked feeling his touch, the weight of his hand. The sensation of skin to skin.
The realization kept her silent — occupied — all the way home.
Chapter 5
The surest way to manage Amelia was, not just to keep the reins in his hands, but to use them. To drive her, distract her, so she didn't have time to filch said reins from his grasp.