An Extraordinary Flirtation by Maggie MacKeever

Author:Maggie MacKeever [MacKeever, Maggie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 2004-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

It was a lovely London morning. Or if not precisely lovely, because the day was overcast and gray, still an especially fine specimen of a morning, with the Creator in His heaven, and all well with the world. Perhaps that also was a bit of an overstatement, considering the seemingly endless difficulties with the French and the equally unfriendly affairs of the Prince and Princess of Wales, but Lord Mannering refused to relinquish his good mood. Regardless of gray days and ongoing hostilities, he was in a splendid frame of mind.

He rode astride his great black horse through the city streets. The air was thick with the smell of animal dung and sea-coal smoke, noisy with the clatter of hooves and wheels, the shouts of street sellers with their baskets and barrows: orange girls and milkmaids, chairmen and chimney sweeps; purveyors of fresh hot tea and gingerbread and steak-and-kidney pies. Nick observed an altercation between a traveling chair repairman and the driver of a charcoal car with a benevolent smile.

Few members of the ton were out and about so early. Nick was banking that one member in particular hadn’t yet packed up her belongings and set out for the Cotswolds. Not that it was all that early, but he hadn’t managed to get out of bed as early as he’d meant to. He doubted that Cara had either, since it had been quite late when she’d finally gone home.

Ah, sweet Cara. She was as wonderfully passionate as he remembered her. And as contrary, he made no doubt. If only he could whisk her off to some secluded castle, and make love to her there for months, or years, until he determined the nature of her fears, and set them finally to rest.

He inhaled deeply, and coughed, and wished that the Creator in his heaven might be inspired to do something about the quality of London’s air. Thusly ruminating, Lord Mannering arrived in Brook Street, and tossed his reins to a groom. Ah yes, it was a fine morning, if not lovely. He mounted the front steps.

Widdle opened the door. It was still sufficiently early that the daily deluge of posies and invitations and impassioned pleas of eternal devotion hadn’t yet begun to arrive. However, the butler was ever on the alert lest some member of the household creep home in the wee hours of the morning, or a certain squire appear on the doorstep with an underhanded suggestion, and a bribe.

No bribe was forthcoming from this gentleman, however. He merely extended a visiting card and inquired if any of the family were yet astir. Widdle, who knew perfectly well that all the members of the family had arisen—the master, mistress, and lady were in the breakfast room, while the demoiselle was engaged in a game of hide-and-seek with the dog—accepted the card delicately between his thumb and index finger and said that he would ascertain.

The marquess was not accustomed to being left cooling his heels like a common tradesman who should more properly have gone to the servants’ door.

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