The Marquis and the Vixen by Collette Cameron

Author:Collette Cameron [Cameron, Collette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blue Rose Romance®
Published: 2016-01-31T23:00:00+00:00

Of this one can be certain: there is always someone

with a mind more devious and a scheme more sly than yours.

~Dignity and Decorum—The Genteel Lady’s Guide to Practical Living

A week later, sitting in Tristan’s barouche, Blythe took in the bustle outside Gunter’s Tea Shop. Given the number of carriages parked below the maples, many others had craved a cool ice on the warm day.

“What flavor do you recommend, my lord?” Patrons in the curricles beside Tristan’s enjoyed an assortment of extravagant confections including a frozen berry-tinted treat and one that surely must be chocolate ice cream.

Though they’d operated a dairy farm, she hadn’t tasted ice cream. None of the Culpeppers had ever indulged in anything extravagant or decadent. How did one choose from such an array of heavenly treats?

Tristan glanced up from his position beside his burgundy barouche’s wheel. A few auburn curls dared to caress his beaver hat’s rear brim. Attired in a cornflower blue jacket—an exact match to his eyes—black pantaloons emphasizing his long, muscular legs, tucked into slightly dusty Wellingtons, and a black and royal blue striped waistcoat encircling his torso, he cut a dashing figure.

Much too dashing for her to remain immune.

“I’m quite partial to the bergamot myself. It’s a citrus similar to an orange. The barberry is also tasty.” Tristan removed his gloves, and after acknowledging the greeting of a gentleman leaning against Berkeley Square’s railing with a slight tilt of his head, laid the buff-toned leather on his equipage’s edge. “I suggest you do the same, even if it’s not the thing. When the ices melt, they can become quite messy. Your gloves are sure to become sticky and soiled.”

“I’d like a barberry, please.” Blythe drew off one glove. Wearing new cream kid-leather half boots, a soft green, almost white chintz overlaid with ivory lace and embellished with scalloped edges, and a brushed velvet eggshell-toned spencer, she resembled a giant gardenia. “Do you know what flavor you’d like, Blaike and Blaire?”

“Vanilla,” they said in unison before bursting into giggles.

Of course they’d want the same flavor.

“Two vanillas, one barberry, and one bergamot.” Tristan passed the young waiter a few coins.

“Yes, my lord.” After another lingering look at the striking twins, the servant trotted across the square, dodging conveyances on his circumventive route.

Blythe might have accompanied Tristan to Gunter’s alone without fear for her reputation—propriety allowed the excursion—but Brooke had deemed it wise to have the twins join them.

He hadn’t objected to the extra company when he’d come to collect her and make good on Blythe’s promised reward.

She had chaffed a mite at the forced chaperonage. After all, she’d been anticipating a precious hour or two alone with Tristan, and with the twins in tow, she’d be acting the part of governess. Though sweet, and not difficult of temperament, they possessed typical seventeen-year-old flightiness.

Mayhap not typical.

Blythe had never been featherbrained.

“Blythe, our friend Lady Claire is waving for us to join her and her grandmother. Might we?” Blaire indicated a cheerful redhead seated in a barouche farther along the square.

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