Rochford chooses to become a part of it. Will you?”
He looked at her appreciatively before giving his attention again to maneuvering his horses through the busy streets of London. “The answer is a resounding no,” he said.
“Indeed?” She sounded more amused than chagrined as she watched a young crossing sweeper scurry out of the way of the curricle and scramble to pick up the coin Gabriel tossed down to him. “I suppose that explains why you did not ask me to dance two evenings ago. It would also explain why you did not invite me to drive in Hyde Park yesterday, where the whole world—and at least one newspaper reporter—would have seen you pay court to me. But why, pray, did you have Lady Parley present you to me? She did say, if I recall correctly, that you asked for the introduction. And why did you call upon me yesterday? Why did you ask me to drive to Richmond Park with you today?”
“All three questions have a single answer,” he told her. “It is because I intend to marry you.”
That brought her head snapping his way again. She gazed at him with wide eyes, he saw at a glance. Or perhaps glared would be a more accurate word. And her chin was up. He wondered irrelevantly if young Timms, his groom, was enjoying himself.
“You intend to marry me?” she asked, putting considerable emphasis upon the one word. “You are presumptuous, sir.”
“I suppose I might have chosen a more abject verb,” he conceded. “Hope, perhaps. Or wish. But intend is the most accurate.”
“You do not know me,” she protested. “I do not know you. I believe you must have windmills in your head.”
“But you cannot be sure I do,” he said. “By your own admission you do not know me.”
He seemed to have rendered her speechless. She continued to stare at him for several moments though he did not turn his head again to look at her. Then she laughed unexpectedly, a low sound she probably did not intend to be as seductive as it was.
“I still believe it,” she said. “You, sir, have windmills in your head if you believe I will marry you simply because you intend it. Or even hope or wish for it.”
“You do not intend ever to marry, then?” he asked her.
“That is none of your business, Mr. Thorne,” she said, her laughter forgotten, to be replaced by icy hauteur.
“How old are you?” he asked her.
“Mr. Thorne!”
“Twenty-four?” he suggested. “Twenty-five? Twenty-six? No more than that, I believe. But surely well past the age at which most ladies marry. Yet I cannot believe no man has ever asked or hinted that he would ask with the smallest encouragement. You are the daughter and sister of a duke, after all. I would be surprised if you are not also extremely wealthy. Besides all of which you are easy on the eyes.”
There was a pause. “And you, sir,” she said, “are impertinent.”
“For speaking the truth?” he said. “Do you encourage your court to cluster about you, Lady Jessica, because you do not want to marry? Safety in numbers and all that? It seems altogether possible.”
“If you do not change the subject immediately,” she said, “I must ask that you take me home, sir.”
“My guess,” he said, “is that you have given up hope.”
“Oh really,” she said, sounding severely annoyed. “Are these American manners, Mr. Thorne?”
“It would be somewhat alarming,” he said, “if a whole nation was to be judged—and presumably condemned—upon the words and behavior of one man who has only lived there for a number of years. But back to my point. I believe, Lady Jessica, you have given up hope of finding that one man who can distinguish himself from the crowd and renew your interest in matrimony and a new life, quite independent of your mother and brother—half brother, I believe that is.”
“Well,” she said, “you have certainly distinguished yourself from the crowd, Mr. Thorne. But if you believe that you have also aroused in me any eagerness to marry you, you are sadly mistaken. To put the matter mildly.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed.
“There is no perhaps about it,” she retorted.
They lapsed into silence after that while Lady Jessica faced forward and raised her parasol. It was definitely a parasol rather than an umbrella. It was made of a pale silvery gray lacy fabric that would not offer much protection from rain. She twirled it vigorously behind her head for a few moments before lowering it again with