The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,60

whom looked dressed for a stroll. “Do you have a parasol or a bonnet or…?”

He should have known Elizabeth would take offense to his gentle nudge—he could almost hear her teeth grind. “I’m certainly of an age where I remember how to leave the house, my lord.”

There seemed no point in asking her to stop “my lording” him. She did it when she was angry, or when she wanted to put space between them. “Then let’s be off.”

The women preceded him from the room. In the foyer, they collected hats and parasols and managed to get them righted and tied on by handing off the baby between them while Con stood idly by. It would have, of course, been much easier for him to hold the baby, instead of them juggling him, but he’d inserted himself enough today. Instead he returned to worrying what would happen when he finally did reach his mother’s sitting room. Was it truly fair to lie to his mother, even if he’d made a promise to Elizabeth?

But he had given his word and with that, inadvertently, roped his entire family into his commitment. His job wasn’t yet done. Their job wasn’t yet done. Ten thousand pounds was a lifetime of being her child’s father. Not a few hours.

Perhaps Oliver was a family matter for the Alexanders, as Tony had been saying. Even if they weren’t aware of the real reason why.

Elizabeth’s hips sashayed as she took the steps to the street one at a time. He caught up to her at the walk and offered her his arm. She smiled demurely and slid one kid-gloved hand across his forearm. Stupidly, his skin prickled with awareness. She was confoundedly good at making herself desirable. He should be glad of it, else she wouldn’t have had the means to save his hide.

Instead he felt a touch of jealousy.

Mrs. Dalton trailed behind them toting Oliver. Constantine had requested a footman to bring up the rear. All together like that, their party presented a scene of domesticity, and Con again felt the bracing slap of responsibility. Too much responsibility.

Before he could scare himself with such an unwanted thought, the clip-clop of an approaching rider caused him to lead Elizabeth to one side.

“Ho, there!” the rider said, drawing up alongside them. “If it isn’t Lord Constantine and his pretty piece. That’s how I knew ’twas you, you realize, and not your brother. You’re Mr. Elizabeth Spencer to the lot of us now.” Lord Steepleton cackled to himself.

Con would have laughed, too, if such a remark had been made about one of his friends. In his current mood, however, he didn’t find it the least amusing. “You could always know me from Lord Dare by the cut of my coat.”

Steepleton paced them easily. “A bit of a dandy, that boy. You, on the other hand, don’t need fancy togs to let us all know you’re Quality. Or this pretty bird, either. How are you, Elizabeth?” He leaned forward to see around Con and gave her a look full of awareness and something more. As if he knew her very well indeed.

Those protective instincts Con had been warring with won out. He pulled her closer to him. “She’s fine,” he grated.

“Lord Steepleton, how do you do?” Elizabeth gave no indication that she’d heard Con answer for her. She did move even closer to him, though. The side of her soft breast brushed against his arm.

He felt better after that. He felt a lot better when Steepleton’s lips tightened and he touched the brim of his beaver hat.

“Well, I must be off,” he said. “Enjoy the day.” He rode away, leaving Con alone with Elizabeth.

And Mrs. Dalton, the footman and Oliver. It was feeling like a very odd day.

They made their way into the park without incident. They had only to cross the grounds and exit on the other side, a block from Merritt House. But what ought to have required a quarter hour was turning into an afternoon’s activity on its own, for every few feet, Elizabeth paused to exchange polite—or not so polite, in Con’s opinion—discourse with familiar faces.

He’d intended as much. He had to remind himself of that every time he had the urge to plant yet another man a facer. This was his declaration to the ton, the big show he’d considered putting on for them. But while he’d started the afternoon feeling like a knight clad in shining armor, with each encounter he recognized Elizabeth’s consequence more, until