They took her breath away.
And all that before the driver appeared, coming around the side of the vehicle, tall and broad and tartan-clad, looking at once exceedingly wealthy and utterly wild with his bronzed legs and his wide shoulders and his eyes that seemed to see everything and his lips . . .
No. No lips.
She was not thinking of lips today.
Certainly not lips belonging to the Duke of Warnick.
She lifted her chin in the direction of the curricle as she descended the steps to Dog House. “This is beautiful.”
He grinned, turning to admire the curricle. “ ’Tis, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t help but match his smile with a shake of her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“That’s because there isn’t anything like it,” he said. “It’s custom made.”
Her brow furrowed. “You’ve a custom curricle? Whatever for? Do you spend a great deal of time driving about the Scottish countryside, eager to be seen?”
He laughed at the question, the sound warm like the unseasonable day. “It’s built for racing. Very light, perfectly balanced, fast as a bullet. It’s virtually unbeatable.”
She did not care for the image of him careening down a road at high speeds, putting himself in danger, but she ignored the concern. It wasn’t as though he were hers to worry about, after all. “Designed by you?”
“By Eversley, as a matter of fact.”
Confusion came once more. “So it belongs to the marquess.”
“Nae. He traded it to me.”
“For what?” She couldn’t imagine what a comparable item might have been.
“For a used saddle.”
Her mouth fell open. “Why would he do that?”
He smirked, rocking back on his heels. “Because the idiot man fell in love.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, but I was not about to turn the offer down.” He extended a hand to her. “Shall we go?”
She did not hesitate, letting him hand her up onto the seat—higher than any curricle seat in which she’d ever sat—to take her place next to Hardy, who immediately set his face in her lap for scratching. Lily was happy to oblige.
Alec pulled himself up to sit next to Angus. “You’re going to ruin my dog with sausage and adoration.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “It’s not as though I’m dressing him in jeweled crowns.”
He smiled at the jest, so quickly she wouldn’t have seen it if she hadn’t been looking. But she was. He had a beautiful smile. Not that she was noticing for any specific reason. It was simple fact. Like the sky being blue, or dogs having tails.
She was distracted from her line of dunderheaded thought when the vehicle began to move in the calmest ride she’d ever had, the box barely shifting with the motion of the wheels.
It was a glorious curricle. “I should like one of these.”
“I shall buy you one. As a wedding gift.”
Always with his mind on the goal—to get her married—to make her another’s problem. “If it is a wedding gift, it will not be mine. I’d rather it were a—”
He cut her a look. “A what?”
She shook her head. “I was going to say that I’d rather it was a birthday gift.”
“And your money is not enough?” he said, dryly.
“My money is my due. A gift, though, I have always thought one would be nice.”
“Always thought?” He looked to her. “You’ve never received a birthday gift?”
She looked away, unwilling to reply with his gaze on her. He saw too much. “When I was a child I did. Trinkets. But once my father . . .” She hesitated, then shook her head. “They are for children, I suppose, gifts. When was the last time you received one?”
“My last birthday.”
She blinked.
“Catherine gave me a kitten. She thought I deserved something as arrogant as I was.”
Lily laughed. “And?”
“She named the damn thing Aristophanes. Of course it’s arrogant.”
“And do you love it very much?”
“I tolerate it,” he said, but she noticed his lips curving in a small, fond smile. “It gets its fur all about my pillow. And yowls at inopportune times.”
“Inopportune?”
“When I am abed.”
Lily blushed, imagining the times to which he referred. “I’m sure that is unpleasant for your bedmates.”
He did not miss a beat. “You haven’t lived until you have been woken by these two beasts chasing a cat up the walls.”
Lily laughed, stroking Hardy’s lovely, soft head. “Nonsense. I’m sure they are perfect princes.”
Without looking, Alec reached to give the dogs a rough scratch, first Angus, and then—his hand fell to hers, on Hardy’s head, sending a thrill of awareness through her in the heartbeat before