Page 60 of Cocky August Rake

“I don’t need Denny.”

Nell’s expression hardened.

Rose sighed. “It’s broad daylight, for heaven’s sake. And it’s not as though the apothecary’s shop is in the rookeries. I’ll be fine.”

“You are in a mood,” Marianne observed.

“I’m in need of exercise,” Rose said. “That’s all.”

A quarter of an hour later, Rose stepped into the afternoon sun in her sober gray walking gown and gloves. She wore no wig, only a modest bonnet over her own pale blonde hair, pinned neatly at her nape.

The air struck her like steam from a boiling pot.

Heat radiated off the bricks and street, the gutters smelled worse than usual, and even the horses seemed to be moving as though the ground were made of molasses.

It almost had her ducking back inside to the relative cool of The Domus.

But she needed to move—she needed a change of scenery. Anything to do besides wait around for Lord Reginald to make good on his promise.

So Rose set off.

The August heat pressed closer with each step, and before she had gone two streets, a bead of perspiration slid beneath her bonnet and down the back of her neck. Even the flower girls looked defeated, their carnations and cornflowers drooping in their baskets, as wilted as Rose felt.

She turned the corner, already regretting the pace she had set, as a dark carriage drew alongside her and slowed.

Rose ignored it and kept walking.

Impossible, impertinent fellows, no doubt.

Only when she heard the door open, did she cast a hasty glance.

And then nearly tripped on the uneven pavement.

“Miss Darling.”

Lord Reginald Preston sat inside the carriage, one gloved hand braced on the open door, his dark coat severe against the pale upholstery.

But, as had every other time she looked at him, it was his eyes that caught her.

Silver. Shadows etched beneath them. But…

Fixed entirely upon her.

Her pulse betrayed her at once.

She stopped.

For half a heartbeat, Reginald thought she might pretend she had not heard him and continue marching down Brook Street with her little chin in the air.

Then she turned.

Even from a distance, he’d recognized her immediately.

Perhaps it was the tilt of her head. The determined set of her shoulders. The sway of her hips beneath that sober gray walking gown, which ought to have made her look plain but somehow did nothing of the sort.

Or perhaps it was simply that every part of him came awake at the sight of Rose Darling.

The one woman he’d taken great pains to avoid.