Page 2 of Sinfully Daring

“He did,” Rosamund admitted. “Begrudgingly, I might tell you, for he does not want me to marry yet, but must you be so blunt? It quite puts one to the blush.”

Hargreaves shrugged, though he looked a little sheepish. “I beg your pardon. I have fallen into the habit of plain speaking, for I discover I prize the truth above all things, but you are quite correct. I shall endeavour to be a little less forthright.”

Rosamund stared at him for a long moment, frowning.

“Now what have I said?” he asked, laughing at her consternation.

“Well, I was just thinking that it might be nice to speak to someone who always says exactly what they think. Instead of wrapping everything up in polite nonsense,” she said frankly.

He grinned at her. “Careful, my lady. You do not realise what a monster you’ll unleash with such permission to speak my mind.”

“I never said I gave you permission,” she countered, putting her nose in the air, before slanting him a sideways look to discover him laughing. He had a good laugh, warm and deep and it made her smile.

“Then I shall bombard you with compliments and prattle on about the latest on dits, like every other fellow here. Did you see the scandal sheets’ reports of last night’s ball? We can discuss that, or shall I recite poetry for you, my lady? Something to soothe your spirits after my terrible behaviour?”

“Certainly not,” she said in disgust. “I think I prefer your plain speaking.”

“Even if I ruffle your pretty feathers?”

“Even then.”

“Marvellous,” he said. “Now then, where… Ah, yes, there he is, with his father. Shall we?”

Rosamund looked ahead of them to where Montagu was riding with his two sons. She hesitated, feeling silly.

“Lady Rosamund.”

Hargreaves' voice was softer now, his expression kind. “He’s a decent fellow and you are a lovely young woman. We are only going to say good day.”

Rosamund narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s not what you said at last night’s ball. You said you intended to make Pip believe you had… had….”

“Unspeakable designs upon your innocence to spark his protective instincts?” he suggested as her courage failed her, preventing her from speaking so bluntly as he.

She gave a taut nod. “Yes. That. Is it still what you plan?”

He shrugged. “I’m not suggesting I twirl my moustache and threaten to carry you off to my lair in his hearing, no. Forthright I may be, but I’m not a fool. And I certainly don’t want any but Ashburton to believe such a thing of me. Let us see how the land lies first, hmmm?”

Rosamund studied him for a long moment, seeing only a sincere desire to help her in his expression, despite the amused glint in his eyes.

“Very well.”

She followed him as he trotted ahead.

“Lady Rosamund, how do you do?” Montagu said greeting her warmly, as they drew alongside. “I didn’t get the chance to speak to you last night.”

“No, you were too busy dancing with your lovely wife,” Hargreaves replied with a grin, tipping his hat at the marquess. “I can’t say I blame you.”

“I shouldn’t, considering you danced with her too,” Montagu replied dryly.

“Afternoon, Hargreaves, Rosamund,” Thomas Barrington called, lifting his hat to them and smiling.

“Pip,” Montagu said sharply, rousing the attention of his eldest son, Lord Ashburton, who was riding farthest from them and appeared somewhat distracted.

“What?” Pip demanded impatiently, before realising who had spoken to him and paling a degree. “I beg your pardon, sir. Hargreaves, Lady Rosamund, good day to you both. Forgive me, I was wool-gathering.”

“It’s of no matter,” Hargreaves said easily. “Did you enjoy last night’s ball? I think I saw you dance once,” he offered, sending Pip a mischievous grin.

Pip glowered at him, glancing at his father, whose face was impassive. “I was not in the mood for dancing.”