Page 53 of Ravishing Camille
She sniffed and focused down the alleyway where a few of their neighbors led out their horses for their own morning rides. “Hyde Park.”
“I want to go along. If you’ll wait I’ll—”
“You needn’t.” She faced him fully now and he could see that the bruise to her right cheek was turning a nasty purple. But she’d applied a heavy cover of powder. The jaunty cap helped to conceal the severity of Connor’s blow.
“But I want to.”
“Why?” She had her hand on her hip. “I’m capable—”
“To go alone is not wise, Camille. Come to think of it, where’s your maid?”
“Ivy doesn’t cycle.”
“I see. So you thought you’d brave the world alone.”
“I wanted time to myself.” She set her jaw, her eyes narrowed in earnest endeavor.
“And if Connor decides to ride, too?”
“He won’t.”
“You can’t be sure.”
She mashed her lovely lips together and scowled at him. “I can. He never rides. He takes his curricle to the park.”
“Even worse. He could run you down.”
She pursed her lips and lifted her face to the sky. The long line of her creamy throat was exposed to him and he had the unreasonable early morning desire to kiss his way down the elegant length. “He won’t.”
“I’m coming with you,” he declared. “Wait here. I need a shot of coffee and a bite of bread.”
“No. I don’t want you.”
That set him back on his heels to chortle. “Now, that, my dear, is a lie.”
She shot him a glance that could kill at four yards.
“If you leave without me, I will come find you,” he threatened.
She shook her head and tapped her toes on the cobbles. “Oh, well, all right then. Hurry. I have appointments today.”
“Have we more cycles or do I have a horse saddled?”
“Three more bikes. Ask Joseph. The groom,” she added in exasperated explanation.
He put out a hand. “Do not leave.”
“No, no. I won’t. Get on with you!” She shooed him toward the kitchen door.
When he emerged a few minutes later, he had a piece of brown bread in one hand and a bit of it in his mouth. She stood, arms crossed, casually talking with a man he presumed to be Joseph the groom, and she was laughing. Her head thrown back, she thoroughly enjoyed whatever they spoke of. And Pierce paused to imprint the picture of her, kissed by gentle rays of morning sun, her hair a thousand shades of red and bronze and gold, the green and purples of her tweed summoning a hearty pink blush to her skin.
Someday soon, he vowed, he’d make her laugh like that. And have another picture of her in her natural beauty to carry with him until he died.
“Here you are,” she said when she spied him. “Joseph got a bicycle out for you. Good enough?”
“Perfect.” He examined the tall steel contraption. He could do many things. Build steel plants. Negotiate laborers’ wages. Invest in the finest shipping. But this?
“Have you ridden one before?”
